Billy Shears's Photo Album

Natasha Fatale

Billy Shears — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 00:59:24 GMT

L' chaim, l' chaim!

Billy Shears — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:52:41 GMT

Castle View

Billy Shears — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:50:28 GMT

Three way action!

Billy Shears — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:48:10 GMT

Lil' Missy, Hawaii Steve and me

sailing around the room

Billy Shears — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:41:34 GMT

TO LIFE, TO LIFE

Billy Shears — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 23:29:45 GMT

Rhombicuboctahedron

Billy Shears — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 23:50:52 GMT

The rhombicuboctahedron, or small rhombicuboctahedron is an Archimedean solid with eight triangular and eighteen square faces.

Gömböc

Billy Shears — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 17:25:31 GMT

A convex three-dimensional homogeneous body which, when resting on a flat surface, has just one stable and one unstable point of equilibrium.

unbreakable

Billy Shears — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 19:25:31 GMT

Dolls. American Beauty. Moving Eyes. Kid Body Faultless Line of Full Jointed Unbreakable fore- arms and legs

tiger unna water.jpg

Billy Shears — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 23:04:35 GMT

unnna.jpg

Billy Shears — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 21:19:02 GMT

Sunday, Sunday... "Purity"; Billy Collins

Billy Shears — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 05:55:30 GMT

My favourite time to write is in the late afternoon, weekdays, particularly Wednesdays. This is how I go about it: I take a fresh pot of tea into my study and close the door. Then I remove my clothes and leave them in a pile as if I had melted to death and my legacy consisted of only a white shirt, a pair of pants and a pot of cold tea. Then I remove my flesh and hang it over a chair. I slide it off my bones like a silken garment. I do this so that what I write will be pure, completely rinsed of the carnal, uncontaminated by the preoccupations of the body. Finally I remove each of my organs and arrange them on a small table near the window. I do not want to hear their ancient rhythms when I am trying to tap out my own drumbeat. Now I sit down at the desk, ready to begin. I am entirely pure: nothing but a skeleton at a typewriter. I should mention that sometimes I leave my penis on. I find it difficult to ignore the temptation. Then I am a skeleton with a penis at a typewriter. In this condition I write extraordinary love poems, mostly of them exploiting the connection between sex and death. I am concentration itself: I exist in a universe where there is nothing but sex, death, and typewriting. After a spell of this I remove my penis too. Then I am all skull and bones typing into the afternoon. Just the absolute essentials, no flounces. Now I write only about death, most classical of themes, in language light as the air between my ribs. Afterward, I reward myself by going for a drive at sunset. I replace my organs and slip back into my flesh and clothes. Then I back the car out of the garage and speed through woods on winding country roads, passing stone walls, farmhouses, and frozen ponds, all perfectly arranged like words in a famous sonnet.

Oh That Fellow Othello

Billy Shears — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 00:57:07 GMT

Oh Beware, my lord, of jealousy. 'Tis the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on. Well, it's Saturday night and I'm still free And I ain't never gonna be Eaten by the monster of love It's hard to fight it off much more I hear it drooling by the door Eaten by the monster of love It ain't a pretty sight to see the way it leaves 'em It chews them up and spits out creatures with those Goo-gooy-ey eyes Sick sickly smiles It just isn't right And my father said "don't worry, son" But look at him, he should have run Eaten by the monster of love Well, it's worse than war, it's worse than death There ain't too many left who ain't been Eaten by the monster of love Buy a dog and that might help Sometimes, though, a dog gets grabbed and Eaten by the monster of love Eaten by the monster of love Let it huff, let it puff Eaten by the monster of love I hate to gripe, but I just ain't the type (Don't let it get me, don't let it get me, etc.) I know some really good, good people Overcome, and piece by piece they were Eaten by the monster of love Sometimes it takes a nip at me But I'm too quick to ever be Eaten by the monster of love

waddabi.shop.jpg

Billy Shears — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 02:13:44 GMT

Bless it, a monk swimming

Billy Shears — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 02:10:58 GMT

Even people who have met me don't think I'm real.

Valentina Tereshkova

Billy Shears — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 18:23:00 GMT

.monroe_presley_auction_la118.jpg

Billy Shears — Thu, 28 May 2009 19:50:26 GMT

Mary Woronov

Billy Shears — Fri, 22 May 2009 18:21:20 GMT

yourlips.jpg

Billy Shears — Fri, 22 May 2009 18:20:31 GMT

Stanford Bunny

Billy Shears — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 18:58:34 GMT

Utah Teapot

Billy Shears — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 18:53:50 GMT

Lenna

Billy Shears — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 20:00:07 GMT

Miss November 1972 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lenna

valentine.jpg

Billy Shears — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 00:59:39 GMT

...or are you just happy to see me?

If your husband ever finds out...

Billy Shears — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 20:31:49 GMT

...that you are dressing up and letting strange men spank you...

Gleefully Suicidal

Billy Shears — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 20:29:10 GMT

Eat with pleasure and.....without fatigue The Prodigal Pig!