Time Travel with Andy Warhol...

One of my favorite series that I wrote was a fictional take on events with historical figure Andy Warhol. It was inspired by a lack of something to do one evening... but I've digressed and shared too much. I'll let you read about it instead. Here's one of the passages. 

Enjoy!
Kisses, m.

May 12, 2013

2:00AM Last Night : Took the time machine to see Andy Warhol at The Factory.

Andy was contemplating mortality while asking me if I’d like another Mimosa. Decidedly I’d grown weary of the conversation and had had two Mimosa’s too many so I replied, “Please Andy darling, no more drinking and talking about dying. I’d rather go shopping. Can we go shopping Andy?”

Being divinely Andy Warhol he placed a skull upon his head and said, Mony, I never think that people die. They just go to department stores! Lets visit them! And I’ll wear a hat.”

C.S.or.W

Some ladies love to keep up their bits. Others don't... So do you cut, shave or wax? Nonetheless... watch out for those ingrown hairs. Here's a little short story that reminds me that maybe you shouldn't use the scissors and you might want to talk to a professional. 

Enjoy! 

Kisses, m.

Cut f/ Lili Peper c/o Tyler Shields

Quick Cut

(09-20-10)

Good afternoon. No appointment necessary. Walk-in. That’s fine I can take you now. Where’s Margo? She’s out to lunch. I see she’s your usual girl. Of course I’m capable of handling a quick cut. Let’s take care of this. Come on over. Tell me,  what do you want? A little of the top and leave this piece alone. In the rear take a tiny bit less and up front, leave it long. Got it, honey.  Let’s get on with it then. You certainly don’t have all afternoon. You’re on lunch. How much time you got? 37 minutes left in your lunch hour from the moment you stepped foot through that door. What an interesting answer. You have it all timed out. Oh I see, a 45 minute lunch hour. It takes me exactly 23 minutes to walk here in the morning. Today, this morning, the walk over to the shop that usually takes 23 minutes,  it takes eight minutes longer since there’s an old lady holding up traffic causing a crowd to form at the intersection while three men try to help her out they end up brawling over the way each other looks. What is it? Not there. I’m cutting too short. Well, I have to make it even and move onto the back. We’re down to 28 minutes and you have to pick up a suit at the cleaners on the way back in. Aren’t you a busy bee? There’s never enough time to pick up after work. I always seem to arrive after they close. Last week I had to leave my Organdy cocktail dress overnight because I missed the closing time. That’s looking much better. 22 minutes. Almost finished. Just another smidge on the left corner. Uh-huh, there. All done and back on your way. Ta-dah!

Between Her Legs

Some men like to spend their evening working hard on a piece while other men seem to love to spend their evenings getting hard with a little peace between some girls legs. There's nothing wrong that but don't count on love if that's all you like to spend your time doing. Which one are you? Here's a story that a lot of people love while others seem to think I went a little too far when I wrote it. Perhaps a bit of peace between my character's legs would have been better to their liking? 

Enjoy! 
Kisses, m. 

Peace between legs c/o Tyler Shields

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.

Dragged

Some men love to be in drag! What can I say? Drag away you dirty men! Just know that the man I dig would never let himself get into drag. It would hurt his junk and that would never do for moi! So you dirty men don't hurt your junk too much when you go out in drag! That's important!

Anyhow this little ol pic reminds me of something dark I once wrote. Since I'm sharing for a few new readers... Here's another old story where another fabulous picture captures the real life sentiment of the very fictional tale  completely! 

Zachary Quinto from the Dirty Side of Glamour c/o tylershields.com

ALSO: If you haven't seen the new Justin Timberlake video, TKO... It somewhat captures the pure malevolence of my vision more cinematically. Although it's fake movie magic... Give it a look-see.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m

Six Feet

(5-21-09)

Night. Pitch Black. Headlights. Rain. Mud. He’s held up pretty well considering the 10 mile walk out here in the middle of nowhere. Barefoot for about the last 8 miles, I’d reckon. Well I’ve just spent the last 10 miles dragging this bastard down an unmarked road. Tied a rope to the hitch of my truck and gave him a 10 ft lead. Of course he fell a few times. Now about dragging someone on a rope while driving, it’s a chore cause if you go too fast he’ll end up all bloody & damaged and if you’re going too slow chances are he might jump in back. Not this one. He’s quite obedient. He’s a bit roughened up, but there’s no real damage yet. Shirt’s torn and almost gone. Well, he won’t need that anyhow.

He’s on the muddy ground in front of me. Filthy from falling in the muddy road along the way. As I’m digging he’s watching me, pleading for his life with his eyes. See I’ve got the upper hand here. We haven’t said a word since I tied him to the truck. In fact, this bastard is so sorry that he will do anything to make it up to me. His last words were something about eternal love and gratitude…etc. Sounded like begging to me. Untied and in the mud, he could’ve run at any moment. Yet he sits and stares at me, with eyes full of love and passion. Honestly all this obedience… I’m not impressed. I’m not changing my mind. I crack him with the shovel. “BASTARD!” He has me out here in the rain, digging in the filthy mud, “OUCH!” A broken nail as my hand slips down the handle. I crack him again. He stays and takes my abuse. I continue to dig.

