Tuesday, 27 October 2015


From an interview with George Sotomanikos(*), 


See if you will the simple mechanic of the aero-static harness.

As long as the runner is hanging, the burners are kept in idle.

Once she touches ground, and lightens the weight on the sliding support, burners go to full power.

So, on touching ground, a runner must try to walk as hard as she can, to keep traction on the harness, so that the burners stays in idle and she avoids wasting gas, and avoids being lifted up again as a result of the air in the balloon being heated.

Once every year, the girls in our stable that wants to try and shorten their contract are, all, so harnessed and left free to spread.

The one that manages to reach the farthest distance, before the gas canisters run dry, is freed and receive a very substantial amount of money.

The others have to renew their pledges of absolute enslavement for a year, lengthening their stay.

- The locals? No, none of them has ever freed a runner.

We explained the rules to their elders, who concluded that we are - indeed - crazy, but found the whole thing otherwise appropriate.

They like proper sportsmanship, to say the least.


(*) Of course, the name is invented and no such person exists or, if you prefer, any similarity between elements of this tale an persons, places and objects real, existing or existed is purely coincidental.

Proof of Coherent Identity

Every now and then, some geniuses tried to get me to draw a picture of their preferred "starlettes", under extreme bondage and torture (I am me - said myself).

It has winded down - mainly, because of the powers of Google images search by image, and the moron-ness of most of these guys... if someone sends me photos of two different women saying they are their photos, chances are that I am going to see it - but, for a while, it was a bit embarrassing.

The denials of these guys - "No, I never never heard of her, this is me!" (I only found these 15 different places where this photos appear, associated to that actress, so I may be mistaken... of course, it is at most one possibility in 2^14, imagining that each site choose the actress name by picking randomly in a hat with two names ) - were more than a bit comical, but I rather go and rent a good film, when I am in the mood for a good laugh.

I'd also like the idea of having some kind of authorization, when I make portraits of a person that wants them.

I thought for a while about how to go over this, without actually asking name and last-name of my extempore models (the privacy is important), and I came out with a very minimal authorization scheme...

It would be nice that whoever wants to appear in one my drawings sends me a photo like this one:

The face is not so important, though it would ease my paranoias, as long as it is clear that the person in the authorization is the same that appears in the other photos.

And as long as it is clear that Photoshop has not been used to write the phrase in the paper.

You know, just to be sure that I am not inadvertently creating some nasty revenge porn.

By the way, it is incredible how many "hot women" seems to - suddenly - lose their access to a mobile with a photo-camera, when I ask this "proof of coherent identity".

Thursday, 15 October 2015


2+2 = 11

I failed maths forever? Maybe, maybe not..

Every programmer worth the name knows at least that

8+7 = F

when one works with hexadecimal numbers, so there is also

F * F = E1


10 / 4 = 3

if you count on base twelve ( 10 = one dozen, it becomes clear).

Most people knows, nowadays, that you can represent numbers on a base of 2 digits:
0 and 1, the binary radix - the base of every computer's operation.
The latter detail is why what is otherwise a mere mathematical curiosity is so widely known.
In reality, humanity started using only one digit...


the way of the abacus, but it is no very useful - not a compact representation for any number above 2, and to handle a multiplication is a mess

000 * 000 = 00000
0000*000000= 0000000000000000

- better stick with, at least, a base of 2 digits

What most people ignore is that every choice of a base is somewhat arbitrary.

- we favor ten because we have ten digits in our hands... there are remnants of twenty-based systems, like in the way French names numbers between 80 and 99 quatre-vingt huit , and the time units are all 12 related.
The radices for representing a number, they are not bound to be even numbers... they can be odd.

Really, numbers do not care what is the radix you use to represent them.

Only, when they are odd numbers, even-ness ceases to appear as self-evident a property as we are used to see it.
If one uses a base of three digits, the first few numbers are



Now, you can spot the even-ness and oddnes of the numbers ?

No, t12, t102 and t122 - there - are all odd numbers.

- Note that these t12, t102 and t122 are also prime numbers, by the way, no matter how strong our brain screams that they must be divisible - they are 5, 11 and 17 in our familiar decimal base; also, we are used to call t21 seven, so he is not going to let anybody divide him either... by the way, decimal 111 is divisible by three, t111 goes by the name of 13 and is prime too.
Instead t11, t101 and t121 are all divisible by two.

When you use a base of 8 digits, every multiple of 7 can be recognized because the cascaded sum of its digits is 7... in base 16, multiples of F wind down to F, the same for 9 in base 10 and for B in base 12 - (if you use A and B as 11th and 12th digits), 5 in base 6 etc. ( you got the gist, I think).
Likewise, if you count in base 3, multiples of 2 can be recognized because they wind down to 2

121 => 1+2+1 => 11 => 1+1 => 2

Still simple, but not THAT simple - as saying "it ends on a multiple of 2" - any more.

