Friday, March 30, 2012

... “If you haven't cried ...

... your eyes can't be beautiful.” -Sophia Loren

Sometimes, I wonder if people can see my pain .. my sadness.. in my images. Do you love me for the beauty of the photo.. or do you love me for the reflection of the void in my heart that you feel in yours?

I have chronic, mild to severe, joint & back pain. Always. Modeling was one of the most incredibly painful things I've done in my life, without fail. A good portion of why I had to stop traveling was due to the increasing level of pain that being on an airplane or in a car would cause me... still causes me. I am forced to seek steady, "real world" employment in the hopes of finding something with insurance that will allow me to have these issues diagnosed and treated on a regular basis.

Though.. sometimes I think giving up the "traveling model" identity .. might almost be more painful then the reason I had to let it go.

I deeply miss modeling. I miss the creativity.. the connection.. the flow of movement. I adored being the "chameleon", and the pleasure of seeing new images I helped create. It's an addiction.. a craving.. a need. There's an old superstition that cameras consume your soul. Every photo takes a piece of it until, eventually, there's nothing left of you except what's in the camera.

I suddenly understand why the story came about.

Modeling is a consuming, hungry, gluttonous thing. You give to it because it needs to take, and because you need to give. You feed the camera what you have inside of you, so that you might become the image .. the art.. the wonder of what it will give birth to. You become the blank canvas .. the hand, the eyes, the body .. you are no longer the name on your birth certificate. You are "Model".. and it will ravenously feast at the banquet of you until you become undeniably altered.

Am I better for this? I don't know.

I occasionally catch myself pining for it, like a lost love .. a heartache that throbs just enough to remind you some deeply engrained piece of you is missing.

Eyes are beautiful because they cry. Models are beautiful because they give, change, grow, become. 

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

.. Sometimes, the world ...

.. sometimes, the world really is flat.
Two sides and an edge that drops off into a deep void
with no air and nothing but my own heartbeat to hold on to.
So I spin 'round as quickly as I can,
faster and faster, 'round and 'round,
because if I spin fast enough
there's no edge, no finite place.

But I have to stop eventually.
The dizziness, the momentum, gravity
conquers again.
I fall.. the world falls.
The sky is spinning, but the world has stopped.
I lie on the edge, crying as the sky spins overhead.
It's supposed to be round. It's not supposed to stop.

Why I can't I make it round? When did
Santa stop being real
the Tooth Fairy become my mother
Jack Frost stop painting my windows
circus clowns become old guys in paint
princesses become politics
the magic fade away?
my glass become harder to fill?

They don't tell you
that the dragon slayers
come home from battle with nightmares and
hollow spaces you can't fill.
that the sidewalk really does end
and you can get lost over the edge.
that sometimes Cinderella doesn't find a prince
and might just have to climb the tower to
rescue Rapunzel and slap Snow White for
sucking down poison to escape reality.
how the prince drinks and tickles the scullery maid
when he thinks you aren't looking and
leaves bruises that won't heal
and broken souls behind him.

How do I make it round again? make the
fairy tales have happy endings and
write my own.
I don't know how
but I will. I must. I can.
I believe
in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy,
carpets can fly, fairies still dance.
that the hero can slay the dragon, slay his dragons
and be okay.
that the prince will get
what's coming to him
and the princesses will
save each other in the end.
I will have
snowflakes on my window
and sing silly songs in the dark
read stories to my cat
and blow bubbles in the rain.

Live flat. I won't.
My world is round.
 “I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.” -Joseph Addison

Monday, February 14, 2011


“Eve was not taken out of Adam's head to top him, neither out of his feet to be trampled on by him, but out of his side to be equal with him, under his arm to be protected by him, and near his heart to be loved by him.” -Matthew Henry

Sunday, January 9, 2011

It's been over a year ..

Do I dangle myself over the edge.. praying that whoever is there to catch me can catch me, hold me, carry me, and keep me safe from myself..? Or do I just wait .. and keep on with this life as it is, hoping that I'll be able to find someone eventually who makes my world round again?

Going to be featured in the January 13th issue of Karin + Raoul magazine thanks to John Klukas and Aeric Meredith Guojon<3 

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

It is set upon me..

.. to be who and what I am with the best of my ability, the most of my creativity, and the entirety of my heart .. to lose myself in it time and again, and to bring myself back from it with the knowledge that I may repeat the experience endlessly til the day I draw my final breath in this world.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

This aching in my bones ..

the cold makes it hurt
makes it creak and groan.
So tired of long days, long nights
coast to coast flights in full planes.
Weariness I wear like a skin,
loneliness a bedfellow.
So tired.

Dreams again..

My book collection. Walking into my room and having my pick of a hundred or two beautiful masses of words to wrap myself into.. anything I want.. Philosophy, History, Fantasy.. any world I want. Pulling a story to read to someone, to share something that means so much to me...

Waking up next to someone special.. the warm, smooth arch of a spine under my hand.. the soft musk in his hair.. the gentle sound of sleep lulling me back into slumber. Long nights awake, so much shared with so little spoken.

Nightmares sometimes..

Loud, angry. Waking up with tears streaming down my face.. as if I could just cry enough, it'd stop .. please stop. Stop please, it hurts. You're hurting me, let me go.. please please god please just let me go. Whimpering, sobbing, begging, pleading, crying, screaming. Please let it be over soon, please. Feeling useless.. worthless.. as if it were my fault.. it had to be my fault .. I must have done something wrong, I made him angry.

Waking up..

some scars heal slowly. Painfully.

Breathe. In .. out ... again. Rinse, repeat.

See my scars?
They're there, I swear.
Criss-crossing my body, over arms, under thighs
lacing like spiderwebs over my hands
layer upon layer over my cheeks and eyes
small ones, fine ones
longer, thicker
caressing my stomach, my hips
gentle kisses and harsh screams
small tears, angry voices
some broken hearts and a few lost hopes
small hurts carefully plotted and planned
one here, two there, maybe one more next to these
hurt me, hate me, leave your mark
I'll carry your scar upon my heart
she hurt you, let me take the pain
he hit you, I'll make it go away
lost friends, lost homes, lost lost lost lost lost
it hurts to see sometimes
to look in a mirror and see these scars
twisted flesh, burnt and burning
ripped skin, careful cuts
marred surface, rippled with pain
everywhere, face, neck, shoulders, back
over my ribs, down my arms
so many scars, too many scars
can you see them? how can you not?
I see them. every day I see them.
They're there, I swear.

But you can't see them. Because they're inside.
These are my life experience. My "youth".. childhood tortures, teenage nightmares. Lost things, broken parts. I carry them because they mark a record of my life... so much life in such a short time.

These are my courage. My strength. My dreams, hopes .. the things I've survived, given up, taken back, given away, broken, healed.

These are my age. The record of who I am.. who I've been.. I can count them. Recount them.. stories, memories .. some hurt, some don't. Some are tears .. hot, painful, choking me. Some make me smile, laugh, sigh.

My heart feels old. So old.

These bones of mine. They ache.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

I still feel you..

your heart beat, your breath
the hair against my skin
sweat and muscle flexing, pushing
the shake of your body
when you push into me, pull from me
the hurried moan
closer, further, harder
my nails digging, ripping
a hard thrust
my breath catches in my throat
your name pounding through my blood
pulling you closer, tighter
dragging you into me
fucking me, holding me
breaking me
bearing into me

I can feel you
in my sleep, in my waking
every morning
every night
I try not to
but still

I can feel you

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

I'm running out of glue..

.. I scrap it, start over, and it breaks again.
I try to glue it together, but there's pieces missing,
or they aren't fitting properly, or the glue isn't working just right.
So I have to toss it and start over.. again.
It's frustrating. I feel clumsy, awkward.
My hands shake every so often, and my coordination is just..
not quite right.. for what I need.
I get confused, trying to figure out where to go with it,
what to do with it.
For a few blissful moments, sometimes, I can forget about it,
focus on something else. But I can't.
Because some things just have to be done.
So I do them.
I'm tired now. My back aches, breathing hurts some nights.
I promised that when it wasn't worth the tears, I'd move on..
so it's time. Time for a new try. To scrap the mess and start over.
Take some old parts, some new parts, a bit of glue, paint, string,
a little spit, a lot of luck, and hope.