Six feet. I continue to dig with the occasional glance at my dearly beloved. He never stops watching me, with those deep penetrating eyes, piercing my heart and confusing my mind. Damn! I’m in too deep to crack him with the shovel. “STOP IT!” I can’t take him back. This will only continue to happen. He can’t help himself. And he doesn’t understand. I wish he was like this all the time, but he’s not. It’s only a matter of hours even minutes before he changes again. And the madman emerges. It’s like night and day, Jekyll and Hyde. No matter how much I love him, this has to end. I could look the other way when he killed the animals and even all those evil men he hunted down. But that poor girl. What he did to her was horrific. It was hard to believe a human was capable of such physical violence. It took me three days to find all of her parts, minus the ones the monster kept as souvenirs, in that room. The one I’m not allowed into. It was quite frightening when I picked the lock that day. It couldn’t be helped. Not after that trail of blood that zigzagged its way down the hall and disappeared under the door.

“Get in the hole!” I scream. I have a rifle pointed square at the back of his head. He gets up and climbs in. “SIT DOWN.” He pauses and stares at me with those gorgeous eyes I can’t resist. I wish he wouldn’t, it only makes this harder. See I have to shoot him and I hate killing things. I cry when I run over small animals. I can’t imagine doing this for sport. It’s still raining. I’m crying. I sit down and drop the gun. Before I know it I’m in the hole kissing him goodbye.

“BANG!” sounds the gun, just as he breaks away from my kiss. His body pauses, he looks at me one last time and falls to the ground. He knew. Had the gun the whole time. I’m relieved. I was going to let the monster out of the hole. Selfishly I didn’t want to live without him no matter the cost. Even my life.

ROCK THIS!

There's nothing quite like hearing a great rock n roll band for the first time and convincing yourself they are the best thing in the world. Then again there's nothing quite like your lying cheating boyfriend in a rock n roll band... because you thought he was the best thing in the world once too. Anyhoo... Here's an oldie but goodie with a photograph that always reminds me that sometimes your favorite things can kill you if you overdo them too much! Character was based off of a musician friend who once wished I wasn't inspired... my thoughts on the matter:  Maybe he shouldn't have mistreated his girlfriend. Even if she wasn't me. Just a thought. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

Rock n Roll Kills - Tyler Shields (From The Kills Series) 

How to Kill A Rock Star

(6-10-09)

“WHY WON’T YOU DIE?!” I shriek as I raise my head up out of pure frustration and release my grip around his neck. I just wasted the last 15 minutes trying to strangle this bastard with a handful of guitar strings to no such luck. The game is getting old now. I just want this bastard dead. There are tiny pieces of metal embedded in the gaping circular wound wrapped around his neck, which looks a lot more like a rug burn than a strangulation scar. “YOU FUCKER.” I kick the chair over, breaking as it falls and his limp body sprawls out onto the floor, still alive. At least he’s unconscious.

“I never did care for your music anyway,” was the last thing I said to this SOB before he passed out from the drugs I slipped in his whiskey. Out cold before I ever went to work. The look on his face was complete shock as he went down with a bang. If you’ve seen one, then you’ve seen ‘em all, rockers and their poison. Johnny Black was no exception. He took it like a pro too. Johnny Black. Black labeled - Just how he liked his whiskey. Black heart - How he liked to treat his women. Breaking hearts every show, every town. Parading around with his long line of women to establish his rock star legacy. Quite honestly he’s made a fool of me for the very last time. Filth. Trash. Scum. Methodically I look around the room. Guitar strings will do nicely, after I make him suffer a little.

Gently I rub his face as he comes to. “Johnny, honey, you can go ahead and scream if you want, but no one will hear you. That backup band of yours is having a ball out on stage right now.” The noise from the crowd and music seeps through the dressing room walls and fills the quiet spaces. He smiles and raises his head. I run my fingers through his dark tousled hair and pull, turning his eyes toward mine. He knows I’ve tied him up. He can’t struggle. I pull out my knife and smile. Wink at him one last time before I cut off a finger. He takes it. “Hard to play guitar without one of those?” I question. Silence and a smile.

Several fingers later, he’s far less cooperative. “Johnny, I’m gonna cut out your tongue.” I lean in and whisper in his ear. Oh and that’s it. He’s struggling now. His screams release into a sea of din for no one but me to enjoy. Such beautiful music his pain produces. I grab his hair and brace his head. I put my blade to his neck. He stops and gives me his full attention. I slice in and let some blood spill out this artificial wound. Calm. Good. Now the fun begins…

Awake. Out of options, he lays before me on the floor, gagged and tied down where I control his fate. I bend down and straddle his torso as I stick him with my sharp dagger. It finds a home in his gut, sweetly ever so gently entering without the least resistance. Twisting and tugging my tool upward I make my way up his belly to the base of his rib cage and shove. He releases an agonizing scream of pain that spills out past the crimson gag. Damn! There’s a knock at the door. At this moment this bastard dying is the least of my problems. “Almost more trouble than this is worth,” are my thoughts as I wipe the blood clean from my dagger and slowly rise to attend to this visitor. Probably just another groupie. These girls never quit. “Fucker!” As I kick his struggling body before I walk towards the door. He grunts, but no words can escape. Tear open my blouse and show some skin in case it’s his manager interrupting.

Before I get to the door. “Johnny , you’re on again in five. Get it together,” barks the stage hand as he walks away. This is yet another stop in another seedy roadside bar. Tonight it’s Hot House, Louisiana, which is an insignificant blip so small they’d consider it a mistake and it’s most definitely off the maps. Considering which, nobody would notice if you disappeared out here in the middle of no where. He’s due out onstage at 11 pm. for the second show to close out the night. Step back to the scene of my crime. He watches me as I move closer. Tears roll down his cheek. He’s got five minutes left to live. No more games. This ends now. I pull out my revolver to finish the job.

Band strikes up the same old song as I leave out the back. Exit stage door left. Out into the dark night once again. Back to the heartbreak hotel to mend what’s left of my broken heart.