Christmas is days away … what to get for the holidays? A copy of Hot Flashes: sexy little stories and poems, of course. Watch as our favorite performance artist, Samantha Chanse, illustrates how to really stuff a Christmas stocking.
Artist Jacqueline Miyata opens her studio again for the holidays. Her work in semi-precious gemstones and metal is a blend of technique and inspiration. On December 11th, she is throwing a party from 1-5pm. If you know her or one of her clients, perhaps you can wrangle an invitation, but we’re just suggesting you try to find out more about it. Continue Reading »
Sensual, sizzle, razzle, dazzle—Burlesque is a blast. Starring ultra-sexy songbird Christina Aguilera and an always sultry Cher, it’s a feast for sore eyes and parched … whatever. Gorgeous costumes, bodies, and voices make it a huge relief from other dull contemporary fare, except perhaps the prancings of rock goddesses like Lady Gaga and … yes, that’s right … Christina Aquilera. Sophisticated critics tooting their own little air horns claim it is overwrought and simplistic. Excuse me, it’s burlesque … or was that not clear from the title? Burlesque in its old form was a kind of joke, a lampoon, a parody of snooty social custom in the face of our very common and lowbrow lust for life. Later, at least here in the good ol’ USA, burlesque became just plain lusty, though women like Josephine Baker, Gypsy Rose Lee and Dita Von Continue Reading »
NEVER SAY DIE: A CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS by Special Guest Blogger, Erin Orison
Now this is a project worth supporting. Love, or should I say lust, is also for the dead and the restless, or is that the restless dead? Deadlings, do send in your work. This is a perfect opportunity to share the Dead Love. And many thanks to Ms. Kitty, a much-loved member of the ZIA, for sending this my way.
Call for Submissions:
The Love that Never Dies: Undead Erotica Continue Reading »
Once upon a time Guido, a hunter (cacciatore), was out in the wilds of the Tuscan hills trying to roust up some dinner. He was wily. He was intrepid. He was a good shot. But this day he was unlucky. The rabbit (coniglio) made a run for it. The deer (cervo) dashed away, and the wild boar (cinghiali) bolted wildly upon his approach. The ducks (anatra) had all ducked and, having heard report of his gun, the pheasants (fagiani) were no longer present. And for all Guido knew the woodcocks (beccaccia) were attending Woodstock– there were none to be seen. He returned to Montecatini Val de Cecina tired, hungry and miffed that his hunt had gone so badly. He stopped at the grocery and got chicken, onions, tomatoes, red peppers and a nice bottle of primitivo. Even though he’d bagged no game, he’d set his mind on having Chicken Cacciatore. After all, he was a hunter and therefore he’d dine like one. Screw stereotypes!
While Guido had been out blasting up the countryside to no avail, his neighbor, Carmen, had slept the day away. Although it was early evening, she was just sipping her cappuccino, having only recently awakened. Naturally enough, this is how it goes when you’re a hooker (puttana). She had just been thinking about breakfast—which would really be dinner—and thinking that she may have to succumb to that stupid, old cliche since all she had in the house was some garlic, olives, capers, canned tomatoes and spaghetti. Apparently, Pasta Puttanesca (whore’s pasta) was the only thing she was stocked to make. Continue Reading »
Mistress Ginger Monroe was a blond beauty with an hourglass figure. She stretched across her sofa with the languor of a cat. A woman in her mid-40’s, she has never doubted her own desirability and she has a job she loves. Men pay her $250.00 an hour to spank them, berate them, tie them up and scare them. Mistress Ginger explained her profession, “I’m like Mother Theresa with a fucking whip. This is therapy for the men.” Continue Reading »
“The Japanese gangster, Ryu, appeared to be dead. He lay naked, face-up on the heart-shaped bed of the Shakayama Love Hotel. I could see Miura, or what was left of him, a giant looming over the bed, leaning ominously over my lover’s inert form. Both men were reflected in the mirror above the bed. Ryu, spread eagle, his well-muscled body dressed only in the tattoos that the yakuza fancy, was partially hidden by Miura’s massive, white-shirted back, upon which a red stain bloomed, bright and fat, like a large cabbage rose. Miura seemed impervious to whatever had caused him his injury, and he was obviously up to no good. That is how I’d found them when I opened the bathroom door.
