Tosca

One of my favorite operatic pieces is Tosca. It's amazing that I don't often discuss this with others. I find that people view certain music, art and culture to be off-putting. Oddly enough Opera is one of those genres. I tend to find myself drawn to those things that might put others off. It's been about six months since I took in the theater or opera but I find that it's something, much like art, best enjoyed in person. I don't disagree much with others about these things as people can be passionate about their dislikes and likes. How passionate? Pretty serious business. 

Well how do you deal with people you don't like... Cut out their tongue? I used to think that was a great way. Not so much nowadays. In Buddhism there is a believe that when you hurt someone you are only hurting yourself. The cruelty and meanness is about you. Not the other person. Really? Yes. Try to think of it this way... Would you like to have your tongue cut out for the words you said? Exactly. So when you decide to harm someone realize you are only harming yourself with the things you might do or say. Everyone is entitled to their opinions and desires... and reactions.

What do you think of this picture? Do you enjoy this type of photography? Maybe you don't. That's ok. I do and someday I want to own one by this artist. Maybe I won't? Maybe I will? It's just art... nothing to get upset up about or eat your words over. Now if you don't like Tosca... that might be different story. I'm kidding. ;)

tyler shields - scissors w/ kathy griffin

Here's an old story about losing one's temper over someone's words. I used to have a temper. This doll isn't perfect and a lot of my darkness went into my work. I wasn't the nicest of people and very off-putting a while back. My older pieces reflect this anger and frustration. These days I'm trying to improve myself and treat others better everyday. Kindness and humility are of the few qualities this doll finds attractive in others and embraces it herself. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

The Storm Rages Within.

(8-24-09)

The storm rages within. I can’t quite believe my actions. My eyes deceive me as the bloody fragment of speech lays in the capable grasp of my left hand and the razor sharp blade in the death-like grip of my right. I’m dealing out my own brand of justice this evening and it’s quite satisfying. His eyes are bloodshot and streaming uncontrollably with saline. The noises that escape his throat are deep and muddled. He’s drowning in his own blood. Serve him right. Speech is a miracle given to man as a tool to utilize to his best abilities. Not to be misused for inappropriate candor. How often do we choose the wrong words? Often. Too often are the wrong words used to convey messages. The television and radio are poor examples of proper etiquette. Sometimes I think that is why people lack the proper manners and discipline.

“Cat got your tongue?” I laugh methodically as I’m sharpening the blade. I gagged him and he’s tied down to the pool table in the back of the bar. “You’re wondering how this is possible,” I boast, “how not one person is coming back here to see what’s happening. Right? See, the guy that owns this place, well he don’t like what you did to his little sister last week and I just don’t like your mouth. So we’re going to fix that problem.”

Who am I to be judge and juror? Well, quite simply put… I’m the victim. A woman, who’s refused to be someone’s kicking post any longer. So I’m cutting out his tongue for talking to me in the most offensive way. This will teach you some manners. What did he think that I was some cheap trifling whore who would think such filth to be flattering? Of course, I’m a moronic slut with the IQ of a peanut that jumps at such ample opportunities. Obviously as dim-witted as some of these types of women are, they don’t deserve to be treated that way. I’m teaching this bastard a lesson, since he can’t discipline himself. What do you do a dog that has no self control? Castrate him. This is my humane form of castration for this asshole and you know what, I think I’m being quite reasonable.

It’s a funny thing the mouth, the gateway to your digestive tract, home to a host of bacteria and disease. In fact some animals have cleaner saliva than humans. The tongue nestled right in the middle of your jaw. It’s just sitting there with impending speech on the cusp of execution waiting on the brain to process the right synapse to bring life into words. I’ve fashioned an interesting brace to hold open his jaw. It’s quite a ghastly device that even a dentist wouldn’t envy. Reach in and pull out the squirming creature. Slice in tenderly. My sharp knife makes quick of this unpleasantness. To hear the sounds of anguish escaping his open cavity doesn’t deter me. I can only see the end result: his never-ending silence. The knife tears and pulls at the soft tissue. Red pools around the hole before me, begins spill down his throat and out on his face. Completion. He has no choice but to swallow the blood. There is true justice: Swallowing your own words.

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!

A little bit of farce never hurt anyone: He'll get his... dip & spit?!

She'll get hers... I think not! Not tonight at least! Here's a little bit of fun inspired by a fun photo! I do love when artists credit their inspiration... some just don't have manners do they! SO! How about Him getting a bit of his?  What can I say when you love to dip into life... life gets a little wet and spits back doesn't it! Life is a farce and sometimes you have to do what inspires you don't you... Well, so do I! Kisses, m.

