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Thursday, 28 August 2014

The Rupert Monroe





image from the independent



He was invisible to most men, but the world could see him now. Money gave men wisdom and nouns, money had turned him into a king amongst men, and this palace he had built, the stowaway castle mapped out the freedom of his entire bloodline. " How did you do all of this?" The journalist asked with curious intrigue. She leaned towards him tape recorder in hand, a steely gaze penetrating his shadow black cocktail suit. " I built it from dreams, and those dreams tired me,"
"Explain."
"When i was younger, i used to sit by mothers old garden, the one with the old maple tree, and each time out in the cold i would draw distinctions on pieces of paper of what my dream world would look like, i never knew i would be selling products, oil products internationally to build it." She smiled softly. Her hair in a shiny black bobbed almost looked striking amidst the linear splendour of such elegant features. Her lips were soft and polite, each word strong in it's slumber sentence, and he loved the suit.
" What designer is this?"
"Calvin Klein, " she smiled wanly, " i dreamed of lush things too. He studied the grey silk, his brown eyes sweeping over the cut of it, around her small bodice.
"Calvin Kleins?"
" No a life more exaggerated than mine, with Champagne and Caviar and trips to Monte Carlo, i thought i could only dream it, but then it happened it became real." He gazed into the Irish green of soft Mesmeric eyes.
" I've made over a million pounds, 2.6 million to be exact and i've never been to Monte Carlo,"
" You should go it's not one of the most exotic places, but the glitz and glamour does me well,"
" Travelling to places like that is not the same without company, do you ever get lonely?" She switched off the black tape recorder. " I'm so used to my own company now," she blinked back slow tears.
" I had a son. Alexander, we used to go travelling together."
" What happened to him?" His voice was groggy with emotion, he leaned closer, she could smell the allure of his aftershave spicy and masculine. It smelt like something to awaken the senses, it made her ease her small feet closer to the edge of the bar table. " I lost him to Leukaemia." There was a long silence. He ran thick hands through Midnight hair, a leaf of gray lighting through it, she imagined his face to be a Canvas. The soft stroke of ripe cheekbones, to be the work of a sculptures magnetism. His beauty was buoyant, and she took a moment just to gaze at this man. Each breath lingering, each thought hanging tiptoeing closer towards a promised sentence. " It must have been painful to watch?"
" It was. " He shook her hands gracefully, changing the subject quickly. " I built my company almost ten years ago, i started with the framework of an idea Aztec Inka. My cousin designed the Logo from scratch it took him a week."
" How would you define Aztec?" She quickly clicked the microphone on, her words stumbling into play.
"Aztec is a multinational, international , trans location Corporation, we specialise in the import and export of goods to Various Location. From body butter, Exotic fruit scrubs, we use all natural ingredients to cleanse the body, and bring it back to it's original beauty. We have skin care, products, hair care products, for both genders but our most prolific item is the Hans Mozyrem anti aging cream. " She whistled internally, he had impressed her from the minute he walked in. From his quick brisk strides to the way he placed the mats neatly around the dishevelled table, he was an organised man and in the mist of chaos a man like Rupert Monroe is exactly what you need. Handsome, organised, and intelligent. Back in the office she knew she would type anxiously salivating with triumph as the words flowed unto her computer screen, she had met the Rupert Monroe. " Would you be interested in doing Lunch later this week?" he slid in with such ease and charm, she forgot the collection of questions. " You're nothing like the descriptions in the Magazines?"
" Ruthless and arrogant?"
" Im sure you can be that. But for now i'm curious about what else you can be."

Saturday, 23 August 2014

Art as Ace: Andre Farquharson







Re: Talent is something were born with, but passion and creativity fused together produce a successful outcome. Currently trending on the web is the prolific Andre farquharson musician, scriptwriter_ comic book artist. with a flair for the creative and characters that bounce off the page and come alive, follow his adventures on: Destined to be a blockbusting success, Andre has many opportunities coming his way and is very active within his community. Having worked with Head for Business, Midi music and currently working with Live.

www.nemesisthehunter.blogspot.com




Check out some of his hits and tracks on my google plus page later
go to google plus red ebony



Monday, 18 August 2014

Awkward ways





The awkward way
You smile at me
I capture your laugh
Within
My fist
And when it bleeds
The nervous skitter of rubber eyes
The champions mask
A starlets cry
And as the wolves they circle still
I eat the flesh
A maggots meal
Biscuits
We crumble
To the acid
In the rum of glass
I only want the rope to burn
To mark your
Colours
And your stern
Brittle the form
A sculptures way
And scribble the exit
In our play

iron girl






image from smashing magazine


Lost girl
I've found your keys
I heard you
Blamed me
When you sneezed
The ink of pen
On shattered foot
Salt dust eyes
Which marred the soot
We blamed the door
It,s panelling
An iron oak
Which promised pain
The eucalyptus womb
Of Eggplant oil
The bits of squealing
Slaughtered brain
The nose it whispers
Paprika scents
Black pepper
Tiles an almost floor
And when you stepped
Beyond the frame
There were no shadows for now before
I christen all the hopes you kept
The dreams
That barked and then they slept
The wizards scar
The trolloppes teeth
The cauldron
Bubbled what you keep
For of the bats which hang and sting
My iron girl
Just turn the key
The watchmen lie near gates
Their eyes they claim
What ghosts don't see

his million dollar dreams



image from fallfade




Stand by me when the chips are down
When I can only
Count fingerbtonthumb
When pain has left me numb
And cheeks are scarred with failed attempts
I have coughed
And hiccupped
For these dreams
Torn out hair by each fine thread
Let its limbre leak on lap
And studied morgues of
Visions dead
This million dollar dream
Count the catch in each
Fine step
Study offices
Never kept
Were gold it brimmed
From sour thoughts
I am man magnificent, hungry in eye
Stealth in organs
That separate like jigsaw
The snail glue snot
In my sausage hand
Open your eyes
I am just a man

makevellian heat





image from paintingsilove


orange sun
With ripened glow
I look at you
And miss the snow
For these beads of sweat which
Often pool
Tell a story that' s far too true
This hanging waist
These snakeskin braids
These crusted feet
Like duck
I wade through
Murk
And narrow slim
I am lost and far within
The city
Pia's
Streaked with pain
It,s ocean blue
And Midas sand
Rubber hands trudge on
As boulder limbs
Whimper
For a throbbing womb
A pulsing neck
Which splits
Gushing with it
The silver foil

the dark misplaced face




image by flickrhivemind.net



I should have
Seen
But never you mind
In the dark
Were blind as mice
Giant arithmetic
Counting ten
You eat the scrapes
Of your rotten fruit
Blizzard bleach to mar
The tide
The wolves they howl
A whimpered whines
Tarzan beats
Upon the hard shield
Of turtle chest
Kings build palace
The doll could have lived in
We pick bamboos
To line our hut
Concrete
Becomes a stubborn slut
Egyptian silk
Mamboes with grace
Whilst he recalls
My misplaced face.