Hope. That tiny, fluttering thing that can almost be unbearable
sometimes to carry around. It swells and grows at the least word or
gesture. It betrays sometimes.. that false beacon from a lost and lonely lamp.
It hurts. The pain .. I need it some days. Because I'd rather hurt, even to the
utter core of my being, then feel nothing. Be nothing.

Because if it hurts, there's still a chance. Still Hope. Still something there to break and bleed and crack and crumble. So I hurt.

And start looking for more glue.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

What dreams are made of ..

Her message:

"Hi Natalie, thank you for accepting my friendship. I was drawn to your photo for a reason I wasn't sure why until just now. You are a beautiful model and soul. I had a long run in Mary Kay where I loved working with my ladies doing makeovers and was taught by many artists through the years. Also, I have had a strong inner urge the past few weeks to get back into the world of being a make-up artist. I believe now, that through my connecting with you, I have my question answered. Thank you Natalie for answering my prayers. ♥ ♥ ♥"

My rely:

There are things, sometimes, that remind us why we do so love what we do, what we dream of, what we hope to give of ourselves to the world around us.

And sometimes, there are things that make everything we work for worth the tears, the struggle, the laughter, the joys..

Thank you. For answering my prayers. For showing me that somewhere, this was all worth it to one person. That it inspired and encouraged the dreams of a dreamer to change their world just a little.

Monday, June 21, 2010

I'm dreaming.. again..

Night after night.. different dreams, but not different.


A heavy breath.. rushing across my skin
lips touch mine, a tongue, a taste.
A push, an arm.. lifting, pulling
sliding me along a counter, then quickly
so quickly
onto the bed.
A soft moan, a soft growl, fingers fumble
then catch.. a button, buttons, a zipper
cloth slides off with a whisper.
Teeth pulling, biting, scraping
a moan, a sigh, my back arching
your arm pulls closer.
My hand wraps across your neck, pulling
begging for that taste, those lips
My fingers search, find, grasp
you growl softly, I squeeze
pull, stroke.. firmly,
you groan again and lift my head to you.
A taste.. soft lips wrapping softer skin
down, into the warmth, pinning my tongue
then up again, gently, firmly
and again, squeezing
and again
you push me back.
Hands pulling at my skin, digging
scratching, spanking, pinning me in place
legs parted, wrapped around
you push, I moan
deepest, hardest
and out
and again, back inside, harder, faster.
I almost scream, biting it off into your shoulder
bite harder, digging my nails down your back
pulling, dragging, you thrust
again and deeper
yourself in me
me harder, faster
harder, deeper
oh god keep going
and you go
teeth and nails, hard muscle, soft skin
fisted hair, searching mouth
a taste, lips, tongue
you swallow my moans, my sighs
muscles tense, you growl
i whimper, you groan
what? you ask, harder. I say
faster, harder
fuck me
SMACK your hand on my ass
as I
RIP my nails down your back
so tight. you say
so hard. I say
and we go
longer, harder
pushing me into the bed
pulling me to the edge
on my knees, i push
you growl
i push harder
you go deeper
i moan
me harder
so fast
so hard
a growl, a groan that rocks my heart
i move, you grab me
i moan, you fall into me
into me, onto me
we breathe, you sigh
a heavy breath, rushing across my skin.

the dream fades.


I'm sitting in a chair outside the front door. The sun has mostly set.. there's a faint splash of color left in the clouds and a soft night breeze brushes the hair across my face. I'm waiting, anxiously. I jump a little at the barking of a dog as I hear the sound of an engine coming closer. It gets close, idles for a bit, then dies as a door opens and shuts. I'm looking at my knees, my hands shaking with small tremors. A pair of boots step into my line of vision.. a voice starts to speak, then stops suddenly, silently, as attention is brought to the small box and the smaller piece of plastic in my hand. A soft grumble, somewhere between a whisper and a growl, as callused hands reach forward and take mine. I hear a voice .. it sounds so small and quiet, I don't realize it's my own at first.. "It's positive". I look up slowly, a smile gently crossing my face as tears blur my vision..

the dream fades.


I'm standing in front of a mirror in a bedroom. It's a long antique mirror, tall enough to reflect my body from head to ankles. I'm standing in front of it, nude, and simply looking at myself.

As I watch, the reflection shifts. My body shifts. My hips grow a bit wider, my belly begins to take on that familiar form of life quickening inside. My breasts grow heavy and rounder, my back shifts to accommodate the change. I can see the faint stretch marks as my skin flexes and grows to take on this new shape. As I watch, seeing nothing but the change taking place, I hear a voice, calling my name.. lower and stronger then my own. It sounds like velvet, and I can feel my pulse quicken, my heart warm with the sound of it, as I gently run my hand over the weight in my belly. I reach out to the mirror.. as if to brush a speck away..

and the dream fades.


The next.. I'm sitting in the grass, leaning back against a strong body. Arms encircling me and the soft bundle in my arms. A laugh, a soft squeeze, a chin resting on my shoulder and tickling my neck as I look down at sigh happily at a small, sleeping face. A hand reaches around and runs a finger along a tiny cheek, and we both inhale softly as big eyes slowly open and try to focus. A big yawn from a tiny, tiny mouth, and as I shift my body to bring that face closer to the larger one behind me..

the dream fades.


I'm sitting on a sidewalk, completely covered in colored dust. I can feel it on my face, my clothing, my hair. A small hand comes into view, picks up a piece of chalk, and begins to crudely scrape a daisy into the gray expanse before us. She turns, and looks at me proudly as she surveys her handiwork, and I hear her voice for the first time.. "Mommy, can we draw a horse too?" I laugh, and pick up another piece of chalk .. "Yes, but you have to help me, you make the best ones". I lean forward onto my palms, and can feel the rough concrete working it's way into my skin, sending up a small cloud of dust from the rolling sticks that scatter as I move forward. I lean forward to catch one as it attempts to escape..

the dream fades.


They repeat, every few nights I have one or another.. not always exactly the same.. but almost..

It scares me sometimes.. the surety, the realism of them. I've woken up with tears running down my face and an aching emptiness in my arms. I run my hands over my torso, wondering what's real. I'll sit, for hours sometimes, playing it over again in my head, grasping as much as I can as the details begin to fade. You create yourself in dreams.. wishes, hopes, worries, fears .. sometimes ones you never really thought you had.

I find myself. I've found myself. That person I am, and the one I want to be. Where I want to be.

Now. The hard part.

Getting there.

Hopeful Lover.
Someday Mother.


Friday, May 21, 2010

A relic...

No, you are not a relic.. not some lost piece of something gone past. You are here, wholly and truly a part of this world, this age, this day.. and the next.

You are a living reminder of what it once meant to be human.. to be man. The love, the passion, the duty, the honor of a world that barely clings to existence.. mostly forgotten.. a world we ache for, yearn for.. cry out in the midst of our dreams for.

A memory that makes us fear that we are less then we could be, less then we should be.. of the aching need in our souls to leave our part in this life changed, better, for us having been here.

The warrior of our hearts, the hero of our songs
our dreams, the audacity to not be afraid
to embrace ourselves, to know ourselves.
To love, to loathe, to sing, dance, fight, fuck, to cry
with the honor of our own spirits,
the courage of our hearts,
with the desperate need of you
in deepest fantasy, furthest dreams, darkest fears.

The muse, the desire, the idea that pushes us
to be human, to be mortal and immortal.
To bear the burden of the pain, love, passion, fear;
to try, to fail, to try, to try harder, to live.
The rock we lean on, stand on-
river we follow, drink from-
wind that speaks to us, pushes us-
the fire, the burning aching knowledge
of what a man, a friend, a lover, a love, a person
could be,
would be,
should be.

You are human, you are here, now, with us.
And we are the better for it.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

I'm naked..

bare, cold
wrapped in a broken heart and invisible scars
mourning a chance not given
tired, lonely, empty

I feel old.. too much life in too little lifetime.
bones aching, joints creaking
constant pain, followed by too many painful memories
I just want to be warm. safe. loved.

