RE: SWEET SOLSTICE 21-6-04

She took the pebble carefully ... running its smoothness across her neck and throat then pushed it deeply, firmly through her flesh, embedding it in her heart ...

Thank you darling soul ... my precious blue implant causes me a little pain -  in the most delightful way ... and only when I breathe (*smile)

xxxxxxxxxxxx>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

HEART MURMUR* 21-6-04

The symptoms you describe interest me, because I believe that I am suffering from something similar. I find that I keep thinking about you when I should be working and this is accompanied by a quite pleasant painful sensation in my chest - like my heart is full to bursting. I then feel what can only be described as a hunger of the soul. What should I do?

Suggestions, pppppllleeaase! kisses, souldaveXXXXXXX

 

RE: HEART MURMUR* 21-6-04

something really atmospheric on a sandstone altar i hope (*smile) xxxxxxxxxxx>>>>>>>>>>>>>>take care xxxxxxx>>>>>

but we'll have to bags who gets to have the heaving bosom and wear too much eye-liner sweet soul ... i know you're dying for the role but i do it *so well (*smile) ...

a bit blue today - u're email made me smile <<kiss>>

Don't be blue sweetness! You can do the heaving bossom bit and I'll do the eyeliner. Just been to another country house - nice clients, beautiful park ... wish you were there with me* kisses, souldavexxxxxxxxxxxxx

Through kohl rimmed eyes
She watched as fingers twisted cords around her wrists
and gently, firmly tied her ankles down ... (*smile) xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>>>>>>>>>>>

 

Spreadeagled on the pale, oily-smooth, marble slab in the large darkened space. The only light being from five huge candles placed in a pentacle around the rectangular slab. The air full of incense - attar of roses*. The masked figure slowly turning back to her with a golden bowl. She feels the warm oil run over her body ...

 

 

Sweetness, of course, the anointing oil is no ordinary oil. Plant extracted atropines, psilocybins and cannabinoids have been added. The effect is ... out of this world*

 

The heat of her limbs contrasted strangely with the cool, smooth surface she was bound to ... strangely soft beneath her skin ...

Thank you beautiful ... xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>>>>>>>>>>i'll get back on the altar (or is that you *smile) in the next couple of days - flat out again xxx - love and smiles >>>

Strong masseur's hands gently spread the anointing oil over her body. Then, a mouth, lips, tongue slides from navel to nipple. The hand scoops a few droplets of oil, touching her lips and then a finger slides into her mouth. She tastes the oil, feels something spreading through her system like fire. A first rite has been observed ... the next involves blood* ...

 

The thorn pierced deep, bringing with it a bone-sweet pain, a transcendent pain, ... or was it pleasure. It was certainly a CLEAR moment, before it subsided to an itch. Brush the rose petals, a rose meets a rose by a very different name. And then another impaling ...

Then … lost in visions…

 

Today, I am the pearldiver pushing back my wet hair. Little drops and rivulets glistening on my tanned skin. My lean form springs skyward, leaving the wooden boat gently rocking, then arcs like a golden bow toward the crystal water. No splash, just a swallowing sound as I pierce the mirror surface ... to enter my kingdom. Sound is deadened, gravity defied, vision rippling*. But I must go deeper, always deeper. That is where the treasured pearls lie in their nacreous beds. It's all a dream and I believe I can live without air. It allows me to go deeper. Is this inside or outside my head ... or both, it comes to me. This is the way, my path of bubbles signing my location.

 

Darkening vision ... always almost there as I lose consciousness ...

 

Come on in, the water's fine!

 

I see your face before me and place a slow deep *soul* kiss on your gorgeous lips. Here again. Find me. Bind me.

 

 

 

Lying in the scented waters of the fabulous marble bath, soul lets her mind roam freely – pondering odd connections that would bore or bug most people. It’s just the way I think, she thinks, and then laughs at herself for this stunningly circular thought. And who am I talking to? Who is the internal critic and adjudicator who will say whether these thoughts are reasonable or not? And why should they be? Soul thinks, I must try to be more irrational, spontaneous and follow my feelings. There is a bit of Dave leaking in here, just as Soul has leaked out into Dave’s consciousness. Now she laughs aloud, in joy and simple enchantment. Mmmmm! Time to go and tend the garden*

 

. I look in the mirror, it’s one of many in a hall of mirrors – what used to be the ballroom of the palazzo in the days when it was full of laughter and gaiety,( oh, the masques we had there!). Now empty, decayed but still glorious, the mirrors losing their silvering around the edges, the gilt frames peeling, the pale marble floor and high, frescoed ceilings. Light pours in from the clerestory windows around the upper ceiling. The whole suffused with a dim and dark golden light. I continue to look in the mirror, my eye running like hot oil over my shimmering surface echoed a thousand times by mirror on mirror. Soul nearby. Soul distant. A thousand Souls. Each individual, each different, all the same …

 

'she's feeling very girlie and vulnerable because she doesn't realise that those little lines around her mouth are an easy target for the kisses that take such joy in all the words that put them there...'

'I think I'll be a raven haired amazon today' she purred to soul, kholling the rims of her girlfriends eyes, and daubing her lips with pomegranates....

to graceful damsels dancing in the wind, their long slim limbs entwining with the strands of weeping willows ....>>>>>>>>

 

You beautiful person! I could just cover you in honey and lick it all off again!

William Gibson must be very happy. Let's hope more of his future gazing comes to pass. He imagined future virtual environments in which virtual avatars could interact as in reality. The ultimate post-geographic dream. For now I will continue wending my way towards the foothills of this massif*

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soul looked round but the figure had gone. Walking up the dusty curving marble stair from the ballroom, leaving a trail of footprints in the dust. In the minstrels gallery she finds the footprints of the other and proceeds to follow ...

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