Ryan Rottman & Chris Zylka - double dip c/o tylershields.com

He’ll get his

(3-20-2011 - original & revision links)

Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started. 

Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.

I always hating getting my hands dirty. You knew that you and your occasional "hetero" indiscretions. Honestly as I'm picking the blood from my acid wash mint vintage limited edition 501's I can hear you in the back of my mind telling me "you're such a bitchy queen sometimes." 

Hmph! "I'll show him bitchy queen!" Then I look down at all the broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle if I could manage to laugh over my instant desire to vomit over the mess I've made.

What’s left of her once golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Dear God Mary and Jesus, there's brains on my Dior loafers!  

Oh who knows, it could be her eye balls? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

This hooker had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either. Little fag hag messed with the wrong queen's man and I'm thinking she should've gotten worse for it! 

“She’ll get hers and I'll get a little bit of mine,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.

Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood. 

With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?

Hmmph! SLUT! There's nothing like a roaring case of HERPES to break up a happy home. It's just like glitter... gets everywhere in-between the cracks and never goes away!

It never made a bit of difference that you were taken when she got into bed with you. Or the next and next player. And it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more. She went forward to destroy all the beauty she could and wandered off to find more. 

Enough!

Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. So I did.

She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night. 

Trollop.

Home-wrecker.

Whore.

Same thing. Different names for it.

You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. Well, tonight there's a consequence!

She was the type of filth you wouldn’t consort with unless you wanted a cheap easy fuck. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame. I was the faithful and honorable gay man up until that little bitch broke up my home. 

Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill. Your beautiful grey suits with the custom liners and leather belts imported from Italy. She saw the dollar signs and wanted to get into your pants. You and your weakness for cheap sleazy hetero trash. Me, the gullible handsome homosexual in love with a bisexual to the end. To think only hours ago we shared a dance on the floor. Me in your favorite drag ensemble, you in a casual shirt waiting to stage an emergency call and fuck the STD princess. 

Honestly the only one I have to blame is myself... And there's only one way to remedy this problem. She's got to go. 

Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.

When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy. 

She slid onto my arm and kept looking at my crotch while telling me she was hungry. I was honestly amazed she couldn't tell I was a homo. But sluts are sluts... you can't hope they'd have a brain in their head with all that syphilis and libido rolling around. 

After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. It was a miracle she hadn't deep throated me before she went down. It’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.

 Just like she wanted. Hungry little bitch, never satisfied. 

Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.

After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.

The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”

Especially since I'm not done with his cheating ass! 

Reminiscing Words: Let Me... Words are meaningless

When someone begs to tell you anything remind them that "Words are meaningless." It's in the actions of how we live our lives that matter most. Telling someone anything won't stop them from continuing to live or start them anew unless they want to. Oh you could try but that is simply a waste of your precious time. Unless you like wasting things? 

This was a story that came from an evening where I witnessed a performer being heckled and also had to listen to a brokenhearted friend's woes once again. Needless to say she thanked me for the story and never took me to another show again. 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

Let Me
(7-1-2011)

Juno Temple and Brittany Snow c/o tylershields.com

“Let me tell you one thing, I’m through with the games. I’m done.” It’s the same lie I tell myself every day except it’s realized itself into words that I’m telling the incomparable Missy LaRue. She’s spent the better part of three years following my song with a dance in this third rate club. Somewhere between the first and second act of the night I tell her about my new ex-love and how much of a revelation it’s brought upon me.

“What if I told you that you were going to die? If I told you that you were going to die tomorrow would that change how you lived today?”  There’s not an answer in the house. It’s the one thing Missy likes to end her set with and tonight is different cause something happens when she asks it. It’s a hypothetical question meant to get the audience going ‘round in their heads. Never once does Missy ever expect a damn person pipe up with an answer. But tonight when she ended with that thought, somewhere off in the far right corner it came, a small voice that grew louder and louder until I heard what it was saying.

“It doesn’t matter.” The small man yells from the corner of the club before following it up with a colorful word or two between his rant. He’s telling her off. Telling her that she doesn’t know a damn thing after he calls her a self-righteous bitch before telling everyone that she’s a lying piece of work. Now Missy La Rue doesn’t jive with much of what other people think about her. Not one bit, but when you traipse across the advice she’s given others that gets her a bit worked up. Cause Missy don’t talk for vanity or personal gain. Missy wants to see people succeed and she knows like I know that most people won’t do a damn thing unless someone tells them to. That’s where her horse and pony show comes in.

