j'adore le birdy francais

I asked the outlaw to say what he would about this piece at its culmination. He said, “I like the birdy.”
I like the birdy. Wow. How succinct! What an immaculate estimation of the hours I put in here. Reminds me of the esteemed comments of a certain weather man who once struggled to say, “I love lamp”. Brilliant.
There’s something about boobs. In spite of being bags of flesh sans IQ, they have a lot to say. “I’m sexy but vulnerable,” and “don’t puncture me,” both come to mind. I guess the question posed here from a critical mind is, “which one is the whore and why?” Once that is figured out, the meaning of the piece comes clear. It’s radiating meaning, it’s cloaked in metaphor, and that martini is silently begging to be consumed.
I don’t feel artistically that these are in any way indecent, and yet it makes me nervous to have the eyes of a 12 year old boy roll over it. It’s not for him. It’s just for me for now before we all become dust. And, I guess, for you at this point as well.
Mona Lisa/garden/original sin/animals and plants/vice and liquids/bound vs. not, freedom vs. incarceration/youth beauty/polarization.