I ask too much, I'm not enough.
it tears.. hurts.
but if it makes you happy, in the end.
I'll be okay.

You asked me if I loved you.
I said I didn't know.

I do. and I do.
though you'll hate me for it.
I'll keep it in a box.

I do love you.
and I hate me for it.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

I can..

almost hear you, feel you, taste you, touch you
haunting my thoughts, my dreams
unvoiced fantasies .. aching flesh
arching, begging, crying
for your hands, lips
I want your thighs between mine..
hard muscle, pushing, pulling
filling me..
bind me, bite me
fill me deeper, harder
I dream of you on me, in me
pulsing, throbbing painful need
your voice in my heart as you bury into me
dark, moist, yielding to you, enveloping you
I need you.. to hold me, hurt me, fuck me
trap me in your body, tangle me in your hair
swallow my moans, my screams, feed me yours
Pin me into the bed, grind your hips into my skin
bruise me, tie me, eat me alive
harder, faster, until I


your name to the stars and make the gods quiver in pleasure
clench your hands into my muscle, bury your face in my throat
shoving into my body and I dig my nails into your back


me .. harder faster deeper HARDER
make my heart gallop along the shore
ride me, lead me, whip me til I cry for you


more, please, fuck me hold me tear me apart
I will beg for you, cry for you, bleed hurt scream for you
need you want you crying begging pleading for you


me til you melt into me, pulsing, throbbing
slow shuddering melting breathing
Collapse into me..

then smile, laugh.. hold me close and envelop me in your arms, smell, touch
soft kisses, touches, laughter
a sigh, a squeeze..


I can almost hear you..


“I cannot cure myself of that most woeful of youth's follies--thinking that those who care about us will care for the things that mean much to us.” -D.H. Lawrence

“Of all follies there is none greater than wanting to make the world a better place.” -Moliere

“Every man has his follies -- and often they are the most interesting thing he had got.” -Josh Billings

I'm in a mood today. I'll write something delicious in a little bit :)

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Connotative Meanings..

So some people fuck.

Some people lust, romp, hokey pokey, horizontal mambo, make whoopie, knock boots, bump uglies, get "biz-ay", have relations, make some nookie, shag, hump..etc.

Some people get intimate, make music together, make love, make babies, etc.

In the end..

people feel love, lust, desire, passion, attraction, chemistry, animalism, aphrodisia, appetence, appetition, avidity, carnality, concupiscence, covetousness, craving, cupidity, desire, eroticism, excitement, fervor, greed, hunger, itch, lasciviousness, lechery, lewdness, libido, licentiousness, longing, prurience, pruriency, salaciousness, salacity, sensualism, sensuality, thirst, urge, wantonness, weakness, yen, adulation, affection, allegiance, amity, amorousness, amour, appreciation, ardency, ardor, attachment, cherishing, crush, delight, devotedness, devotion, emotion, enchantment, enjoyment, fervor, fidelity, flame, fondness, friendship, hankering, idolatry, inclination, infatuation, involvement, like, mad for, partiality, piety, rapture, regard, relish, respect, sentiment, soft spot, taste, tenderness, worship, yearning, zeal ....

or whatever other damn word they feel appropriately describes the feelings that cause flurries of coitus with another.

Whatever feelings or actions a word may describe to YOU isn't necessarily what it describes to anyone else.

Get the hell over the friggen connotative differences.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Falling Apart..

“Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.” -Anonymous

You aren't worth falling apart over. That's what they tell me. You made me happy ... and then decided to be classy and brave and dump me via email for the ex I helped you cry over, and have the nerve to give me the friend speech.

Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck loneliness, heartache, and fuck this empty rotting feeling I carry around inside me every day.

I'm fun. I'm cute. I'm sweet, loving, caring.. I bleed, I cry, I sleep, I breathe. I'm a little crazy, but I'm not psycho. I'm a girl with a 85 year old soul, a 5 year old heart, and a pretty damn decent body. I'm in constant pain almost all the time, but I still laugh and move and fuck and scream even though every second of it tears my body in half.

I'm strong. I'll live. Without you.

Someday, someone in this world will love me. Really love me, without doubts, fears, or hesitations. Someone won't take me for granted. Someone will love me as much as I love me, will respect me as much as I respect me, and be strong enough to take me for who and what I am.. and love me.

So fuck you. Fuck everyone else who can't love me, respect me, cherish me, and stand next to me in this big scary, wonderful world. I'll live. Without you.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

A Brief Female Biology & Anatomy Lesson

From the top to the bottom:

"In human anatomy or in mammals in general, the mons pubis (Latin for "pubic mound"), also known as the mons veneris (Latin, mound of Venus) or simply the mons, is the fatty tissue lying above the pubic bone of adult women, anterior to the symphysis pubis. The mons pubis forms the anterior portion of the vulva." ( 18+)

The mons pubis divides into what is called the labia majora which surrounds the labia minora, clitoris, vaginal opening, and other structures of the vulval vestibule.

All of this is part of the external female genitalia (see diagram: 18+).

As a female, your pubic area is generally a description of the area that would typically be covered by pubic hair (this applies even to those who do so choose to remove said hair). This includes your mons, outer labia, etc.. even if the inner labia and other more enclosed regions are not visible.

This is your anatomy as a female. Many are aware of this, but some people need to pay better attention in health class next time.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

It's about how you look.. sometimes..

It is entirely about how you look... in some opinions.

“The fact that an opinion has been widely held is no evidence whatever that it is not utterly absurd.” -Bertrand Russell

The truth of the matter is, it is about how you look, yes, but it's more about how others look at you, and how you see yourself.

There are numerous older & very continually successful models... whatever genre you look at. Fashion and Commercial genres are much more strict in some ways, but only sometimes.

Here are ( your supermodels... all of whom are in their later 40s (ish) and still working. They're still famous, iconic, and amazing because people still see them that way. They still see themselves that way. They've got saggy skin, droopy boobs, stretch marks, etc... but are still the unequaled & unmatched top supermodels. You don't have to be young and amazing forever.. just amazing.

There's also a goodly number of older fetish models, art models, and you-name-it models that are over 30 and still going quite strong.

There's no reason your world ends when your hips are wider then they used to be, boobs a little lower, or skin a little less resilient. Your world as a model simply then needs to be redefined.

Yes, for a good amount of time, you can coast your modeling based upon your youth & general appearance together, but the fact of the matter is, whether or not you've the skill and determination to retain your beauty and develop your skill enough to be in demand as your youth is slowly lost to time.

There are a number of models who will burnt out hard and fast. They party too hard, drink too much, hurt to much, and don't care enough to take care of themselves, emotionally or physically. They ride the world of youthful immortality. Shit catches up, and they learn lessons and life the hard way. Some learn enough to re-try, a new way. Some don't learn and fade away, run away, or go out kicking and screaming and cursing the world to the very end of their days.. constantly clinging to the lost yester years of their lives.

Some models age gracefully.. focusing on enhancing their skills and widening their abilities while caring for themselves. They get those lovely lines from decades of laughter and tears.. stretched skin from giving life, losing life, and loving life.. and there's something lovely about it still. They work, well and often, because they embrace their time in this world, and flourish in it. The world continues to see them as powerful, strong, beautiful women.. and desires to continue to see them as such.

You can not gauge your worth by your age, measurements, experience, etc. They're all factors in it, yes.. but in the end, you gauge what you're worth by what it's worth to you, and to those who observe, admire, desire, and are inspired of you.

My rate, Anna's rate, Cindy Crawford's rate... are all relative to each of us. Our appearance, skills, ages, sizes, etc.. are small factors in the over all whole that each one of us is.

As Raelyn stated.. you can choose to work with someone for the love of it. For lunch and a bus ride.. for garments you enjoy, shoes you obsess over, cash you need.. but in the end, each and every single individual arrangement and transaction is a variable of what it's worth to you and the person you're arranging with.

I've made $1000 in the same amount of time, doing the same amount of work, in the same genre, as I have in doing it in exchange for cookies, lovely work, and a hug.

It's all case by case. Take the dreams of art you make, the dreams of sex, the dreams of style, the dreams of torture.. and put a price tag on it. Then look at that dream again, as it changes for each shoot, each artist, each job, each day.. and tell me that it doesn't change.

