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Amante, Linguagem explícita, Mandar bater uma, Ioga, Salto alto, Espartilho, Cosplay, Cozinha, Fumantes, Escritório, Avaliação de pintos, Ahegao, Capô de fusca, Massagem, Espiadinha por baixo, Cavalgada, De quatro, Atuação, Cuckold, Topless, Humilhação, Fetiche por pés, Dança erótica, Tapas, Masturbação com os pés, Rebolando, Striptease, Brinquedos sexuais, Orgasmo, Penetração com dedos, Gozada na cara, Punheta
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Drums are my emotional release. When I'm angry or happy, I don't shout - I just pound out a roll on the kit. My downstairs neighbours think I'm renovating, but I've already left them a note: "This is art, not a jackhammer." Though sometimes I get so carried away that after a gig my hands shake and I can't order a drink at the bar - I have to point at the menu
Exhibitions are my cultural recharge. I go there to steal fresh ideas for my songs and looks. I stand in front of an abstract painting and think, "What if this red square is a riff for my new track?" The guards are used to me always standing by one piece with a notebook, humming something. Sometimes I forget that museums are quiet and start tapping a rhythm on my thigh - then I get politely asked to leave
I'm the one with rock‑n‑roll and art history running through my veins. One hand holds a drumstick, the other - a guitar pick, and in my head I'm already mentally matching exhibition schedules with bar flyers. My weekends look like this: morning - guitar etudes, afternoon - the Hermitage, evening - drums at the bar. And yes, I often confuse sticks with paintbrushes - but then I just draw the rhythm on a cocktail napkin
Guitar is my gentler voice. I pick it up when I want to sing something soulful and slightly sad. I play in courtyards, in the kitchen, and even at exhibitions under the whispers of other visitors. But mostly the guitar serves as my backup in a bar - there, where it's noisy, no one notices I've hit the wrong chord. The perfect place for an experiment!