“Honey, quit lying to yourself!” Missy tells me before motioning to the powder puff by the mirror.

“I’m not lying. What?”

“Honey we all say enough with the game. 'I quit.' 'I toss in the towel.' And although you can’t quit the game of living, you'll still lie to yourself and say it. You know, the only thing you ought to be through with is thinking you can change people. That’s what you should think. Every time you drag another one of these third rate bastards back from this third rate club and tell yourself that it’s love, that’s the lie. That man wants one thing and it sure as hell ain’t love. But he’ll tell you that just the same to get it. ”

“Oh Missy, you’re being…”

“Honest. Darling, I’m being honest with you. Which is more than anyone else in this world or next will ever be with you and don’t you forget it. I’m honest with every person I meet and their behavior dictates whether they are friend or foe, not mine. My sharp tongue won’t harm you if you take the truth like it is a sword to the chest. A lie is the kind that stabs you from the back.”

“Missy then how will I ever…”

“True love waits. A man that wants to know you, all of you, he does so. It’s what he’s after and he’ll be glad to wait for much more. The ones that want ONLY will settle on that. Just that.”

“Missy, I love you. Thank you for…”

“Darling you don’t know love, but I get your sentiment anyway. You’re ok in my book.”

“Now sugar, you’re entitled to your opinions about my show. I don’t think much about people who don’t have a lick of sense in their head. And fact be told, I love me a man with enough gumption to stand up for what he believes in. But first things first the name calling I can’t abide by and the second thing… the way you talk to someone you’ve never met speaks highly about the type of character you are. And you’re message is coming in loud and clear.”

Missy continues same as always. When she takes the path from side stage and walks down into the crowd she motions to Mike the stagehand to move the spot to follow her down into the crowd. The oohs and aahs of the crowd grow louder and louder until Missy is standing right next to the small man.

“Well sugar, what’s your name?  

“Jerod” the man breathes into the microphone while a thin blanket of sweat coats his face.

“Well, Jerry darling, what do have to say?”

“Um,” the small man swallows and says nothing.

“Come now, cat got your tongue?”

Silence emanates from the nervous small man.

“That’s what I thought, Sugar. Where was I? Yes, let us talk a little more. I don’t expect you or any of you to follow my word to the law. In fact that’s not at all what I’m about. I’m not a role model, I’m not a savior, and lord knows I’m not a saint. I’m simply here telling a little of what I know to those who may or may not know some of that already. And maybe it might help someone from making the same mistakes I've made. Oh yes! Jerry darling, are you ready to talk?”

“Ma’am, I don’t much agree with what you just said. I don’t like what game you’re running here. You’re trying to get people to do what you say and you’re a liar by that much.”

“Alright, that’s an opinion. No one is running a game any which way or how. And honey you shouldn’t make what I’m doing about you. Cause you don’t have to come here to listen to what I’m saying or watch what I’m doing. These people out here in the crowd, do you see them? Take a look. These fine people they get what I’m doing and what I’m REALLY about. And they do.”

With those words the audience roars with applause. Missy smiles and pats the small man on the back while the noise and laughter grows and when it rescinds she speaks her last words on the matter.

“So honey, I’m afraid your opinion… it doesn’t matter.”

And with those words, Missy let the man sit exactly where he was. Leaving him with his own words to ponder and the crowd with a show that they wouldn’t much forget when they wondered if tonight was truly their last one.

Reminiscing Words: She'll Get Hers... Let Her Have Him.

Revenge c/o tylershields.com

"F**k it! Let her have him..." Is something that I should've said once upon seven years ago when I thought I was in love with "the love of my life" before he decided to go back to his ex. But I didn't. I wrote. This lovely story (see below) was originally written with a twist of course. [Read it here: She'll get hers (09) - 1st written in 2006/2007. edited 2008. Posted in 2009. Ha!] I was afraid people wouldn't understand so I flipped things a bit... but I wrote it anyway.

After this one I wrote another. But didn't stop there. I wrote another. And another. More and more. Terrified of the gamble of it all, I still wrote everyday. And it's rather funny in hindsight how much I wrote. Then, the need for revenge ended but the ideas did not. So many things later... I still write. I still get inspired. I still get hurt. I still get angry. But I don't feel the need for vengeance. Why? If that guy had been the love of my life I never would have needed revenge. I would have let her have him. Enough said. They deserve each other... miserably. 