Price tags are simply starting points. Pick yours.. but don't be afraid to sometimes forget that it's there. Sometimes, prices aren't worth the cost... and sometimes the cost is greater then the price tag.

Re-posted here because someone asked me to.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

In regards to "Epic"..

The definition of Epic:

  /ˈɛpɪk/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [ep-ik]

1. noting or pertaining to a long poetic composition, usually centered upon a hero, in which a series of great achievements or events is narrated in elevated style: Homer's Iliad is an epic poem.
2. resembling or suggesting such poetry: an epic novel on the founding of the country.
3. heroic; majestic; impressively great: the epic events of the war.
4. of unusually great size or extent: a crime wave of epic proportions.

... I don't claim to have "epic" anything... I don't want to be a legend because of my tits, ass, or other sundry parts.. I want to be a legend because I, as a whole & as a person.. am worthy to be so..

One can't truly label oneself as "epic". Legends and heroes aren't made because some floozy decided to call themselves such. Legends are made because a person, whoever or whatever they may be.. became more then themselves. They, a mother, a father, a pet, a child.. whoever, became legends because of their feats, their love, their honor, and their courage.

In Japan, there's a statue that serves as a meeting place for many people. It's just outside of the Shibuya Station. It's a very simple statue, honestly rather normal looking. It's a bronze sculpting of an Akita breed dog. His name is Hachikō.

(as taken from the Wiki article, which details the story better then I can:

In 1924, Hachikō was brought to Tokyo by his owner, Hidesaburō Ueno, a professor in the agriculture department at the University of Tokyo. During his owner's life Hachikō saw him off from the front door and greeted him at the end of the day at the nearby Shibuya Station. The pair continued their daily routine until May 1925, when Professor Ueno did not return on the usual train one evening. The professor had suffered a stroke at the university that day. He died and never returned to the train station where his friend was waiting.

Hachikō was given away after his master's death, but he routinely escaped, showing up again and again at his old home. Eventually, Hachikō apparently realized that Professor Ueno no longer lived at the house. So he went to look for his master at the train station where he had accompanied him so many times before. Each day, Hachikō waited for Professor Ueno to return. And each day he did not see his friend among the commuters at the station.

The permanent fixture at the train station that was Hachikō attracted the attention of other commuters. Many of the people who frequented the Shibuya train station had seen Hachikō and Professor Ueno together each day. They brought Hachikō treats and food to nourish him during his wait.

This continued for 10 years, with Hachikō appearing only in the evening time, precisely when the train was due at the station.

(story continued on the Wiki:

This is an "Epic" legend. And the only thing it took to become so was unfailing love and loyalty from a dog, for his owner.

Another story..

Author and lecturer, Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.

The winner was a four-year-old child, whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.

When his mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy replied,
"Nothing, I just helped him cry."

Love, of the most simple, and unselfish kind.. makes a legend. Of a four year old boy.

Legends of industry, of society, are created because they love, passionately, who and what they are. They strive, constantly, unfailingly, to create and inspire.. to shine as brightly as they can. They make music that changes our hearts, films that bring our nightmares, fantasies, heart aches, and dreams to life.. they bring new, wonderful things into this world, and remind us of things that were always here.

Heroes, heroines, myths, legends, and unfailing character aren't something you make yourself into. They're something the world makes you into.

You don't become a true legend.. a real, honest, and inspiring occurrence in the annals of mankind's history by screaming that you are "Epic" at the top of your lungs. You can't "fake it til you make it" at life. It doesn't work that way.. because in the end, when everyone's gone, when it's quiet and lonely.. you still have to be who you are.

Helen of Troy .. the "face that launched a thousand ships".. the "ideal beauty" of the world.. became "epic" for the sole fact that her dazzling grace, iconic beauty, and unfailing stupidity sent the entire Greek world into the fires of Hell. Deceit, adultery, shallowness, and the destruction of an entire people.. all because some guy couldn't keep it in his pants over some pretty chick. So yeah, I guess if one wants to be "epic" based solely on their face, boobs, ass, etc.. you can. Just make sure you cause the complete annihilation and horrific deaths of every man, woman, and child in your nation when doing so. Sure seems like a great way to be remembered.

So go ahead.. scream.. shout.. beg.. and cry. Run from yourself in vapid, dizzying spirals of self destruction. Never fail to point your finger at those you've created into cheap copies of who you are, despising them for showing you your failings and miseries. We always despise most in others what we hate most in ourselves.

And when, if, the day comes that you embrace these doubts.. accept your failures, your limits.. face your nightmares, and conquer them.. then, to someone, if even only to yourself.. you will be a hero. A legend. An epic story of courage and love.

Friday, July 24, 2009

There are days..

Ya, I've almost throttled my share of people.

I have to purposely schedule days of nothing at all so that I can give my body recovery time. I've no internal clock left, no regular sleep/eat schedule.

I've had more then one photographer try to pull that "I do more work & invest more time/money then you do" crap. They usually realize how much of an asshole they are when I then sit down, and show them exactly what it is I have to do every day for me to make all this work.

There are days though.. when it gets overwhelming. Days when I'm commuting for 10-12 hours, when my spine feels like it's tearing away from my body, when I'm exhausted and starving, but can't really sleep because I can't fit comfortably enough in a full plane & can't bring myself to eat much because then I feel sick to my stomach when flying. Days when I've been shooting once, twice, three times a day for the last week, and then dealing with someone calling and throwing a fit because they don't understand why I can't fit them in my schedule this trip.

But then you have those days where it's worth it.. where you know this is who you are and what you should be doing. When you meet photographers who you click so well with that the shoot rolls like water in the sea. When a 4, 6, 8 hour gig leaves you feeling wonderful and amazing and beautiful, when you're energized and excited about the work you just did. When you get to meet those other people who make you laugh so hard your ribs ache, smile so much your face hurts.. those people who can completely relax you simply with their prescence, who make you feel happy and safe and comfortable. When you get to visit new places that catch you off guard.. a glimpse of a sunset over a hill, the water breaking on a dock.. the odd musical quality of traffic in a major city, or the soft whispers of rain in a forest.

I love it. With utterly every fiber of my being, with every twinge of my soul. It's who I am, what I am.. it's what makes me tick, makes me breath. It's my passion, my heart, my blood. It's the music in my mind, the twinkle in my eye, and the dance in my step.

I hate it also. With a firey burning passion sometimes. But that burning, that aching, that horrible frustration and exhaustion.. it what makes the loving, beautiful days so much more so.

And I'm so glad for it.
Shiva Love's addition:

In order to do this, I've made it not into 'work,' but into a lifestyle. I've sacrificed my ability to have a 'normal' existence, since the things I've experienced modeling, and the lifestyle it's created for me, has put me far outside the mainstream. I have surrender my ability to fit with most groups of people, even if they're in my age group and socioeconomic class. I have sacrificed my ability to ever be a public school teacher, a public servant, a politician. I have given up my right to a certain type of ownership of my own body - since many people now own many pieces of me. I fully accept that, at any point in my life, I could be the subject of negative criticism and public ridicule. Every day, I am stereotyped in different ways. I could be asked to leave my neighborhood, place of worship, or resign from my job.

In exchange for those sacrifices, I have gained a sense of personal accomplishment, independence, a notion of what makes life worth living. I have tangible proof of the beauty one life can create. I have rejected those old taboos and fears about my sexuality. I have encouraged, though my work, other women to do the same. I have learned to understand and care for my body as a resource and a point of pride. I have learned to care for my mind as a creative tool. I respect what I have, as an individual, to give to the world. I have looked at the world, and seen how I could recreate it in a unique way.

No one can convince me that I don't invest a lot...

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Not enough..

Am I not pretty enough?
Is my heart too broken?
Do I cry too much?
Am I too outspoken?
Don’t I make you laugh?
Should I try it harder?
Why do you see right through me?

I live, I breathe, I let it rain on me,
I sleep, I wake, I try hard not to break,
I crave, I love, I’ve waited long enough,
I try as hard as I can.

Am I not pretty enough?
Is my heart too broken?
Do I cry too much?
Am I too outspoken?
Don’t I make you laugh?
Should I try it harder?
Why do you see right through me?

