Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

January 5, 2012

Poignant Recurrent

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 1:03 am

I tape black curtains over the glittering of the city below. In this small room a man’s artistry ties a thousand watts of light, one beautiful model and a shining ring into striking and beautiful arrangements.

I know how it feels to hang from this ring, though it’s different for every woman who comes here. Peace, excitement, professionalism, joy shine from their bodies and faces. Sweat drips from the man’s brow. A glass of water. Seven hundred pictures.


November 25, 2011

A Month of Sundays with Mike West

Filed under: Photography — Tags: , — Lilac @ 2:00 pm

I’ve had the pleasure of capturing Mike West with several of his beautiful models for the Month of Sundays project. His concept of the aesthetic is …grotesque in the original sense of the word: primitive, simple, and raw.

I am delighted to be able to shoot such connection and artistry.

February 12, 2011

Coiled rope

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 11:25 am

The most respectful way to tie up one’s dominant seems to be as Death, the best of tops; so I rent black feathered wings. Wings and boots and black, with my man in a smart grey suit. Aesthetic perfection.

I practice every day for a week. Tuesday, I fail to hoist my dead-man off the carpet and am dejected. I consider giving up, but Rain has given me a chance and I’d like to make the most of it. My brother says, How you do is up to you.

Friday evening I rig in blue lights and everything but the suspension goes away. Whether it’s absorption or the consequence of an uninteresting performance, I hear nothing from the spectators. It’s disappointing, though later compliments hearten me. My brother says, This is the first time I’ve felt like flying in suspension… and in pictures, the look on his face is blissful.

This rope tells a story of flight, by twists and knots, to a beautiful man’s body on stage. It is first satisfaction of a dream: to give others what I love.

January 24, 2011


Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 10:36 pm

Your hands move like spiders, you say as I take down ropes from the suspension ring. I’m abashed at a comparison to something so graceless.

Spiders make beautiful things, you say; and I am Arachne, stubby little-girl hands moving with concentrated intent.

December 6, 2010

Undyed Hemp

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

Big brother unbottons my shirt for the camera, introducing us: This is my sister.

The viewers think we’re crazy hot. I carry his champagne glass across the rich room; collared, flogged, caned, whipped, given to please a beautiful woman; and raw with tears. As I kneel by his chair, we get two thumbs up. His pride and mine are not separate.

We exit this dream exhausted and amazed. In his toybag is a short length of rope which had tied my mouth shut and head back.
{smiling} You know what I appreciate.
And, together: This rope has a story…

December 2, 2010

Thin Line III

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

I suspended Hades and myself at the Armory; was utterly delighted, and stared at the picture of us untying each other for an hour.
Never seen her so proud and happy, notes my love.

December 1, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

The woodsman suspends me at Von Gutenberg Fetish Ball. As guests enter I spin in crimson rope & drink the beauty of light through closed eyes.
Switchblade. Gasp; knit tights are sliced off my legs. Arch when the whip hits stomach. Fly.

He puts me up again, tracing my inverted body in a zipper of bright red clothespins. Hanging from the ceiling like a little bat, I’m aware my friends have walked in. It’s never really an awesome night, one says, until you see someone you know hanging from the ceiling.

He puts me up again, on a One Way sign at Folsom Street Fair. Sunshine and a thousand cameras surround me; the woodsman & I & my brother are the only ones who matter. I’m slack-jawed and gone, hanging by two ropes; later my brother shields me as I dress again. My worth does not decline with exposure of it.

Coming home I strip, gold sugar sprinkles laid along my skin, and am devoured in knee-socks.

October 27, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 8:00 am

Graveyard picnic with my rigger. Do you always carry rope in your pocket?
He pulls out a neat bundle of jute & ties my arms back.

September 21, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 10:36 pm

Rope captures more time than it takes to apply. It holds you until your partner’s done. It must be wound back on itself and undone. In panties & tank top, wanting to cry as you wind hemp over my ribs, You’re always taking all my precious time.
Not time: life.

You hoist my leg in a neat gunslinger harness and Pink Floyd’s singing Welcome, to the machine… I am a gear suspended in the pulleys of ropes, put where they put me. Lean my head back and give in.

You fill me over and over; I route climax through the ropes, through the machinery about me; I keep none of it, It’s all right we told you what to dream, sings Pink Floyd…

September 12, 2010

Tan Jute

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 8:10 pm

This rope is a promise: to keep tying after I come off stage. Wonderful as it was this show wasn’t the apex of my life as a ropegirl, but an evening of it. Promise you this, jute, I’ll get tied again and keep tying. Lew Rubens says You guys are going to take this and run with it, aren’t you?

Yes, we are. This show was a glance given the audience into what I love, but so much else surrounded it; pre-show fear, buying nectarine perfume with my rigger, negotiating tortures, sushi with my lover afterwards. A promise: this show is not an oddity. This is what I love. I will keep tying, studying, learning. I will innovate and bring something new into the world, in nuance and performance (an the muses will it so).

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