Saturday, November 9, 2013


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 Now the unpublished story?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. 


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.

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