Wet Dream

R u keeping your dream journal by your bedside? Here r 2 for the darkness from our dear enemy of the state Jean Paul Gaultier...

&speaking of dolls, we've got your weekly taxidermy fix as well thanks to Nathalie Ellner YUM

PRAIRIE WYVES (ing/ish)

Get in our line-up fans, knights& vixens! It's that time of year again when dressing gets confusing and all your funds drop into that vac8ion haus in the deep south you bought online and have yet to decor8te properly. We're here to help guide you not only through your tv troubles but str8 through that faascionz sensing as well. Since Cancer signs are at an all time high and the moon/Saturn cusp is getting really scary let me introduce you to beige. Hopefully this will be one of those moments for you like seeing a Ray_Johnson diagram of breast types at an off shore gallery and suddenly your breasts make sense again. #WeKnowATrendWhenWeSeeOne. You're welcome. xoB12 (reinvented)

PRAIRIE WYVES

: PRESENT8ION A COMMENTARY :

-in beige

Faasioncz/Lyfestyle : BabySkinGlove
Photos : Dixie Parden

Now that you're moist, here;s a tragedy that will stop the flow. Monogamy might be stressful but Utah is downright dangerous. Note this is a written warning, #inspir8ion.

STALKER (finally)

KERRYBOO- our bff (biggest fan 4fr)- recently published ----> a mighty fatty review! of our [H]OM[o]/e extravaganza. You're welcome! Please zoom in, read on, and relive the magic...

Zen My A$$
A Review by Kerry Mitchell

I recently described them as a “queer, transgressive performance art troupe.” And they are surprisingly adorable. A grass roots art collective consisting of a number of extremely sweet young women and a couple young men, BabySkinGlove (BSG) emerged out of the pavement of Brooklyn two years ago. Since that time they have put on over 30 events, including Colonial Bushwick, The Dinner Famine, Popol Vuhlva: A Story of MezoHysterica with Mega Calderos, and others. Their work often concerns historical reenactment in a decidedly loose, amateurish, and earnest vein (“100% accurate according to the internet”) and parody of the cult of celebrity.

I first saw them in Manhattan at their Dinner Famine performance, a not-dinner theater piece where the performers screeched at each other and threw dirt and potatoes at the audience who sat around the large table that was the stage. The arrangement forced the performers to crawl under, over, and through the audience to get on and off the table. Not something to “enjoy” necessarily, but I found them strangely charming. Their overblown theatricality and reliance on shouting were not easy on the ears and they thoroughly traumatized my date, but the closeness and tactility of the performers somehow won the day. The self-involvement, vanity, and aloofness that tends to infuse “avant-garde” art (the very term reeks of pretense) dissolved in the whispering “excuse me”s of the actors gently clambering across my lap to join the yawping chorus on the table. In this way they placed the separation of actor and audience, the “fourth wall,” at the surface of the skin, and they did not seek to tear it down so much as act upon it. Here their touch lived up to their name, as soft and transgressive as a glove made of a baby’s skin.

This latest Zen installation, part of SITE Fest in Bushwick earlier this March, carried much of the same style. The stage was their entire house whose interior and furnishings they had covered with white plastic bags. The floor was sprinkled with talcum powder. Bubble wrap runners led up the stairs. The costumes were white sheets and headdresses. The performance began from the moment I entered the door: an introduction into an intentional community of spiritual acolytes, their soft feminine drones seeping new age cant as we waited for others to arrive. Not quite funny, not near serious, they mixed their soft, angelic features with the manifest and intense weirdness of a group of friends who are willing to trash their home to put on something of a haunted house – except it’s not haunted, it’s not Halloween, and it’s not clear why they’re doing it. The audience arrived throughout the day and were led through the house in groups of one, two, or three every half hour or so. Each room demanded full participation on the part of the audience who were tied together at the wrists: primal scream therapy, growling exercises in search of totemic animals, tantric partner yoga (fully clothed), simulated extraction and consumption of an amniotic sac (a William Sonoma air-pack), vulva cookies on sticks, edible finger paints, fat whispering, chants of “Golden shower! Golden shower!” with invitation to collectively urinate (declined), and self-fingering (dry) with simulated orgasm. At this close of the performance we were introduced to pictures of Dr. Kegel, identified as “God.” This greybeard German doctor (whose name means “cone” in German) had discovered the universal sexual center of humanity that could be reached by pressing two fingers firmly up between the legs. Through running energy through one’s “Kegel” one could achieve the fullness of enlightenment. Or the emptiness of enlightenment. Or perhaps the cone-ness of enlightenment. Vaginal. Anal. None of this is implicit.

