I know I’m an acquired taste – I’m anchovies. And not everybody wants those hairy little things.
Tori Amos
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COLLABORATIONS
DeeperBlue: Healing T.V.
Sticky Flower : Pattern Boy & Doodle Girl Meet
Marco Britti: Sensual ENaLu
Steve Hook: ENaLu
Ozjami: Enalu, Astral Medium
Shawhouse : Botticelli #2
Lost Weekend
LAnaLu
STUFF i LiKE
let’s all go to bed
joan as police woman
science fiction
my doona
ANDY
New York
Arcade
Sprinkle
One
birthday
infinite
Death
Shlameal, Shlamozle
secret
ghetto
lonely
scarlett
lunch
buyer’s booth

Way Eternal by © ENaLu

Slaves to the Spoon by © ENaLu
ENaLu is a member of Abstract Art, All Things Poetic, Artistic, Philosophical, Altered Art, Beige is death!, Black and White Photography, Blue Room, Bubble Boutique, Cartoon Paddock, Collaboral Damage, Digital Modern Portraiture, Doodle Do, I ♥ Patterns, Melbourne & Victoria, Mixed Media, Natural Textures, Out of the Past, Outsiders, Pencil Drawing (2 per 24 hrs), PixElations - The Art of Photoshop, Pleasure & Pain, Pop Art, Self as Other, Something To Say, Spiritual Art, StreetArt, Symbolism in Art, The Art of 3D, The Healing Journey, The Male Nude, The Sensual Word, THE SISTERHOOD, The Woman Photographer **7 per week***, Theatrical and Staged Photography, Vibrant and Vivid Color, Web Design and WMG.
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and all the time your lips / brushed my cheek / your arms rocked my sleep / and my heart caught a glimpse / of us sailing away in that great ship
then she took the loaded gun / she tried to forget / and fired at the past shot the centre of it’s heart
When Grief came to stay / we were all still bumbling about / unconscious / acting out / our own dear / versions / of the Bold and the Beautiful / the Young and the Restless / Home and Away
it wouldn’t be the color of your eyes / or the time in Egypt when you crossed out all ties / it wouldn’t be held in the crystal skull / or the laden personage of blood
then maybe the rain would have come and the glass / would be wet as it touched those lips and the songs that came before birth would wrap your heart / in soft tiny hands of memory
a tight fist a tighter smile / an open letter to the vatican burning the skin and lifting the perfect lamb