Do I worry about being in love again? Or how he'll see my words? No. My love will accept my past as exactly what it is: the past. As I will do the same for him. He may not understand where I was when these words were written but he will not judge me for my creativity. Love accepts, as is. You don't love someone if you need to change them. Anyway I know there's a guy out there with a unique spark for pondering the same darkness or at least an appreciation of it. 

Enjoy a little bit of vengeance revised...

kisses, m.

She’ll get hers

(3-20-2011 - revision)

Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started.

Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.

Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle.

What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

She had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.

“She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.

Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood.

With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?

Hmmph! SLUT!

It never made a bit of difference. Because it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more.

Enough!

Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. And I did.

She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night.

Trollop.

Home-wrecker.

Whore.

Same thing. Different names for it.

You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame.

Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill.

Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.

When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy.

After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. But it’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.

 Just like she wanted.

Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.

After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.

The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”

Maps

It's been a while since I posted some new darkness, the writing... in fact it's been a while since I've posted some writing. I let someone's bad attitude and my work environment affect me more than I should. Terribly inauthentic of me don't you think. haha. bygones. 

Needless to say I met some lovely artists and promoters, rather encouragers of art today at The New Algonquin Round Table who were very curious about my writing which yes it's been a while. Lovely to meet you all! Well I thought I'd give them a treat when they visited my blog: A story! It's old. Please don't judge me. It's been far too long since I've put up new. In fact the last short story about darkness I wrote has never been posted/published. It was something I had written after getting this lovely snake on my leg. Beautiful art! I could brag about the artwork for days. One of my favorite artists... Whom I trust, respect and who's work I've come to admire a great deal in addition to his always making time to answer my questions. Now the unpublished story?  It's about an art collector of sorts and reminds me of another story I once wrote...

snake. 2013. photo courtesy: w.m.

It's a little bit of something interesting I wrote about two years ago. It's not quite darkness or dirty. It's was about the experience of getting inked, which at that time I participated in as a bystander. It would not be until a few years later would I experience this for myself and realize... my friend was quite ridiculous to make it sexual. (PERVERT!) There's nothing sexual about it but it is... quite personal for both the artists and the people receiving the art. 

Enjoy the story! And the Art!

Kisses, m. 

Map

(11-2-2010)

A map of creation rests silently above my porcelain skin. Imprinted. Lines take shape and reach further beyond limits to document the contours of form. Two tiny tendrils of black circle and envelop my inner thighs. There’s no place untouched by the black vines climbing down and around the hips and small arch of my back. His rough arms reach across. Arms touching exposed valleys while moving closer against the canvas of flesh.

The color of the mermaid tattooed on his left arm appears to bleed into his skin. She’s weeping profusely as the needle enters my skin. Penetrating the thin layer of flesh with its intent the sharp instrument spreads the secrets of its inside. Throughout the surface the color spreads. Stamping itself into the bare reaches of the flesh canvas. Dark emotions swim from the petite lady sitting on his upper bicep as he continues to work. An artist crafting a masterpiece like no other before while I sit patiently waiting. In and out the needle works. The sound hums as I wait. Buzzing melodically to accompany the insatiable feeling of enjoyable pain that entices the receptors in my skin. Color grows larger and longer reaching upward and toward my face. The lines follow the symmetry of my breasts to complete the whole of the torso.

Branded by markings that reach beneath the surface in a sensation that is like nothing felt before. Unique identifiers laced in and out of the dermis to isolate one person from another. The only thing to separate the masses and it rests above your skin. An unprotected barrier now covered in a slightly bluish black outlined by red throbbing with an irrepressible pain that is more satisfying than unpleasant. Far from displeasing the sensation deepens the awareness of the body. Hands reach into the small curves of my small frame and grab to hold tighter as the surgeon continues steadily with his instrument.

Chair spins and rotates upward and around to follow the lines of my upper body while his hands move the mermaid never stops her tears. Her green tails swims in and out of my imagination while the final words are laced into the curls that stretch from the front up to the side of my neckline. The only thing I can visualize is the small tip of her green tail as it swims in the movement required to shift the needle against the remaining pieces of white skin. There are no souvenirs from this journey to commemorate the previous experience unaffected. No empty places or patches of bare left in this blueprint of life. Squills wind down one side and back up to the top of another in the pink light that falls clear through the windows upon the camouflaged bareness.

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.

