Poetry

Being naked must be the most natural thing, but so is hiding.

Where animals hide in their environment, humans hide and distort themselves through clothes. Of course, I love clothes, I love shirts (the more extravagant, the better), the cotton or satin against your skin, but being naked, the very idea of being completely exposed, not only to the elements but to eyes, people gazing, seeing what usually remain hidden, has its own kind of fascination and seduction.

I guess that is why I decided to do Naked Britain, to see myself naked as others see me.

Such as when a friend dragged me to the nudist sauna in Kentish Town or a trip to the nudist beach, on the pebbles of Brighton, in all the wrong places, or just reading a book on the bed and a lover sits there watching me for a bit.

Reading is, of course, best done butt naked while smoking and taking the odd note in the margins.

Life is poetry, but no one will admit it because if they do, they will rip off their clothes and run into the street kissing strangers, but generally, that’s an arrestable offence, so instead, I got naked and had my photograph taken and threw some books into the air.

Everything lands, exposed on the bed, pages open; another moment, I feel somewhat human.

Tom  25/02/2018