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INFERNO (Day 0)
(Mirrors and a bucket of gravel...) Dark outside. And inside, dark coffee permeated the air with an aroma thick enough to feel. A steamy presence -- an entity unto itself. And the jazz (under the strangely soothing racket of electric grinders and pressurized vapor frothing liquids in stainless steel containers)... The jazz equally pervasive and fluid. Hot. | |||||||||||||||||||||
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I set down my book ("...a brilliant new translation by the Poet..."), and noticed that she was still there -- as always, alone at her table. Her persona was fittingly gothic: skin dead white, lips blood red. Everything else black. Like velvet, but not as smooth. Staring blankly into space, she had rendered herself an inanimate fixture in these surroundings. An inconspicuous element of the motif. So when she looked at me, I didn't feel compelled to look away. "I've noticed you," she declared, with more than a bit of gravel. And I replied, "Yeah?" (Why?) She inquired what I was reading -- I told her, and made some compunctiously odd remark. She studied the book's cover and nodded approvingly, "The new verse translation..." Definitely gothic -- you could see it in her eyes. "I've been there." REVELATION (Day 7) Outside a steamy presence. Dark, like... "Men?" I wondered. She put down her coffee cup, now stained with that distinctive lipstick. "People," she corrected hoarsely, "But I warned them." I noticed the thick studs piercing her eyebrow. (it was warm in here.) Then ventured, "I understand. But..." She frowned skeptically, and cut me off. "You find me attractive, don't you?" she demanded, "Hot?" (Well, yes.) She picked up her cup again, steaming. "Like this coffee," she observed, "Hot. But you wouldn't want to stick your dick in it. Or would you?" ABYSS (Day 17) Fear. A dark entity, fluidly pervasive. (Like her.) "But isolated," she assured me as we descended rickety stairs. Her apartment, a brick chamber beneath the coffee shop, was rather small -- but mirrors lined one wall, making her cloistered abode seem larger than it actually was. Reflected in the decor was her gothic persona, even darker than I had imagined. Near the room's center was a rack (of sorts), padded with black leather and copiously fitted with unusual hardware. Adorning the walls was a perverse collection of adult items. (For novelty purposes only...) An elaborate system of pulleys and cables had been installed in the ceiling. She shrugged and said, "I work here." (...user assumes all risk of injury.) "Expensive?" I wondered. She shrugged again, "Not really." In the corner was a small bench, on top of which was a rather curious piece of equipment. Mostly steel, with some copper parts. Rubber insulation and about twenty feet of heavy electrical cord. Over the wooden handle was a sticker: | |||||||||||||||||||||
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CAUTION DO NOT bury any part of heated element in sand when plugged in. DO NOT use any solu- tion with sulphur content for cleaning. These will void warranty. Place in bucket of coarse gravel when not in use. Patents 2,514,618 - 3,067,315 FOR OUTDOOR USE ONLY. | |||||||||||||||||||||
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"Body art," she explained, forcing a tremor through me. "Looks painful," I remarked. She nodded, "Very," (with the art in the process, and the scars merely a record). "I'm still practicing." GAUZE (Day 25) Scalding, with a bit of smoke ascending from the tip. And getting hotter, as she positioned one of the larger mirrors, "So you can watch," she offered. I swallowed hard. "I don't want to watch." She smiled (or came close anyway), "No. But you will." And I heard the gravel... WAKE (Day 29) Dark outside. And she was still there -- as always, the poet. Skin dead white, lips blood red. Everything else black (or darker). A new translation, hardly gothic. An inanimate presence. Cold. (Like my coffee.) | |||||||||||||||||||||
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