Submersion, Synchroncity and Still Life

Unlike you...

I am afraid of drowning.
I don't advertise it.
I don't make a thing of it.
I don't even let it stop me from swimming or diving into the deep end of the ocean.

There's a lot of don't's and you're probably wondering what it all means.

It means nothing. Only that you still love wasting time, mine and yours. I still love having fun with you because of it. ha. Are you having fun yet? I am. 

Diego Munòz

This is one of my favorite images, I've used it here and here. Needless to say it reminds me of a bit of darkness that takes place in an old story, that I wrote and later published here, This story in turn reminds me that I was inspired by a video that looks and sounds like this... 

And if you're still not following me here's the story that I wrote followed by an image that captures the very essence of the story.


Still Life 
(September 25, 2009)

Floating. Weightless. Sinking.

There are a million thoughts in my mind as I’m descending further toward a watery grave. The loose pieces of white sheets dance in the aquamarine expanse that surrounds. The long black tendrils of my hair reach up to grasp and the last remaining spark of golden light that penetrates the water’s surface.

It’s not clear to me how long I have before hitting the bottom, or perhaps even, how long I can continue to hold my breath. There are so many uncertain feelings in my gut. Would this time be different? Had I pushed him too far? Would he really let me die? As I descend deeper and deeper, the pressure becomes heavier and it’s now a struggle to hold my breath. These last moments are becoming quieter and darker. The small glint of golden light is diminishing and the sea around me becomes bluish darkness.

Killing me had always been a threat that neither of us took seriously. Artists. Painters. We we’re so passionate, emotional, misguided, highly wounded and intense individuals. Both to blame so very often. Even after he dropped me off a building, hit me with a car, and took a knife to my face, I still believed in his devotion… as all was in the sake of the craft and I was never in any harm. The beauty of the moment - the creation of a single timeless instant to be frozen for all eternity. After the anger there was always such impractical beauty. Researched. Polaroided. Cataloged. Painted. Hung in the museum, the gallery, or the rich man’s wall for all to envy. This time I’m afraid he’s quite determined and madness has taken over. The madman fitted me with a pair of cement shoes which seal my fate. This will be over soon.

No point in struggling. That will only ensure that I’ll drown sooner. I’m wrapped tightly in 50 yards of white canvas bound by ropes from my shoulders to the base of my calves. Mummified in an eternal moment at the base of the ocean. The fool wanted to see the beauty in my death so he never wrapped my face. “There will be no need to gag you,” calmly he tells me as his hand brushes my cheek and pauses. Look him in the eye for answers. “You won’t scream or you’ll suffocate faster.” There are none as his gaze breaks away. He lifts me and carry me to the edge of the dock. “I can’t change this. You understand? This is the epitome. The final boundary - death. You must see the beauty in this. I love you.” Laugh. Kiss my forehead. Let go.

I’m falling. Watching his face from beneath the surface as it scrutinizes my descent.

Holding my breath is becoming unbearable. It’s quite apparent to me now… there’s no return. Pretty certain I’m reaching the threshold of my limits. Open mouth, release a bubble of air. The time is almost here. I’m fading. There’s no more strength. Take in water. Soon… open eyes and mouth, pale white skin, blood red lips, and aquamarine darkness against white canvas. Breathtaking beauty, researched, photographed, cataloged and then painted. Still life.

Tied Up by Tyler Shields c/o Miller Gallery

Instantly I'm reminded how much fun it is for me and not for you.

It's still nothing like Fight Club. 

Conflict. Solution.

Unlike me...

You mind people pointing fingers & them thinking how much yours looks exactly like someone else's. (*It may be a copy, but its still an authentic copy. You do have your own flair, darling. Be a love. Brag more. Some men really should. Others shouldn't. No shame in the game. kisses.)
You mind giving credit to another person. 
You mind so much that you keep making a thing of it. 
You mind that you are really crazy inauthentic. (*it's ok. it won't kill you. ha)

There's a lot of minds in there and it's a shame that you still aren't using yours. 
I'm not afraid to use mine... why are you? It won't hurt. Ok. It might hurt you a little. Worth it.

Use your mind not your reaction. 

Enjoy the story, the images, the video and only you can let your imagination run wild... unless you're afraid?

Kisses, m.

Invited

An Invitation to the home of a Killer! Would you go? I know I would. Even if you might be on the menu? Especially if I was! Why disappoint! Ha! You never know what will REALLY happen until you take a chance and jump on it? Lovely idea! Perhaps even lovelier if you were the killer. Am I a killer? Moi? Blaspheme!?! Perhaps unless you know moi... I often wonder about such things before realizing it's a waste of time to wonder. But who can really say what has happened or will happen next. The future hasn't happened yet and you can not stop what will happen. You can try. Here's a very old story and it's very much near and dear to my heart. You can find it in my ebook Killing Changes you here! Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Killing Changes You.