As you can see, numbers don't really care that much about even-ness or oddness...

We like the distinction, being bilateral beings with two main sexes and all the rest, but that's our problem, not theirs.
But we really, really like it - I never saw an example with and odd number of digits as base.

It is one of the few certainties of life, if a number ends with a multiple of two, it is even... - alas, like most certainties in life, it is a form of collectively shared delusion.

By the way, when I see articles about using ternary state devices in the future computers, I know it is not going to happen.

It can be asked people to learn that binary 1101 => C hexadecimal, but you can't expect them to swallow that 12 is not divisible by 2...
Their mind will scream at the oddity.
- I hate when I have the flu. My mind gets stuck in the most horrible loops...

I let the reader the toil to verify that in base 15 (0-9, A-E) multiples of 3 ends with multiples of 3 (3,6,9,C), as well as multiples of 5 ends with multiples of five (0,5,A) .... Muahahahaha!!!!
If an alien species with trilateral symmetry and 15 fingers will ever contact ours, they could have a fixation in third-ness comparable to ours on even-oddness, and see divisibility by 2 as a secondary trait of some numbers.
Dedicated to my friends that already knew that two is just a number, like all the others, and not a pre-requisite for the magic in life.

Friday, 9 October 2015

Letter to a Beautiful Friend

I couldn't help it.

When you told me, it has been my happiest moment in a very long time.

Since years, really.

Hence the drawing and this letter.

I'm happy for you, to a vaguely drunk-feel level, almost to the blabbering-idiot-first-time-father level.

I'm happy, and horny.

Happy because you are going to have a child, and so you are out of that
existential null-space I stuck myself into. A place clothed out of commodity, but void nonetheless.

Horny because I can't help but imagine your body rounding up, your skin lighting up, glowing for the effect of maternity's hormones, the change in your posture to accommodate for the growth of the belly, your enlarged tits, you standing with spreads legs and toes pointing out...

And I picture myself, when you will have given birth to her or him, the image of your loosened up vagina, in which you will be finally be able to put a whole hand effortlessly the way you never could, and your lactating breasts in background.

And all of this excites me to no end.

I really hope, desire, crave that you will share these things with me, and I will draw them so that those three thousand persons (alas, not all of them are men) that watch my drawings in a month or so may see them.

See you, and be excited by you a tenth of what I am right now.

Because right now, I desire you.

I desire to fuck you so much that it hurts.

With love and fear, yours.


De-Humanisation for (Real) Dummies

This was a rant. As such, it is not a very coherent piece. But It felt good to write it, at the time, and it is still valid.

Once upon a time, drunk as a bunch of monkeys, we were three friends on top of a veranda, talking about stuff late in the might.

We were one engineer (me) and two artists (my friends).

Nowadays it would be an artist (me), an engineer (me), and two deluded wrecks... OK, not really.  

There is life even when you earn your dough teaching plastic arts in a Switzerland High-school, I think. 
sort of, 
I am not sure... 
No, there isn't - who am I kidding? Their life is over.

Anyway, we came to the conclusion (OK, I came, they just went along with it, not all so merrily to be honest) that artists and engineers are  not all that different.

Both battle with the limits of techniques and materials, trying to overcome them.

One step from perfection, and not a big one.
Both try to find the most elegant and beautiful solution to the formal problems they have in front  (1).
He, The Man

Good engineers' definition of "elegant" usually means "less complex".

Artists have things just slightly different, in that in most cases they find themselves their own problems to solve, and their idea of elegance is - really - more a case of "efficient transmission of emotions&sensations to the public".

My friends weren't much convinced - anyway, nowadays I still draw stuff, and they just grade some kid's home-works... (I am a devious bastard).

So, the artist and the engineer, in yours truly, tend to go together (2)

This, in turn, is an issue when someone that has no idea whatsoever goes out of his way to commission me the drawing of something that, I know, can't really be pulled off without killing the protagonist (I am not much of a snuff fan).

The artist in me thinks "this shit doesn't tell anything, about the world we live in, that I care to say", the engineer thinks "what a waste of a perfect cunt" ( I never draw ugly fucks, after all).

That's bad already, but the top of my personal disgust lies in what I'd gadly define as "stupid de-humanisation projects" - the ones that go too forward, beyond practical.

Having to clear her shit every day,
 how exactly represents an improvement?
This is usually compounded by the request that the protagonist "slave" must be shown to be clearly distressed, and totally unwilling to go along with the whole process.

What a pile of crap.

Now, it is not as much as a moral issue, as one of utter waste of resources.

