Erik Likes Red Studio

Hello Everyone! So, our recent Kickstarter didn't work out, but have no fear we are getting our photography book, ROPE & POETRY printed anyways. We will be taking orders for the next week and it'll take about another week to get them back from the printers. If you would like a signed copy please venmo $100/book to -Adamah and if you'd like it shipped make sure to DM us your address (local Austin pickup is available as well).

For more information and details about our PhotoBook project: https://www.eriklikesred.com/elr-rope-poetry

Hello! Only a few days and a couple thousand more to go. Support my Kickstarter today and receive a signed copy of my first photography book celebrating the last ten years in my Sh***ri journey...

ERIK LIKES RED Rope & Poetry

Erik Likes Red Studio proudly presents our very first KickStarter Campaign! ...ROPE & POETRY, a large format (8.5x11) high-resolution artist-signed photography book showcasing my rope and poetry spanning the last decade since I began tying in 2014.

I am always so honored by all the trust and vulnerability that I get to hold for those who have supported my art as rope models, teachers, students and enthusiasts. And I am elated to celebrate my rope journey through a very intentionally curated collection of the work I have produced over the last 10 years...

Also don't forget to check out the add-ons option on my Kickstarter: A limited edition signed print "Dream of the Fisherman's Daughter" ...An erotic digital watercolor print inspired by the work of the Japanese woodblock artist, Katsushika Hokusai

***ri ***riart

ERIK LIKES RED Rope & Poetry

FACELESS (A poem by Erik Adamah , Instagram: )

Sometimes the truth does not set you free
Sometimes it ties and binds you
Stabs you in the back
Sticks a needle in your eye
Thwarts your attack and undermines all your defenses

Sometimes the truth murders all your senses
Sometimes it enraptures and traps you
Throws rocks in your path far in front of you
Oh—If only you knew
If only you knew

Sometimes the truth just isn't the truth
Just isn't truth
And sometimes what once was lies and far fetched fable is sitting at our dining table
Is herding our attention through silver lined doors
With silver lined tongues and a beautiful white horse
And a rider
Of somewhere you saw in a dream
Keeps circling back around and leaving strange things on our doorstep
On our words
On our head
Will always find a way to forget what we said

Will always find a way to forget what we saw
Who we are in the moment
What we swallow in droves
When we found Eden's entrance
Where we buried the sixes
Why we left them to die with endless vice and cheap fixes

Yes—Sometimes the truth just doesn't pick us
Just doesn't choose us to know that its there
Sometimes the truth just doesn't care
Just doesn't know its very own name
Sometimes the truth is exactly what's to blame
What's to hide
And always in the open
Right where they'll find it
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LORE (A poem by Erik Adamah, Instagram: )...

What do you read into it
What mirror are you casting on their foreheads and faces, their fingers and spaces,
What do you intuit
Running in perfect circles inside the garden of their finest delight
Where do you send your lost souls when they come out at the edge of night to dance and play
Speaking in nonsense and complexity, talking in dirty tongues, gibberish and pure poetry...

Where do you go when the lies start forever flowing in august and ample rhythm
In perfect sunset and delicate schism now tearing the earth apart
Into threes and fives
A corner full of madness, murder and extra lives..

What do you see when you look at me through well-crafted perception and entrancing lore
What story do you tell yourself when I am not there
Still standing in the door
Still standing at ease and perfect attention to the throbbing crimson now in full ascension
From dark to light and everything in between
The lines of crumbling pillar
Throwing in ashes the last of me.
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📸 Erik Likes Red Studio Instagram:

HERE WE ARE... (a poem by Erik Adamah, Instagram:

Here we are
Dangling by threads
Standing on edges
Losing our heads
Balancing on fences
Waiting until the last moment...

Because nothing is more dramatic than the last moment
Nothing screams in such diving agony
Paradoxical and labrynthine
Mind torn in two, now six, nine and thirteen
Such sweet sweet comedy watching the world go mad

Standing on our tippy toes
Where she stops, nobody knows
Nobody there to hear her thoughts floating in ancient reminiscence
Demonic therapy conscious insanity, where minds no longer resistant...
And here we make the most indelible marks
Carving into space itself a future ancient ship to carry the code
To carry the dream
The all seeing eye of divine and utter exquisite catastrophe
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