Hold on

The World has much to offer and you should always reach for it while holding on to what's in front of you. There are things to let go of in life and things to keep reaching for. If you're lucky then you've found the one thing you'll never let go of while reaching for those dreams. Keep holding on to it... Love is grand & full of romance among other things that have nothing to do with being romantic... if you let it happen. You're only a hopeless romantic if you give up on yourself. Be a hopeful romantic! Find, be and stay in Love!

Anyhoo... Here's another bit of photo art that I was playing with a few weeks ago [it really wasn't supposed to see the light of day but some people can't seem to stay out of my photo library... *a little self control please] and a 400 which was a piece I had considered for my first e-book of short fiction Between The Sheets. You can buy my ebook here! Enjoy life, love and breathing.

PS: For those asking & emailing me about my return to posting fiction on the blog... Please think of Matisse for now. I will have an answer or rather something to share soon.

kisses, m.

golden gate vs the lovers 2013

 

 

Tighter.

(2-2-2011)

Through the low lights of approaching evening we are two that become one. Hand in hand walking, our arms locked into each other while our feet match the same stride. The graceful descent of the sun cascades a shadow of lavender across the horizon and a slight chill to the air. The houses seem quieter and less than inviting to our passing steps. Our movements manage to dance in unison through this empty street alone without notice.

The silence that surrounds us sends him into a whimsical mood. With a slip of a hand his arm wraps over and around me with a spin stopping our forward pace. Closer he turns me again and again before taking me in. Hugging gently, his sliding arms circle and lock around my torso. His fingers interlace behind my back. Each finger reaches inward as if to take me in whole. Tighter.

Attempting to match his embrace, my hands scramble. Both arms are struggling to return his hold. Dancing with his merging frame, tighter they squeeze and begin moving closer together. Carefully my probing hands find their way around his body until one ends where another begins. Locking in a grip that rests in the small of his back while my head finds its place upon his chest. Tighter.

The night becomes cooler in our surroundings. Light purple becomes a deeper violet and we’re wrapped around each other in a hold. Our arms are gripping each other securely and pulling without restraint until there is nothing between them. The crushing force of our weight against each other completes the circle. My face rests on his chest looking up into his eyes. His eyes look down into mine and he releases a heavy breath upon my face. I rest my lips upon his neck with a gentle kiss and squeeze. His arms return the constriction and his lips touch my forehead. Our breathing sounds deeper through the force of our embrace. Strained shallow breathes escape with a heaviness that’s familiar. Tighter.

Our bodies have no beginning and no end in the last light of the day. There are no sounds around us. No streets, no houses, and no one walking through the night. There’s only this feeling of security in our circle. In this moment we’re all alone. Alone in the world but we’re connected in our own moment. There’s nothing and no one anymore.

Let me

Juno Temple and Brittany Snow c/o tylershields.com

Let Me

“Let me tell you one thing, I’m through with the games. I’m done.” It’s the same lie I tell myself every day except it’s realized itself into words that I’m telling the incomparable Missy LaRue. She’s spent the better part of three years following my song with a dance in this third rate club. Somewhere between the first and second act of the night I tell her about my new ex-love and how much of a revelation it’s brought upon me.

“What if I told you that you were going to die? If I told you that you were going to die tomorrow would that change how you lived today?”  There’s not an answer in the house. It’s the one thing Missy likes to end her set with and tonight is different cause something happens when she asks it. It’s a hypothetical question meant to get the audience going ‘round in their heads. Never once does Missy ever expect a damn person pipe up with an answer. But tonight when she ended with that thought, somewhere off in the far right corner it came, a small voice that grew louder and louder until I heard what it was saying.

“It doesn’t matter.” The small man yells from the corner of the club before following it up with a colorful word or two between his rant. He’s telling her off. Telling her that she doesn’t know a damn thing after he calls her a self-righteous bitch before telling everyone that she’s a lying piece of work. Now Missy La Rue doesn’t jive with much of what other people think about her. Not one bit, but when you traipse across the advice she’s given others that gets her a bit worked up. Cause Missy don’t talk for vanity or personal gain. Missy wants to see people succeed and she knows like I know that most people won’t do a damn thing unless someone tells them to. That’s where her horse and pony show comes in.

“Honey, quit lying to yourself!” Missy tells me before motioning to the powder puff by the mirror.

“I’m not lying. What?”