Not only the girl... all the rest.

Why the heck should one waste his hard-earned shady contacts and money, to fuck with a woman that is not going to appreciate the effort?

Why, when it is quite possible to find another one that may like the idea (3)  and is going to be grateful, to finally be able to live her dreams?

Why should a sensible person risk some years of jail (in most countries, there are provisions of the kind of "no one able to understand could OK that!") for the sake of someone that will spend the rest of her life dreaming ways to kill him?

This isn't exactly my idea of a sound investment of one's own resources. No matter how limitless said resources may be... it is just throwing them away.
Really, guys?
The engineer think about it, and a screeching headache forms.

So, by the moment I finish reading the specifics of this kind of drawings, I am already a bit pissed.

Then, some people reaches to the conclusion that - to avoid the aforementioned potential retaliations - things must be carried on, to the level that the newly "created" "object slave" must be unable to do anything on her own... ears removed, eyes sutured, arms amputated above the elbow and, finally, toes removed (4).

To my engineer's brain, it is the apotheosis of waste... And, as the final product doesn't even look human, the artist isn't impressed either.

So, when I have to read a story with a character that has to spend quite some of his money (5), leaves a trail of "jail-scot-free cards" (6)  in the hands of every one of his accomplices, to have a "slave" that is unable to take care of herself and possibly still hates him,  I am not very impressed.

OK, OK - if someone pays, I draw whatever...

I know that fetishes are fetishes, and as such they aren't rational, but still....


1. look at the engine of a Porsche 993, if you want a proof on the engineers' part, take Jackson Pollock dripping for an art take on it

2.  which is the reasons why some of my drawings are a bit frightening... Yes, people can build the stuff that I draw, usually with some home-variety tool. I draw on a ply-wood "Cintiq" I made myself, after all.

3. almost whatever idea, really, if people wait long and look hard enough - potentially, at least.
Once pieces start being chopped off, I am pretty sure that the "willing victim" will think things through; anyway, if at the beginning it has been clearly stated that, once started, there is no turning back, I kind of find it is fair game; or, fair enough..
4. because, everybody knows that , with toes, people can still handle objects.

5. Underground surgeons, nurses and surgical rooms doesn't come cheap..

6. yes, because, short of actual children's murders, one can get an amnesty from almost every other crime, by providing information to apprehend a sex criminal as dangerous as this. 


Porn is like early 20th century science-fiction : too damn fucking optimist.

Porn is also like late 20th century sci-fi: all fiction and no knowledge.

Learning how to make any kind of sex solely from watching porn, is like learning to drive from watching the "Fast and Furious" series: a recipe for disaster.

However remote, the perspective of some future orgasm is the only reason for a human male to get out of his bed. When said perspective is lost, depression is just being rational.

If it was for men, humans would very much be like the Bonobos.
Washing away every stupid interpersonal problem, by literally  fucking each other till orgasm arrive, and we would living in unstructured bunches on trees.
Complex society was, is and always will be the province of females, no matter how much they feel it oppresses them.
Males have historically been  just the proxy soldiers of their female masters, and feminism is - mostly - just alpha females thinking that they can do without the bothersome alpha males.

[From the above derives that] Pick-up Artists are just idiots that decided that it was better to enslave themselves to the whole of bitchkind, instead of trying to find one of the somewhat rare women that aren't bitches. 
They are servants to their cocks' needs as anybody else.

Nothing has an inherent value... not gold, nor human rights, nor me nor you. This is the true tragedy of the human farce.

Shrinks have this curious habit of considering a personality trait an illness, if it goes against the expectation of a society for that individual.
Society changes, and so illnesses "fade away" (women's hysteria, homosexuality, BDSM) and others are "created" (ADHD). 
If one thinks at this, religions suddenly appear much more serious... most of them doesn't erase sins, not just because they can't make a buck from them any more, at least.

We can't live outside society, no matter how apparent its nature as a prison has become to us.

The difference between a bitch and a lady, is that the lady remembers your name and maybe the size and shape of your cock. 
A bitch will remember just her estimation of your wallet's depth, and how disappointed she was by reality.

Sex apart, life has no inherent meaning.
It is funny, how every civilization seems to be built around making sex shameful, meaningless and confine it out of sight.

The right woman is certainly enough for a man. The wrong woman is enough for a nation.

If humans were really rational in their choices - like economists postulate they are, when they try to build their "science" - most jobs could be done by a '90s home computer. Firsts among these, the economist's own jobs.

The biggest problem of Karl Marx is that in the end he was an economist, thinking men make rational choices. But the masses he thought to be speaking for proved to be just as emotional, and short-sighted, as any other human group.