(4-1-09)

“I could get used to this!” was what I thought as I slit his throat with my sharp knife.

The precise blade slid ever so delicately through and through his skin without the slightest bit of hesitation. Blood spilled down his chest blanketing the white button-down shirt in a dark crimson red. I was feeling very much like Hannibal Lecter when I licked the blade clean of his blood. Slowly, as I continue to clean my blade, I watch his body melt into the pool of red liquid on the wooden floor before me. You know what they say, the first time is all it takes to become addicted.

Killing changes you. Once you’ve committed the unspeakable act there’s no turning back. Funny thing was, I knew from that moment on, I was hooked. Who would be my next victim? See after all, this wasn’t planned. It was an opportunity. I seized it! The thrill of taking a life had always been on the top of my “DO NOT SHARE” list. You know that list of dark sadistic things that you just don’t share. Everyone has one, but you don’t speak of it.

I had to wait, like a predator stalking my prey. Watching… waiting... wanting… until just the right… moment. Perhaps this is how Jack the Ripper felt as he chose his victims? And who would catch me? I would be leaving the country in a matter of days. No one would be shocked if I never returned. No one could blame me for walking away from my dead end job, my artistic failure. Again, they might miss him? Doubtful, I surprised him. He wasn’t scheduled to return from his trip for a few more days. You know the type, workaholic, and no next of kin. Only leaves the house for the office and returns back promptly each day. The cleaning lady was the only person who would find the body, and she wouldn’t be returning until Monday. But again, my darkness consumes me and the wheels start to spin.

How many ways can you dispose of a body? Too many! Too FUN! Just as I’m dreaming up new, sick and twisted ways to make a body disappear… BAM! “I guess he wasn’t dead after all,” are my thoughts as I’m falling quick, looking up at this bastard holding his throat with one hand and a large blunt object in the other. I’m Out.

I often wondered what it would be like to be tortured. Today I find out. I’m bound (hands & feet) and gagged. He’s sewn up his neck wound and licking the knife – there’s blood – while I have to watch. “See, I guess two can play this game,” he says. It’s my blood… apparently he’s cut me, ten places I can visibly see in my arms and legs. But from what I can feel there are several more than that.

“You should have made sure I was dead!” With a sick sadistic smile he edges closer to me. “Cause you’ll never leave here now.” He grabs my neck, kneels down and slides the blade down my left cheek. I can feel the blood spill out, downward, as it mixes with my tears. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time,” he whispers in my ear.

Again no one would blame me if I never came back.

You can't understand...

How I Could Just Kill a Man.


Ah, could you kill someone? Or feel angry enough to kill them. Well, here's a little advice: don't kill them but definitely get angry enough to be rid of them in your life. Tears, like the killing, are optional. Here's a little music that has been my song of the day and an old favorite piece of writing. It was included in my eBook "Killing Changes You" which you can buy here. 

Enjoy!

kisses, m.
  
 How I Could Just Kill a Man - Charlotte Sometimes
 



Between my legs

(12-9-09)

Between my legs. Lies a hope for the future. Safety. Love. My insecurity? The reason he strayed is between her legs. The reason I stay is between mine. Infidelities he shouldn't have. We're both crying. Both aching. Knowing it’s too damn hard to watch him leave each time. Welcoming him back into my arms despite these flaws. Into the warmth, the depths where he’d linger too long. Falling and fading quickly, taking me down with him. Consumed by desire. A dark desire that is delicately hidden but ever so welcoming. Watching him savor the taste like drinking a hearty pinot noir as the flavor deepens into a meaningful experience. An exceptional wine, meant to be slowly enjoyed down to every drop.

Disappointment. My weakness. Inadequacies as a female. The one thing that sells you short as a woman is there between your legs. Never being taken seriously. As a woman it will keep you weak if you choose. Deprive you of love if you let it. Or allow the true nature within to become empowered by it. Controlled. Demanding. Eve in the Garden of Eden with that convincing apple. Damned is the man that believes he is manipulating a woman. A woman is a cool calculating creature never to be trusted or taken lightly despite what lies between her legs.

Waiting for him to return one more time. Deep down knowing that the game never changes, yet I’ve been foolish enough to continue this way. Sitting carefully, naked in the cold dark kitchen at the small table I trace my fingers carefully along the Formica surface. My bare skin is alive with the anticipation of his return. Element of surprise. It is my very intention to seduce and distract. The pressure of cool metal steel is nestled against the inside of my thigh as I wait. Looking down I can see the invention of death between my legs. Just as I continue to think he hasn’t returned soon enough the front door moves. Quickly my hand reaches in pushing aside the revolver where his eyes can not see. Nothing but my smile and open invitation.

