SEX PLORATION HOTEL

It's past midnight, and we are in yet another hotel room in a city with no name. One can hear the night traffic on the avenue below, the CNN news on a screamingTV in the next room, competing with the broken air condition from an era gone by, breathing like a lung sick patient getting his last rights.

- THOMAS DELLERT & VAVA VENEZIA DELLERT

We are both dressed in nothing more than our fantasy, the darkest night and the brightest passion of two lost souls in a city of indifference. We are modern lovers, part plastic and rubber, part naked white flesh, part wild animals. Tied up in a kind of mental bondage. Our bodies are longing for intimacy and exploration. Our minds are set on giving and receiving.

We are at that moment, neither man nor woman, just predators and easy prey. The hotel room is lit up by the broken neon light sign entering through a window like through a camera lens. We are posing in the red-light district for ourselves in the mirror of our own eccentricity. We are mannequins, we are robots, naive like innocent children, and jet we are like prostitutes for pleasure.

Dressed to kill, all in competition with ourselves. Wearing stiletto high-heeled shoes, fully fashioned seamed stockings and metal suspenders, dangerous leather boots, and pink and purple furs. But, It's not a masquerade, not a school play, not a fashion shoot. No. It's a desperate cry for Love and compassion in a world of war and atrocities, injustice, or crimes of pandemics and of starvation. We are also starving, but for attention. We might be dressed for Love, but we are naked inside. Venerable. We are the fiction heroes, the last survivors; we are the human shields, the pink Love machines of the rainbow coalition. The Helmut Newton wannabe models. Doomsday boy and Domesday girl.