I laugh, I feel, I make believe it’s real,
I fall, I freeze, I pray down on my knees,
I hope, I stand, I take it like a man,
I try as hard as I can.

Am I not pretty enough?
Is my heart too broken?
Do I cry too much?
Am I too outspoken?
Don’t I make you laugh?
Should I try it harder?
Why do you see right through me?

Friday, June 12, 2009


"Woman is not born: she is made. In the making, her humanity is destroyed. She becomes symbol of this, symbol of that: mother of the earth, slut of the universe; but she never becomes herself because it is forbidden for her to do so.” -Andrea Dworkin

Monday, February 16, 2009


I feel you
though you're not here
watching, asking, guiding
Following my hands
as they slide across my skin
gently touching, caressing
Pushing me for more
grasping, pulsing
closer, so close
Your voice in my head
harder, faster, more
slower, stop
breathe.. now
breathe.. now
go, faster
less, slower, softer
Talking in my ear
futher, go futher
throbbing, pushing
More, push more
tender, sharp scratching
grasping at my skin
Hands moving on their own
telling, searching, coming
though you're not here
I feel you

Sunday, February 15, 2009

a pause...


I jump


my flesh quivering in anticipation


aching, yearning for the bite


Sharp, tender, chewing


ripping meat, smelling blood
moist sting, soft touch
admiration of self's skill
gentle brush, a drip, a drop
delicious stinging, burning

a pause

a braid, gliding, catching
pulling raw flesh, twisting welts
tight, tighter, tightened
more binding, more bound
soft touch, gentle pull
tugging, tying, knotting
a flick, a gasp, a moan
more pulling, a pinch, a sigh
lift, lifting, higher
a knot, a drop, freedom
stretching, spinning

a pause

Click, flash
Click, flash
Click, flash
bend, flex
Click, flash
twist, arch
Click, flash
tug, lift, loosen
Click, flash

a pause

touching my calf, caressing
tracing line along knee, thigh, hip
cupping cheek
a slap, burning
delicious heat, so hot.. so wet
touching, tickling, teasing
more heat, more wet
exhale, sigh, moan
inhale, leather, sweat

a word.. please..
a pull, a tug
leather falling, sliding
a word.. open..
hard into soft, warm
a touch.. a caress..
tasting, touching, please, pleasing
feeling, breathing,licking, kissing
whorship, adoration

a pause

Friday, February 13, 2009


Bending me over.
Sliding a hand along my shoulder, back, ribs
down to my hips, waist.
Lifting my ass into the air, ready, waiting
pushing my head down, pulling my arms back.
Slipping rope over my skin
around legs, over waist, binding wrists
Touching fingers to thighs, ass, lips
caressing, gliding, sliding
Reaching forward and fisting my hair
pulling, tugging, soft and firm
Putting yourself inside me, slowly
quickly, faster, harder
Rope twisting, pinching, rubbing
scraping, pulling
Harder, deeper, so deep
I can feel you pulsing, throbbing
thrusting, pushing, pounding
Wet, moist, dripping
I tighten, loosen, tighten
moaning, sighing, crying
Rope grinding, skin grinding
flesh hot, sweaty
Then hardest, release, wet
soft, sigh, breathe

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Please.. just.. please..

make the pain go away, come back, linger

I want to lie down
without feeling that throbbing ache
And sit up without every nerve
ending in my spine SCREAMING in agony.
To bend over without the horrid flash
of my muscles in terror of movement
To be able to cook, or clean, or BREATHE
without the feeling that my vertebrae are clawing
scratching, biting, RIPPING away from my body
That heavy thud, the sharp pain of leather against flesh
trading pain for pain, striking, snapping, slapping
The sharp bite, quick, clean, small
agonizingly lovely flashes of hurt and small bits of blood
To smell the scent of leather and rope
that clings to your skin.. pours from your skin
Feel your hand on the back of my neck
softly holding, gently keeping
Leather and steel encircling my throat
firmly keeping, strongly holding
The almost too hot burn of hemp
pulling quickly over tender places
tightening, grasping, pulling, lifting
Rough hands, calloused, well worn and loved
caressing skin, fingertips kissing raised flesh and pale skin
Sharp teeth, sharp pain, sharp and vivid memory
welling up like blood, like tears
Scratches, hard, sudden
tearing skin and burning marks
Salty emotion releasing, flowing, falling
touched, tasted, remembered
A sigh, a breath, collapse
contented silence, sitting, touching
Pleased, pleasing, please..

Friday, January 16, 2009


I've only been actively learning and discovering BDSM for a few months, and one of the most important lessons I've learned is patience.

Patience isn't just the ability to wait for something. It's also the active preparation of yourself for what you're searching for.. actively looking to improve yourself and what you have to offer, in hopes that when you DO stumble upon the things you are searching for, you're ready to recognize it and accept it.

Things don't happen all at once, no matter how much I, you, or anyone else may want them to. Sure, I'd love to be involved in something stable, serious, and with someone who values me as a person, as well as a sub... but the simple fact that it's not happened shows me that I need to be patient.. because I may not be ready, even if I feel that I am.

I have been blessed with a wonderful Mentor, and He takes care to answer my questions and guide me to learning more of myself, and being able to master myself. He's taught me the value of patience, and He's taught me the value of being aware of my own thoughts and feelings.

Patience is a virtue. Not because waiting is hard.. but because patience is work. It is a constant, daily, active thing. The simple fact that the need to be patient is apparent means that you're not yet ready. So be ready. Know yourself, your value, your needs.. and also know that what you WANT may not be what you need. So be ready. And be patient.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Who hires who..

When you hire a model, you're doing it for one or more of a few reasons:

- the model has a look you need/want for your port
- the model has the experience you need/want for your port
- the model has a skill you need/want for your port
- the model has a "name" or such that would benefit your port

There's probably a few more reasons, but those are the most common.

When a model hires a photographer, it's for one or more of a few reasons:

- the photographer has a look you need/want for your port
- the photographer has the experience you need/want for your port
- the photographer has a skill you need/want for your port
- the photographer has a "name" or such that would benefit your port

When a client hires a model/photographer/team, it's for one or more of a few reasons:

- a look in need/want for their project
- the experience in need/want for their project
- a skill in need/want for their project
- a "name" or such that is in need for their project

When both parties work trade, it's for one or more of a few reasons:

- a look both parties need/want for their port
- the experience both parties need/want for their port
- a skill both parties need/want for their port
- a "name" or such that would benefit both parties' portfolios

One should always strive to "trade up" when working trade. PYPI can expunge on this in more detail.

It can't be explain much clearer then that.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Credit list..

