Sunday, July 1, 2012

50 Shades of Goggins

I did not go looking for this:
I was at the library.  An issue of GQ was there on the table.  I flipped through it, came to the "Bad Guys" section and thought, "Gee, I wonder if . . . "

Yep.  There it was.

And the worst part is that I'm not sure how I feel about it.  For one, it's terrifying.  The rest of the photos were extreme close-ups or just plain seated poses, but Goggins, of course, has to take everything one step beyond, because he is brilliant and possibly insane.

I have not and probably will not read 50 Shades of Grey.  I am not turned on by bondage and am actively turned off by bad prose.  If anything, this picture should have made me slam the magazine shut and tell our mayor that the library had hardcore pornography just laying about all willy-nilly.

But that chest!  Those shoulders!  That neck!  That hair!  Those eyes, perfect orbs of infinite inky darkness!  How can I not love that my darling Goggins is finally getting the centerfold recognition he deserves?

And the chill, that sweetest chill that shivers down my back when I see this picture. Because damn, I can hear that scream. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the tightness of his neck. As the girlfriend of a professional photographer and as a photography model, I find it fascinating when a photograph can portray such emotion in a flat, paper image. Tiny gestures and intimate details take on grand, larger meanings. It's something I can't do, and so I'm fascinated when people do it well.

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