The selection of a German doctor for the conceptual center of this creepy new age satire was perfectly appropriate. The amorphous streams that make up metaphysical spirituality have a strong European component and one that is as white as the walls, floor, costumes, and performers. BSG played up this whiteness to the utmost, heightening the aesthetic of innocence and purity in voice, dress, and skin while diving as deep as they could get away with into perversion. Instructions on how to fist your yoga partner’s soul, scatalogical confessions, and invitations to lick one another were presented as therapeutic and spiritually liberating exercises. They were serious about this in their own way. But whatever they were doing, they were doing the opposite at the same time. So make of that what you will.

For future work BSG will need to address the selectivity of the audience. Judging based on the three young men in my visitor group, and with a quick glance at the visitor log, I suspect that this last show held a strong contingent of Boyfriends/Suitors/Lusters-After (BSLAs) of BSG’s milky angels who fit the mold of the girl-boy next door. Subjecting these mate-seeking hipsters to the various sensual, homoerotic exercises therefore took on the character of hazing in an initiation ritual. BSG may not be fully cognizant of the fact that these fine young men never rushed a fraternity only because in their culture it is not cool to do so. This was their chance. Fraternity, sorority, soternity, frarority – close enough. As long as they’re in.

But if you are reading this, so may the genuinely disturbed who will not be pushed beyond their comfort zones by BSG’s work, but who will, in fact, enjoy the transgression with such enthusiasm that they will wish to push it further. If the audience becomes less 20-something, hipster, a-little-verklemmt-but-open-minded BSLAs undergoing their trial-by-weird, and more 40-something, online-stalker-stranger, good-to-grope freaks, then I foresee a problem. BSG, if you are reading this, you will want to hire security for your next show. Seriously. I’m not kidding.

Also, I did not notice an age restriction on the invitation to Zen (at Dinner Famine I believe the stated and recommended cut-off was 13). Such an oversight should not be repeated. If a minor were to take up the invitation to autoerotic fingering, no matter how dry, BSG could be sued if not prosecuted. And they would lose. Seriously. I’m not kidding.

So what does it take to make the most of a BSG performance? Answer: a willingness to get materially and socially dirty; prudence in inviting others; partial abandonment of trust; a small streak of masochism; a desire to support real, weird art. The shows tread the border between risqué and risky. Perhaps this review will heighten those risks for all concerned. Which is just another way of saying that BSG’s playing with transgression and pushing of boundaries are not without risk. Then again, what is?

PAUSE 4 A LOVE MOMENT

(((BOYGIRL)))
(((AUCTION)))
(((ALERT!)))
keep scrolling bitches...

Stop it. Just wipe that little anti-love scrunch off ur heart-felt face rite now. Now young ladyboy, you open up those batting lashes and slap on some romance make-ups because we're getting in2 love 4 a moment here.

BabySkinGlove recognizes all kinds of special relationships. Perhaps you have a particular interest in furry backs, or leather panties, or even your cousin. That's okay with us! We love love too! The magical powers of the BSG mamas know that deep down, even the coldest hearts need to bump emotional uglies sometimes. So brush off ur B.B.D., sharpen those valentine pencils, and enjoy this love moment.