Mayhem #1376341 Cheeky Chique
Mayhem #757129 The Art Farm
Mayhem #319020 Creative Smiles
Mayhem #1296 RC Photo
Mayhem #222771 Wikkid Things
Mayhem #1299589 Bebe Zhang
Mayhem #1076984 Dannielle Levan
Mayhem #1025403 Carl Evans
Mayhem #59023 Jaime Ibarra
Mayhem #759031 Brandon Witzel
Mayhem #470471 TangoMan
Mayhem #123496 Brett
Mayhem #511763 Peter_
Mayhem #869394 Fresh Face Stace
Mayhem #737 Jerry Johnson
Mayhem #615426 Johnny Rocket
Mayhem #402716 M Bradley
Mayhem #113158 Bill Jarrell
Mayhem #254156 GBI Graphics
Mayhem #81733 Red Sky Photography
Mayhem #734639 HMSlatex Designs
Mayhem #6739 Kim Reyes
Mayhem #62753 Tortured Artist
Mayhem #746639 Persicolor
Mayhem #81733 Red Sky Photography
Mayhem #131593 TDL
Mayhem #1092775 A R Tiste
Mayhem #808564 Heather Orr Makeup
Mayhem #4060 rickOPIOLA
Mayhem #99 FrizzyCube
Mayhem #683399 Pasha Photo
Mayhem #7806 Sanders McNew
Mayhem #619113 JohnKPhotography
Mayhem #60480 Koray
Mayhem #1131095 StereoBall
Mayhem #2390 James Graham
Mayhem #129276 William Steel
Mayhem #715594 Stephen Markman
Mayhem #102281 Marcos Rivera
Mayhem #11903 Julie Coffey
Mayhem #104232 Craziest Benny
Mayhem #74015 Michael McCabe
Mayhem #447569 Dirty Addiction
Mayhem #683399 PashaPhoto
Mayhem #73382 David Lawrence
Mayhem #373226 JC - Starkarts
Mayhem #840564 Goddess Damiana
Mayhem #26084 MerlinPix
Mayhem #13624 Christian Behr
Mayhem #741395 Razor 7
Mayhem #2301 WillSpringfield
Mayhem #12528 Sita Mae
Mayhem #74015 Michael McCabe
Mayhem #41096 Sam Beasely
Mayhem #519462 -kat-
Mayhem #519462 Skinny Bitch Swimwear
Mayhem #2495 Duke Morse
Mayhem #89007 Oliver Regueiro
Mayhem #202375 Clayton Cooper
Mayhem #203375 Enviromental Refugee
Mayhem #96411 Philipe
Mayhem #101554 WZ Studio
Mayhem #820174 Barry Elkins
Mayhem #478262 Jason Todd Ipson
Mayhem #21894 Eva Woodby
Mayhem #562780 MegSchutz
Mayhem #32434 Stephen M Loban
Mayhem #4679 Duwayno
Mayhem #344126 Dan Lippitt
Mayhem #5266 Star
Mayhem #901248 Autumn Sanders
Mayhem #678910 Anthony Wallace
Mayhem #118803 Thomas Landon
Mayhem #85583 Click Hamilton
Mayhem #11068 D. Brian Nelson
Mayhem #197198 Ken Marcus
Mayhem #254223 Venus Wept Photography
Mayhem #3005 ravens laughter
Mayhem #219585 DonSir
Mayhem #12886 Michael Helms
Mayhem #5094 Perry Gallagher
Mayhem #5092 Anyssa
Mayhem #2593 Baron Von Tyher
Mayhem #428488 Brianna Ford
Mayhem #238481 Dave Proctor
Mayhem #658317 The Nikonian
Mayhem #122520 Iris Dassault
Mayhem #20630 Jim Young
Mayhem #32434 Stephen M Loban
Mayhem #673089 Ellen O
Mayhem #22557 Darker-Side-of-Midnight
Mayhem #86286 M. Carle
Mayhem #10155 DVS
Mayhem #506075 Damon Blakk
Mayhem #1731 Damon Banner
Mayhem #234582 PYPI
Mayhem #680937 LoveLust Makeup
Mayhem #49162 Siddella
Mayhem #311 Steve Prue
Mayhem #602072 Polina Osherov
Mayhem #127708 Babak
Mayhem #40760 Chip Willis
Mayhem #234582 PYPI
Mayhem #12853 Doctor E
Mayhem #2081 mErocrush
Mayhem #212275 Andre Kaufman
Mayhem #45851 T H Taylor
Mayhem #26388 Ward
Mayhem #122520 Iris Dassault
Mayhem #197984 Phoenyx Photography
Mayhem #17361 Jeff Hui
Mayhem #11291 G W Burns
Mayhem #47246 EdwinR Photography
Mayhem #2971 Joe Tomasone
Mayhem #25601 SLE Photography
Mayhem #70690 SeanHfoto
Mayhem #38993 Sai
Mayhem #11210 Emily Rishea
Mayhem #542367 Chris Triance-Martin
Mayhem #593154 Peter Claver
Mayhem #127759 Miss Fifi-Alexis
Mayhem #723253 Pretty Poison MUA
Mayhem #10855 Gary Breckheimer
Mayhem #4771 Capt Stu Beans
Mayhem #193886 Stephen Melvin
Mayhem #649065 Ken Centauri
Mayhem #194402 Frog516
Mayhem #58961 Mary Wano
Mayhem #368484 e a k
Mayhem #381918 Mike Fiction
Mayhem #8979 Cherrystone
Mayhem #141877 Dave Cuerdon Photo
Mayhem #100894 WI Lifecasting
Mayhem #369716 Cutting James
Mayhem #241114 EJ Holmes
Mayhem #3508 Collin J Rae
Mayhem #326352 Kayelless
Mayhem #615164 Carmen Hoang
Mayhem #691202 Ann Carston
Mayhem #95 4C 41 42
Mayhem #15553 J Johnson Photography LLC
Mayhem #12335 Miguel Lopez Lemus
Mayhem #4702 Kidtee Hello
Mayhem #356857 Kelli Kolors
Mayhem #137643 Loretta Kendall
Mayhem #53810 ArtHommage
Mayhem #20980 Braille
Mayhem #309765 Donald Bryant
Mayhem #66419 Slowburn Images
Mayhem #255445 BPhotographic
Mayhem #172572 Stillborn Photography
Mayhem #160829 Rik Austin
Mayhem #115473 Jasmine Nicole Smith
Mayhem #6322 Ken Erickson
Mayhem #138167 Scottie Howison
Mayhem #32435 Scott Barnes
Mayhem #94927 Rez Sinister
Mayhem #6616 Eric Cain
Mayhem #8270 Rocky Dawson
Mayhem #186533 VIP
Mayhem #175873 Bodies of Paint
Mayhem #5994 Fotographia Fantastique
Mayhem #105170 CLT
Mayhem # 2333 Laura Dark
Mayhem #38761 Glen Berry
Mayhem #471481 Three15
Mayhem #24931 Gary M
Mayhem #12227 Alizarine
Mayhem #142789 Lazyi Photography
Mayhem #442074 Paxgothica
Mayhem #470382 DemolenaLisa
Mayhem #92538 Blackwatch
Mayhem #178095 Springheel
Mayhem #75536 DarkeHearted
Mayhem #361349 Penis Christ
Mayhem #460931 Eric Owens
Mayhem #52971 Art Schotz
Mayhem #301721 Shiva Photography
Mayhem #62236 Asylum-Photo
Mayhem #124171 StrangeStuff
Mayhem #494160 Macy Fox
Mayhem #7390 William Kious
Mayhem #88178 Linda Kious
Mayhem #39309 Glen5790
Mayhem #496970 Jaloux
Mayhem #644624 MzErika
Mayhem #64943 Ryan Liu
Mayhem #526628 Rock Ness Photography
Mayhem #39443 Boden Photography LLC
Mayhem #8275 Lost Coast Photo
Mayhem #152 Boyd Hambleton
Mayhem #7199 TheAnj
Mayhem #190666 DVMedia
Mayhem #21438 Lucky13Photo
Mayhem #233842 Micheal Southwick
Mayhem #505070 PXE
Mayhem #275290 Pixiefish Photography
Mayhem #447548 Mischief Vixen
Mayhem #447723 Gumby Goddess Photography
Mayhem #418734 Lola666
Mayhem #322877 Miss Anna Vaughn
Mayhem #222108 Alex N
Mayhem #238948 Flash One
Mayhem #70782 Sleep_to_dream
Mayhem #8388 DigitalAllure Photography
Mayhem #17644 Mickle Design Works

Thursday, December 18, 2008


I keep my paint brush with me
Wherever I may go,
In case I need to cover up
So the real me doesn’t show.
I’m so afraid to show you me,
Afraid of what you’ll do – that
You might laugh or say mean things.
I’m afraid I might lose you.

I’d like to remove all my paint coats
To show you the real, true me,
But I want you to try and understand,
I need you to accept what you see.
So if you’ll be patient and close your eyes,
I’ll strip off all my coats real slow.
Please understand how much it hurts
To let the real me show.

Now my coats are all stripped off.
I feel naked, bare and cold,
And if you still love Me with all that you see,
You are my friend, pure as gold.

I need to save my paint brush, though,
And hold it in my hand,
I want to keep it handy
In case somebody doesn’t understand.
So please protect me, my dear friend
And thanks for loving me true,
But please let me keep my paint brush with me
Until I love me, too.

-Written by Anonymous

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

This I believe..

by Robert A. Heinlein

Robert A. Heinlein wrote this item in 1952. His wife, Virginia Heinlein, chose to read it when she accepted NASA's Distinguished Public Service Medal on October 6, 1988, on the Grand Master's behalf (it was a posthumous award).