Carefully the dark room masks his face as he moves closer to me. Only his eyes are visible as he makes his way forward. From the looks of it, he’s quite pleased to find me unclothed and honest. Standing over me his hands reach down into my hair and along my neck. An extraordinarily hard kiss as he makes an effort to lean in. The roughness of the moment is intoxicating as his grabbing hands continue to trail along my bare skin. Hands around my hips and in the small of my back as lips move downward, tracing their way from neck to breasts, then further. My ambitious efforts have me fumbling through his clothing, unclasping and removing, as he advances. As he reaches my navel I continue to reassure him by gently stroking his hair; beautiful hair, dark, thick and lush. Head movements find a balance as he nears my thighs. Tug at the back of his head to make eye contact. Lifting eyes meet mine in a piercing stare. Shh! He calms me with a smile before reaching between my legs.

Slowly I part my legs further and give way. Sliding the gun out from its hidden place, ever so silently, with a scoot of my thigh. Removing the cold steel instrument of death as he bends forward to kiss the inside of my thigh. Lips continue to softly caress my inner thigh as his hands come around to circle my hips and pull forward. Silently I find a place beneath his temple. Bare. Visible to my aim. Rocking my hips forward to meet his increasing movements, with my target in sight, I squeeze the trigger tenderly releasing death. Between my legs.

Consumed...

muse - madness / song of the day 1252013

Needless to say I'm consumed by a little Madness right now. Words, of course! Oh and the musical kind... Don't you just love Muse? I know I do. 

Are you consumed by Madness? Is Madness your Muse? Or perhaps a little of both? A little Madness never hurts until someone takes it seriously. Now my loveliest readers... None of you would make that mistake... Would you? No I'm convinced that not one of you could make that mistake. But you never know. I wonder what would happen if someone did take it seriously?? 

Anyhoo... Here's a short story taken from my blog and also available in my ebook of short fiction pieces, Killing Changes You which you can find
HERE! on Amazon. Check it out! Enjoy a little Muse and Madness! 

kisses, m.



Madness Consumes Me
(4-28-09)

Madness consumes me. I wonder how many fingers I’ve cut off before I began to mince his arm into tiny little pieces using one of those ‘Magic Knife’ things. You know, one of the knives that cuts through cans; the ones advertised at 4:08 am in bad TV infomercials. Those infomercials meant for no one really; the same ones that infest your TV when your eyes can barely stay open and your mind won’t give in to sleep. 

Yes! It is sharp enough to cut through cans and apparently bones too. And the Puree setting on the blender should do the rest. Our blender is the same one they use on the astronauts’ food. 

Advanced. 
Sophisticated. 

You see, he always had to have the newest technologically advanced gadgets. If it was new and had the red stamped approval, he had to have it. Not that either of us were ever here to use them. We were hardly ever here. The maid used our kitchen more than either of us these days and that was mostly for cleaning. At least these devices finally came in handy. However, grinding up bones was never the purpose intended. 

Nonetheless it worked. 

Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart couldn’t have been prouder of me. I’ve crafted my murder into a tidy household project, minus the bows and ribbons on this and there won’t be any need to pre-heat the oven. Garbage disposal should digest my puree nicely.

Now what did this poor bastard do to end up on the right side of my trash compactor? He tried to kill me. I never saw it coming. Some people never get it, but I feel pretty naïve, cause I never saw this. 

Well, somehow I got the upper hand, so it’s him in little pieces and not me. How? He poisoned the wine. 

Red. 
Merlot. 
My favorite. 

The dumb bastard mixed up the glasses. I never did understand how anyone could go through so much trouble to accomplish something and then completely screw things up so badly. You’d think he would have caught something like that. 

Again I never saw this coming. Naïve. Deer in headlights. Love turned badly; turned to hate quicker than I could blink. If he had got things right, I quietly would have drifted off just as he did… 

What were we talking about? Oh yes, we were talking about improvisation, how it’s a dying art, when he quietly slid down and slumped over in his chair. How did I know about the wine? See I hadn’t taken a drink of mine yet. Sometimes I get so passionate in my beliefs that I don’t stop talking to breathe, let alone take a sip of wine. And the wine was all we had… 

After I checked his pulse I realized "Oh God, he's dead." I think most people freak out in situations like this and call the emergency services. I don’t know why I remained so calm. Systematically I went through his pockets and found his plans, notes and letters, my suicide note, and an insurance policy. 

I honestly thought he loved me, but as I read these notes while sitting at the table next to his body, I began to realize how much he’d really grown to despise me. Somehow our relationship had become a competition - a struggle to him. Seriously, I never saw this coming. I never thought I’d love someone so deeply and in reality he hated me so truly. 

I open a new bottle of merlot and prepare to finish my task at hand. 

Chop. Dice. Puree.