they named me nichole

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BLACK SNAKE MOAN: When the music starts its like this curtain flutters in the back of my mind, disturbed by a sudden gust of unseen breeze. A gust so strong it makes the heavy curtain sway - only slightly, but noticeably, noticeable enough to start a mental itch. A mental itch that ripples through layers of inner barriers enough to reach the surface. My flesh and blood...I feel the itch in my bones. Stemming from a place where thought turns into color. Where words turn into body language. Turning mental agony, memories, attraction, pleasure, hopes, failures and torment into physical lashes. Leaving all that we want to release in verbal cries to that of a musician...behind the thick velvety curtain laced with black webbing a woman waits. She waits tense in the dark feeling all and nothing. A full circle of dead life...A monster awaiting a harsh stab of lightning. A woman with thick black strokes of paint encircling her features, accentuating their simplicity, and lush black hair long and flowing - hideous and irresistible...vibrating with the rhythm of the beats. Metal clinks, chiming around decor chosen for the dance. The heavy weight of chains chilling her flesh as they hang lifeless. A necessary weight to keep from loosing her mind in the wicked world of artistic expression. The madness of raw passion. Dressed in colors that are so striking and unmatched they are appalling, distracting, yet mysteriously appealing, put together like a puzzle, like lacing tight leather boots thigh high...A primal urge of sexual exploitation and violent bursts of self hate, acceptance, and love mix with complete lack of desire to feel...feel anything but the music surging through a part of her body she can only call a soul. To fuck the beat of the drum and to ride the pulsation of the bass...She waits still and quiet, expressionless only her skin is vibrating with an inner energy called to life by the thrum of the guitar...And she waits wound so tight like a jack in the box - wound tighter and tighter till she is like a nothing at all....Somewhere behind a curtain in the back of my mind....She waits.American Gothic. The creature and the cage. How I came across this creature is rather bizarre.She had no mouth to speak, only eyes to see. She had no arms to claw, no legs to kick, only a cage to rest her upper half upon in her simple silent existence. A cage much like that a seamstress might have used in a historical less technological time. A cage shaped like a floor length skirt, wide at the bottom, and sturdy metal. A criss cross structure glimmering in the dim light shining through at the top of the stairs.She was not flesh like I have flesh. I do not believe it is blood that wells inside her chest. She is merely a beige shape of a woman.. She was not finished, the state I found her in. I was not brought to her by screaming, no, it was by chance that I had wandered down into the dark.Ok this one's hot off the press...Halloween 2007 - based on an actual series of events....god I love this kid!
..I've got a few comics started. "Life With Cole" is the first of 3 I'm working on that I've done since high school. It started with a graphic novel idea I had and hope to complete...one day...over the rainbow...I started "Raggamuffin" when dating this space case punk from Indiana - yes jean vest with studs, tight pants, shoes from England, big hair, and 80s punk at will....what a fuckin trip that was! So yeah I was inspired....Then there was Tall Dark and Handsome...another one of Raggs swaggs....Sorry guys this one's on hold due to the sudden...uh lack of male companionship...And now there is a work in progress..."Wik n Grooves" something a little off the deep end - not yet posted...."Life with Cole" is a lot of teaching, cleaning, cooking, patience, icky sticky goo,....and a lot of fun.
..This is a black and white from Raggamuffin...This is pretty much how it goes...
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| View Show | Create Your OwnRaggamuffin Episode 3 “Good Bye Jonnie Boy”So Jonnie Boy was like an A-hole meant to be at a very fucked up time in my life...only the weak are victims...and then we say our good byes...god love the memories - heaven help the damned....
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