We are all free, within the limits of our constraints...
Of course, if you appear to be free too much and stand out from the mass, chances are you are going to be in trouble soon. Probably by having any outstanding appendix - usually, the head - chopped off.

"It's creepy when DaBotz writes about himself in the 3rd person" - wrote DaBotz.
Don't try to bend your mind around the recursive nature of this phrase. It could break.

I shagged some women that were younger than my car [it is 26 Y.O.]. They were a lot less reliable, too.

"Psichologists" are like "Masters" - 1 in 20 of them, merits getting the quote mark off. The rest of them... no.

Tuesday, 6 October 2015

Ladies of Pain, Pleasure and Grace.

Some people, mostly young guys that reach me through Hentai-Foundry, seems to think that, being a huge pervert with plenty of fetishes and all, I must enjoy talking about them in chat.
And they try to do so relatively often, writing at length in onanistic rapture about their preferred fetish. They bore me to tears.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am a huge pervert, but

I Don't Care About 90% of The Fetishes I Draw.

No, really. I'm not making the "moralist pornographer" speech. It's entirely another issue, a subtler one.
Still, I don't care for amputations, electrocution, body modification, eroguro, death play, pony-slaves, belly suspension etc...
So, why the fuck do I draw this stuff?

It's all about the Ladies!

Two ladies of mines


 - about the Ladies, and what I think is in their Minds.

It may be not all that apparent, but I draw most of my works to imagine a world populated by women - of any age - as much different as possible from the sanctimonious, self serving, sex-denying, egotistical bitches that shaped much of my life (up to date).

I like to imagine a world filled with women willing to endure unbelievable pains for their faith, their friends, the pleasure of their lovers, the dignity of their chaste etc.

Miyuki, from Hokkaido with Love

In a phrase, willing to suffer for something outside and beyond themselves, in truly selfless devotion.

Or, conversely, allowing themselves to be tortured just because pain itself gives them pleasure, and they are HONEST enough to admit they would die for their own pleasure. For that perfect, last, absolute orgasm.

I drawn my stuff trying to convince myself that these women - these very different kinds of women - really existed. That they were just out there, and it was simply a question of time and of searching hard enough to find one for myself.

For long years, mine was more mad hope than rational analysis. But they are really out there; only, they are a little sparser than what I thought.

Lately I'm chancy enough that, from time to time, I get in contact with one of them.
Usually, the Lady is an ocean away, she's mainly lesbian, she already has a partner, she has a (too much

Jade, subbing in Galizia

fuckable) daughter, a son etc... or all of these together.

But, these "small encounters" repay me a lot.
Time, luck, and looking for the right one and I will find her. Call me a "believer"; it took me time to become one.

So, when some 20's guy chats me and starts enumerating what he (rather often, the avatar character that's the protagonist of his oniric life) would do to this or that bitch, he loses me. Loses me at the third phrase.

I've been there... at that age, and grown out of it.
It's boring to death, dreaming revenge on "the bitches". Boring and self-defeating.

Even if someone was so idiotic to risk his freedom to do so, the world is so choke full of bitches, looking for poor sods to exploit in horribly devious ways, that one less wouldn't make it any less desolating.

So, I don't care for bitches... they are beneath my contempt.

I care for the ladies.

And in my works I'll always allow them to show, at their greatest personal cost - it would be meaningless otherwise - that they are, indeed, ladies.
Ladies of Pain, Pleasure and Grace.
My Ladies.

It's all about her, I swear

Monday, 5 October 2015

How it started...

Once upon a time, there was a this guy.

He wasn't a genius, and his dream was to be some kind of electro-technician, or a mechanic, and build small robots.

Or machines... or aircrafts.

Anything that moved, really.

Unfortunately, one day he discovered that he could draw women... and it was the end, for him.

Gone were the dreams of building a "Gundam".

He started obsessively doodling nakedness on paper.

He didn't only that, he sometimes tried to actually make comics, but his stories where almost uniformly sad.

Beyond pretentiousness
How shitty I was

And he wasn't all that good (I know, it looks nice... but it wasn't nice enough).

So he went on, doing his day job,and scrounging horrible drawings at night...

From time to time, he made some logos, but the hope of ever drawing things he cared for was waning.

His day job sucked (nice colleagues, but the pay was a bit low - 18K a year for a computer engineer, living in Milan), and he came to the conclusion that nothing he could do mattered at all. To anybody.

He left his last comic unfinished, and stopped drawing altogether for a long while.

He moved away, to a new country, but things didn't really improve.

They didn't  improve, until he draw these:

The Jade Rose, Yellow Tube Portrait
The Jade Rose, in Red


The model liked them, I liked them, and I had used a new nom de plume...

 And thus, DaBotz was born.