Mrs. Heinlein received a standing ovation.

"I am not going to talk about religious beliefs but about matters so obvious that it has gone out of style to mention them. I believe in my neighbors. I know their faults, and I know that their virtues far outweigh their faults. "Take Father Michael down our road a piece. I'm not of his creed, but I know that goodness and charity and lovingkindness shine in his daily actions. I believe in Father Mike. If I'm in trouble, I'll go to him."

"My next-door neighbor is a veterinary doctor. Doc will get out of bed after a hard day to help a stray cat. No fee--no prospect of a fee--I believe in Doc.

"I believe in my townspeople. You can know on any door in our town saying, 'I'm hungry,' and you will be fed. Our town is no exception. I've found the same ready charity everywhere. But for the one who says, 'To heck with you - I got mine,' there are a hundred, a thousand who will say, "Sure, pal, sit down."

"I know that despite all warnings against hitchhikers I can step up to the highway, thumb for a ride and in a few minutes a car or a truck will stop and someone will say, 'Climb in Mac - how far you going?'

"I believe in my fellow citizens. Our headlines are splashed with crime yet for every criminal there are 10,000 honest, decent, kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up. Business could not go on from day to day. Decency is not news. It is buried in the obituaries, but is a force stronger than crime. I believe in the patient gallentry of nurses and the tedious sacrifices of teachers. I believe in the unseen and unending fight against desperate odds that goes on quietly in almost every home in the land.

"I believe in the honest craft of workmen. Take a look around you. There never were enough bosses to check up on all that work. From Independence Hall to the Grand Coulee Dam, these things were built level and square by craftsmen who were honest in their bones.

"I believe that almost all politicians are honest. . .there are hundreds of politicians, low paid or not paid at all, doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. If this were not true we would never have gotten past the 13 colonies.

"I believe in Rodger Young. You and I are free today because of endless unnamed heroes from Valley Forge to the Yalu River. I believe in -- I am proud to belong to -- the United States. Despite shortcomings from lynchings to bad faith in high places, our nation has had the most decent and kindly internal practices and foreign policies to be found anywhere in history.

"And finally, I believe in my whole race. Yellow, white, black, red, brown. In the honesty, courage, intelligence, durability, and goodness of the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters everywhere on this planet. I am proud to be a human being. I believe that we have come this far by the skin of our teeth. That we always make it just by the skin of our teeth, but that we will always make it. Survive. Endure. I believe that this hairless embryo with the aching, oversize brain case and the opposable thumb, this animal barely up from the apes will endure. Will endure longer than his home planet -- will spread out to the stars and beyond, carrying with him his honesty and his insatiable curiosity, his unlimited courage and his noble essential decency.

"This I believe with all my heart."

Friday, October 17, 2008

To my friend Reby..

You're always gorgeous. Except when you're beautiful. Because then you're lovely. But sometimes you're just ravishing. Though, on occasion, you're breathtaking.

But yeah, usually you just make my heart skip a beat and my breath pause.. because you're just that wonderful.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Just let go..

why can't I
please help me
I need to
show me how to
give me strength to
teach me when to
hold me when I
be patient until I
I think I'm ready to

just let go

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Nude Rant.. to a person

I'm sure the Egyptians in 1385 BC also had issues with teen pregnancy. Nefertiti and her young pharaoh considered nudism a MUST for spiritual and physical advancement. Oh wait, THEY MARRIED AS EARLY TEENS, and had thriving children. As did MOST of Egypt's hierarchy. But teens obviously have no ability to do things like raise children or govern nations and kingdoms.

Greeks .. Kings, nobles, and notables of ALL types had themselves sculpted nude. These sculptures continued through several cultures, and were considered offerings to the gods and very magical. Greek clothing was MADE to be removed at the drop on a pin, literally. To dance, work, worship, etc.. garments were simply dropped and put aside. Both male and female athletes, students, artists, priests, etc. actively worked and thrived and lived in the nude.

Nude work was considered the highest form of art through the Renaissance, with the nude male body predominantly displayed, but closely followed by the female form. It was prevalent in both religious and non-religious iconography and art.

Decades ago, respectable magazines could openly exhibit naked native peoples which were not considered sexually stimulating. Today many movies, bowing to censorship, will happily exhibit a naked overweight or unattractive person, because this is considered funny or not stimulating. The intent of such biases demean the value of the human form and reveal an element of hypocrisy.

Nude photography has dated as far back as the early 1800s, and serves a variety of purposes, from medical and motion study to art to fully sexual imagery.

If you chose to not work in the ancient and highly practiced nude aspects of society, more power to you, but don't dismiss something as crass and trashy simple because you don't understand, respect, appreciate, or enjoy it.

I was born into this world with a naked mind, a naked heart, a naked soul, and a naked body. I have lived and worn and removed and donned the garments of many changes, occupations, lifestyles, experiences, hopes, dreams, loves, desires, pains, sufferings, and heartaches. I will continue to do so with all of my being, and enjoy and live for every moment of it. Continue your life in the shroud of hypocrisy and cynicism, insecure in your self, constantly burdened by the worries of how much of yourself you are exposing to the world, buried under the fear that the skin of your soul will shine grotesquely through the sheer garment of self-delusion you wear.

I was born into this world with a naked mind, a naked heart, a naked soul, and a naked body. I can only live my life the best I can, and pray I leave it the same way, ready and bare for whatever follows in the life after this.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

I ...

I am a soldier's daughter

I believe in fairytales

I bleed, I cry, I laugh, I smile

I dance barefoot in the rain

I hide inside my storybooks

I live my life in dreams

I am muse, art, artist

I am forever and will

be me

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Devil's Chant

A drum beats an unknown tune;
starlight dances across the moon.
A witch cackles, a banshee screams;
living nightmares, dying dreams.

Spiders crawl across the floor;
demons scratch upon the door.
Blood flows from the walls;
nightmares walk down the halls.

Evil whispers in your ear;
devils prey upon your fear.
Silver blade glides against your skin;
it's time to let the nightmares in.

Darkness drips into your soul;
fires will consume you whole.
Embrace the anger, do not fight;
join the nightmares, stalk the night.

Everything is just a lie;
the only escape is to die.
But if you do, you join the fright;
come with me, surrender the night.

Deny your fate, surrender your life;
hang from the rope, slice with the knife.
Watch the blood drip from your vein;
join with me, embrace the pain.

Natalie Gibson (c) 2003

Wasted Angel

I see in my mind, standing before me,
the figure of a beautiful women,
tall like an angel with wings spread
to shelter me beneath.
A blanket of lost love and forgotten hope
slowly drowning out the pain
as she whispers to me,
soft nothings to fall upon deaf ears.
Is this where it gets better,
where life turns around for my dying soul?
Her whispered promises open a broken heart,
new bright pain to an old wound.
I'm not ready for her whispered consolations,
for the lies of new love yet to be found.
Her defensive wings begin to smother,
warm embraces grow bitter and cold.
Stone seeps its way throughout my veins,
frost glistens on the boundaries of my iris.
She fades..
Her unheeded embrace pushed aside,
a brief existence which merits naught,
another wasted angel for my shattered heart.

Natalie Gibson © May 25, 2005

Monday, May 12, 2008

Don't Break the Ice

Don't break it. Leave it be.
Leave me frozen, leave me cold.

Don't let it crack, don't let it creak.
Tread lightly, for that is me you step upon, walk upon, skate upon
with blades of steel so you might glide by untouched.

Let me freeze, my blood is cold.

Let me go.

Friday, May 2, 2008

See my scars

See my scars?
They're there, I swear.
Criss-crossing my body, over arms, under thighs
lacing like spiderwebs over my hands
layer upon layer over my cheeks and eyes
small ones, fine ones
longer, thicker
caressing my stomach, my hips
gentle kisses and harsh screams
small tears, angry voices
some broken hearts and a few lost hopes
small hurts carefully plotted and planned
one here, two there, maybe one more next to these
hurt me, hate me, leave your mark
I'll carry your scar upon my heart
she hurt you, let me take the pain
he hit you, I'll make it go away
lost friends, lost homes, lost lost lost lost lost
it hurts to see sometimes
to look in a mirror and see these scars
twisted flesh, burnt and burning
ripped skin, careful cuts
marred surface, rippled with pain
everywhere, face, neck, shoulders, back
over my ribs, down my arms
so many scars, too many scars
can you see them? how can you not?
I see them. every day I see them.
They're there, I swear.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

I'm done..