“Honey we all say enough with the game. 'I quit.' 'I toss in the towel.' And although you can’t quit the game of living, you'll still lie to yourself and say it. You know, the only thing you ought to be through with is thinking you can change people. That’s what you should think. Every time you drag another one of these third rate bastards back from this third rate club and tell yourself that it’s love, that’s the lie. That man wants one thing and it sure as hell ain’t love. But he’ll tell you that just the same to get it. ”

“Oh Missy, you’re being…”

“Honest. Darling, I’m being honest with you. Which is more than anyone else in this world or next will ever be with you and don’t you forget it. I’m honest with every person I meet and their behavior dictates whether they are friend or foe, not mine. My sharp tongue won’t harm you if you take the truth like it is a sword to the chest. A lie is the kind that stabs you from the back.”

“Missy then how will I ever…”

“True love waits. A man that wants to know you, all of you, he does so. It’s what he’s after and he’ll be glad to wait for much more. The ones that want ONLY will settle on that. Just that.”

“Missy, I love you. Thank you for…”

“Darling you don’t know love, but I get your sentiment anyway. You’re ok in my book.”

“Now sugar, you’re entitled to your opinions about my show. I don’t think much about people who don’t have a lick of sense in their head. And fact be told, I love me a man with enough gumption to stand up for what he believes in. But first things first the name calling I can’t abide by and the second thing… the way you talk to someone you’ve never met speaks highly about the type of character you are. And you’re message is coming in loud and clear.”

Missy continues same as always. When she takes the path from side stage and walks down into the crowd she motions to Mike the stagehand to move the spot to follow her down into the crowd. The oohs and aahs of the crowd grow louder and louder until Missy is standing right next to the small man.

“Well sugar, what’s your name?  

“Jerod” the man breathes into the microphone while a thin blanket of sweat coats his face.

“Well, Jerry darling, what do have to say?”

“Um,” the small man swallows and says nothing.

“Come now, cat got your tongue?”

Silence emanates from the nervous small man.

“That’s what I thought, Sugar. Where was I? Yes, let us talk a little more. I don’t expect you or any of you to follow my word to the law. In fact that’s not at all what I’m about. I’m not a role model, I’m not a savior, and lord knows I’m not a saint. I’m simply here telling a little of what I know to those who may or may not know some of that already. And maybe it might help someone from making the same mistakes I've made. Oh yes! Jerry darling, are you ready to talk?”

“Ma’am, I don’t much agree with what you just said. I don’t like what game you’re running here. You’re trying to get people to do what you say and you’re a liar by that much.”

“Alright, that’s an opinion. No one is running a game any which way or how. And honey you shouldn’t make what I’m doing about you. Cause you don’t have to come here to listen to what I’m saying or watch what I’m doing. These people out here in the crowd, do you see them? Take a look. These fine people they get what I’m doing and what I’m REALLY about. And they do.”

With those words the audience roars with applause. Missy smiles and pats the small man on the back while the noise and laughter grows and when it rescinds she speaks her last words on the matter.

“So honey, I’m afraid your opinion… it doesn’t matter.”

And with those words, Missy let the man sit exactly where he was. Leaving him with his own words to ponder and the crowd with a show that they wouldn’t much forget when they wondered if tonight was truly their last one.

Let me tell you something… went to a show recently and saw the amazing and talented artist heckled. And the person turned the tables on the jerk. I thought that was pretty crafty and resilient of the artist. The man left and I stood still in awe of the artist for standing up for himself. I do love when people represent themselves. The experience reminded me of this story. Because to do what needs to be done as an artist, a writer, an actor, and person living from talent it is having a strength within to deflect the negativity. Ultimately as a fledgling writer I don't have the luxury of experiencing the exciting life or blows that come from the spotlight. And I can't say that it upsets me either. That form of negativity is something my life does not need. 


So let me tell you... Actually, why don’t you tell me? Come now, what do you have to say? You all have something even if you think otherwise. I promise you that much. Please realize that your words have power. All of our voices do. And you should speak for yourself. I love when people represent themselves confidently. Be proud of your voice. It’s amazing. We are all teachers in this life. Just remember you shouldn’t expect others to listen or follow your words as dogma. Likewise you should never follow anyone’s words as law. There is not one truth I can tell you that you will not discover for yourself.

So go forth, learn and teach. But you must understand your knowledge will be interpreted and spread by others. The message you choose to share can have significant effects. You can choose to attack others or be positive about what you’re saying. Remember, no one will think lesser of you for saying exactly what's on your mind as long as you do it in a manner that is respectful to others. You may not agree with what someone is doing in this life but that is not up to you. Furthermore you can’t disagree with a situation without being fully informed. And unless you bother to ask someone about their situation I doubt you’ll ever know the truth of what that is. Live, love and breathe with everything you’ve got. kisses, lovelies. m.