Here's some inspir8ion from our Shanghai penpal Maleonn to get u thru those masturbatory thots at the office.

(dead arm plastic bliss)

(interracial swamping)

(velvet voyeuristic prowessing)

(even mimes can love!)

(be the next boygirl to get in our box)

---:::::
Okay now the fun part
:::::---

Not all of us at VVD are fully accepting our stars this month, that's why we're giving YOU a chance to join the club . . . thru the bedroom door! Newly single Professor Flash wants YOU to take him out on the town!
All you have to do is write in with your best d8 description to babyskinglove@gmail.com and the Momager with Skinglove at hip will decide who gets to take this lovely looker out for a pantless stroll! That's rite, the winner of our VDay auction will get an intimate BabySkinGlove dinner d8 and surprise voyage with the 14 boygirls plus one on the arm!

After you've wiped away the drool, pee, cum, and sweat from excitement, HOLLA babyskinglove@gmail.com!

value: infuckingvaluable

VillaVulvaDirections

recently, momager has been pushing us dolls to be more open to experiencing LYFE. like real LYFE, not real(ity tv) lyfe -- which apparently includes indulging in that crazy little thing called love. Ohmygod she like just won't shut up about it! & okay we admit this winter has made some of us a lil empty-hearted but c'mon. everybody knows that deep down in there we're all just a bunch of hopeless romantics who wanna roll around in bed listening to pop music & making out with hottie cyborg girlboyz. so get into it, baby! its ZEN!

Fool-Proof

Have a seat my darling dears, we're only here to help. Sometimes you have troubles. Sometimes BabySkinGlove goes by the name Abby and you can just go ahead and Dear us any time you like. Just in case your father didn't sit you down and give you the birds and bees talk, all fifteen of us are here to set you gay:

Dear BabySkinGlove,
I need your advice. What's a girl to do when she's been with her boyfriend for several days, and several nights, and of course they've had gratifying sex many times. Then he departs to his home for a few hours, and asks his girlfriend to come over. They haven't seen each other in 4 hours. She comes over, happy as ever, sits down to his computer to check her e-mail, and sees in his search engine that he's just been watching porn. Why would this be necessary, considering that the girlfriend coming over meant the couple would have sex soon anyway? Does this mean the girl's boyfriend is just outrageously horny, is dissatisfied with the sex he has with his girlfriend, or is he doing it so that the next time they have sex, he will last longer? Please tell me what to think, as I do not know if (in this hypothetical situation) the girl should be flattered, offended, or simply accept the boyfriend's behavior as typically male (or dog-like.)

I await anxiously for your response.

Sincerely,
Search Engine Saga
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Dear Search Engine Saga, our blessed little bee,

Relationships are so tricky! The l8-nite calls, the sexts, the breaking into each others email accounts, the stolen credit cards, the shredded credit card bills, it's a lot to take on at such a young age. But one thing you must always remember when embarking on a serious relationship (first and foremost) is that pornography is like a blessing from the internet Gods. It's like the gift you wanted on your seventh Xmas but your parents kept saying "You'll shoot your eye out!" which just lead you to stealing it from the local gun shop anyways. Your boyfriend clearly loves you. He is clearly an upstanding citizen with a good-sized cock and he can grow a full beard. All men have an unnatural and inherent desire to once in awhile or twice in a while or like daily to see some raunchy-ass face-banging cum-swallowing hardcore girl on girl on girl on guy action. And no matter how much testosterone is in each little ballsac of his, one can never hold the enjoyment of porn against any other being, man woman child or animal. I recommend you yourself take a look at one of our sponsored sites www.youporn.com, a most wonderful and useful tool for maintaining independence and achieving enlightenment. And if you are still unsure of how to handle this little pickle, you can always try fisting...at least that's what FreakButt says. 98% of Americans and 100% of BSG surprisingly really like fisting.

All of our love and rainbows,
BabySkinGlove