I'm tired. I'm broke. I'm pissed. I'm sad. I'm excited. I'm lonely. I'm happy. I'm confused.

To him:
I realize that I SUCK at dealing with people. I don't bite my tongue when I should, I don't lie when I'm supposed to, and I have this nasty habit of getting pissed off at people who promise me things and then don't follow through. I'm not a master of subtlety. We discussed it. We figured shit out. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.

To You:
If I'm behaving in a way you don't like, you have to TELL ME, or I don't know I'm not doing something right. I have this incredibly irritating ability to completely misread any signals that I may possibly be perceiving. You act like you like me, then tell me to wait, then tell me you don't. Cool. I can deal with it. I'm a big girl. I've moved on.

To one of you:
I saw the shots, I know I did a fucking AMAZING job, but for some reason I'm still waiting on photos you've been promising me for months. You shot her less then a month ago, but she's obviously much higher on your list of priorities.

To another of you:
I love you. I really do. You're awesome and amazing and everything I can only hope to do what you do. You're infinitely better at talking to people then I can ever hope to be. You're a wonderful person, and I'll always adore you. I know I'm a headache to talk to. Thank you for putting up with me.

To someone else:
I adore working with you. You get all my weird ideas, my kooky thoughts, and my half-baked plans. Thank you for being a friend and an amazing photographer. You make long trips worth the drive. I hope we never run out of things to create.

To another person:
I'm sorry. Apparently I fucked up and I wasn't aware of it til recently. I tried to talk to you about it, but I got shrugged off. But I am sorry. I don't want to lose a friend.. please forgive me. I suck, I'm an oblivious person, and I had no idea I was bothering you. I'm sorry.

To someone I haven't met yet:
You're sexy. You make me laugh. I smile when I think about you, and I can't wait to hang out with you. You're smart and funny, and you get me. Please be real.

To someone(s) I'm going to meet:
I can't wait.

I suck. I'm stupid. I am sorry to people I've upset. I'm happy for people I've cheered up. I love all of you, even if I'm not good at showing it.

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Love, Anna

Dear Engel,

Please wear your thigh high boots and smoke a cigarette with me. I will wear my thigh high boots and give you all the Djarum Blacks you want.


Dear Anna,

I would love to knock boots with you in a hazy cloud of smoke on a bed in Nashville, or possibly Atlanta. Then you can pull off my boots and nibble my feet.

Dear Engel,

Will you wear red lipstick and let me back comb your hair?
Also, how do you feel about the Cure and Siouxsie and the Banshees?


Dear Anna,

You may paint my lips and comb my hair. I shall have my toenails painted in bright metallic colors while I play with your foot as someone else removes your boots. I love all those musics, and we can play those and watch Spanish horror films.

Dear Engel,

Just one foot? sad
In that case, I'm requiring chocolate.


Dear Anna,

I can only nibble one foot if the other is being slowly unfolded from it's thigh high encasement. I shall use profuse amounts of chocolate, and shall tenderly consume every drop while listening to the soundtracks from Italian spaghetti westerns.

Dear Engel,

C'est vrai...but I'm glad there's still chocolate! While you're licking all the chocolate from between my toes and off the balls of my feet, make sure you're holding your own toes steady; they're exceptionally long and delicate, which is perfect for a cigarette holder.


Dear Anna,

I will be sure to hold said cigarette very steady with my long graceful toes while caressing your heels with my tongue, and after all the chocolate and smoking is finished, we can fall asleep entwined with each other's feet with the original Dracula movie playing softly. We can lie there dreaming about mohawked and mullet hawked men. I love you, and goodnight my dearest.

Dear Engel,

You do know how to push my buttons. I'll leave Louder Than Bombs on repeat all night.



Tuesday, March 25, 2008


faces marching past me
long lines, walking faster
blurred eyes and silent lips
lifetimes of people
friends, non-friends, strangers
all trapped in my memory
a steel trap rusted closed
i remember you, i swear i do
i don't forget
every hello, every goodbye
certain smiles, sometimes tears
a laugh, smell
sighs, moans, soft hums
raincloud eyes, warm earth iris
soft lips and strong backs
a sound, a breathe
i do remember you
so many faces to remember
but each is not forgotten
names lost, hearts broken
faces that never leave
foot print on a paper
printed in my mind
forget me not
remember you always


Monday, March 24, 2008



standing here...just standing...
always been here, always waiting
silence screaming at me..
patience... always utter patience...
"i'll call", "we'll hang out soon", ...
patience tearing me apart
tears falling... you're crying softly...
dont cry.. please.. i'm here
i'm here.. just look at me...
hate me.. love me...
do anything.. just please..
look at me...
anger... you scream..
frustration.. helpless desperation..
tell me.. i'll listen..
you're lost.. wandering in the dark...
open your eyes, my hand is here..
take it... it's here...
always here.. always waiting..
utter patience breaking my heart
your tears.. your loneliness..
not alone... never alone..
just look at me.. i'm here..
always here..

Natalie Gibson (c) August 11, 2005

Wednesday, March 19, 2008


"We do not stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing." -G.B. Shaw-

For the sake of everything in this world.. play.

It's fun, I promise
You'll love it

Peek-a-boo with the baby ahead of you in line
Silly Faces with the kid in the car you're driving past
Tic-Tac-Toe on a window in a diner
Even if you're eating alone

Smile for once when you're having a crappy day
Turn around and ask a stranger how they're doing and try actually listening to the answer
By some flowers at the grocery store and pass them out to random people
Offer hugs to anyone you don't know on the street

Easier said then done, right?
Try it
It only hurts a little
It won't hurt for long

Laugh at the bad jokes
Smile at the grumpy strangers
Wave at random kids
Hug the grungy old guy on the corner

Pull the quarter out of the bottom of your pocket and buy a gumball
Leave a funny note for your waitress
Tell a couple how lovely their baby is
Even if it looks like a wrinkled prune

Life sucks. We all know this. Shit happens. No getting around it.
You can bitch, moan, groan, whine, complain, argue, fight, frustrate, annoy
Still gonna suck.
So when it's sucking.. pop in a lollipop and keep on.

Playing isn't just for kids. Grownups just don't remember how to do it.

Watch old cartoons. Sing the stupid theme songs that you never really forgot.

It's okay.






Sunday, February 24, 2008

Who cares ...

*from a friend*

Who cares if a soldier dies...

Take a man and put him alone,
Put him twelve thousand miles from home.
Empty his heart of all but blood,
Make him live in sand, in mud.
This is the life I have to live,
This the soul to God I give.
You have your parties and drink your beer,
While young men are dying over here.
Plant your signs on the White House lawn;
"Lets get out of Iraq".
Use your signs and have your fun,
Then refuse to use a gun.
There's nothing else for you to do,
Then I'm supposed to die for you?
There is one thing that you should know;
And that's where I think you should go!
I'm already here and it's too late.
I've traded all my love for all this hate.
I'll hate you till the day I die.
You made me hear my buddy cry.
I saw his leg and his blood shed,
Then I heard them say, "This one's dead".
It was a large price for him to pay,
To let you live another day.
He had the guts to fight and die,
To keep the freedom you live by.
By his dying, your life he buys,
But who cares if a Soldier dies!

Saturday, February 23, 2008


-something I found online-

I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult. I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year-old again.

I want to go to McDonald's and think that it's a four star restaurant.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make a sidewalk with rocks.

I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.

I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.

I want to return to a time when life was simple, when all you knew were colors, multiplication tables, and nursery rhymes; but that didn't bother you because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care. All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all the things that should make you worried or upset.

I want to think the world is fair; that everyone is honest and good. I want to believe that anything is possible.

I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.

I want to live simple again.

I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, mountains of paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness, and loss of loved ones.

I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, kind words, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.

So, here's my checkbook and my car-keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements.

I am officially resigning from adulthood. And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first, cause. . .

"Tag! You're it."