Love hotels are a quirky Japanese institution. Like capsule hotels, which are the size of small coffins and a great place to “sleep it off” after a wild night out, love hotels serve a particular purpose—that purpose is “quickies,” a hot snatch of love midday or mid-marriage. Some of these hotels are outrageous, with facades capped by turrets and spires reminiscent of tacky fairytale castles, ersatz Middle Eastern seraglios, or one of those corny miniature golf courses. The hotels Ryu favored were far more discreet, their tree-shadowed entrances tucked behind stone walls, the parking underground so that patrons can duck in and out without fear of observation. They are no-tell hotels where guests select rooms from a series of illuminated photos on the wall: the harem, perhaps, or maybe the S&M suite. There is no one to judge you as you slide your thousands of yen through a slot in the wall for your one- to two-hour “rest” or kyukei, or your tomari, the overnight stay.
This was the second time I’d been to a love hotel with Ryu. He liked the drama of the surroundings. He liked the privacy, and I liked anything that involved him. This particular room had a black-leather wet-bar stocked with expensive whiskies and a heart-shaped bed with red satin sheets. It also had a very large, well-appointed black- and white-tiled bathroom, and this is where I must have been when Miura snuck into the room.”
From “Be Mine,” between the DEAD LOVE covers. (more in the “Chapters” section of the site)
Dead Love is now available for Pre-Order.
We have our not-so-Victorian knickers in something of a pleasant twist over The Young Victoria, starring Emily Blunt as the imperious Queen. What’s not to love about Emily’s spunky portrayal or the oh-so-amorous attentions of her Albert, picture-perfectly portrayed by heartthrob Rupert Friend? And as if that weren’t enough, the aging 58-year-old Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, is played by dashing Paul Bettany. If it seems over the top, romantically speaking, it’s not. Queen Victoria was quite a diarist and in her own hand confessed to her instant attraction to Albert. One suspects she may have simply exhausted her eager consort. She wore mourning black for him for decades … though there are rumors about a certain John Brown and we have seen portraits of the two together in Holland.
You can read more about the longest reigning British monarch and her lifelong love in the biographies by Lytton Strachey and Christopher Hibbert. We—the royal, HF We—prefer to watch the movie and sigh over the love scenes and wish it all went on and on and on and plunged us ever-deeper into the royal romance.
Would you like to know the secrets to attracting your soul mate and feeling profound love every day? With this hip and fun guide, you’ll learn to use the rules of attraction, magic, astrology, and your intuition to attract the partner of your dreams and experience true, soulful love.
Join the throng at the Left Coast Writers Book Party for Jessica Shepherd, author of A Love Alchemist’s Notebook, on Saturday, May 8th, at 7pm at Book Passage, 51 Tamal Vista Boulevard, Corte Madera, California.
Left Coast Writers will be serving wine as Jessica Shepherd joyfully reveals the Nine Soul Mate Secrets, offering insight into all aspects of creating and maintaining love, such as how to focus on loving yourself, open up to love from others, and trust your intuition. You’ll engage in fun, hands-on spells, rituals, and meditations to explore your heart and grow spiritually. The Nine Soul Mate Secrets will also reveal how to:
- Break bad karmic patterns
- Move beyond difficult relationships
- Learn from past mistakes
- Overcome your fears
- Tap your magnetism with your Venus sign Continue Reading »
“Large brown velvet moths settled upon each of her breasts. An orchid opened on one shoulder, a striped gecko displayed the inside of its mouth on the other. South Sea islands showed up on her belly and disappeared into the shaved split between her legs. A sea serpent slid down her thigh. Constellations unfurled on her right arm. On her left arm, winds chased clouds to the wrist. And so on. In the last picture, she was completely covered in tattoos, including her neck and her face …”
From “The Wolfman and the Mule,” between the DEAD LOVE covers. (more in from this selection at a later date in “Chapters”)
Sometimes life imitates art. That is what happened when I met Chris Rainier. He was giving a presentation of Ancient Marks. It was as if Alain had come back or stepped right out of DEAD LOVE. How do you tell someone you thought you’d invented them, that you pined over them for what felt like forever, that you’re glad they’re alive. Of course Chris isn’t Alain. But here is another weird thing: His good friend is the man who suggested the recipe for a zombie. They are a pair, those two. Brilliant artists. I’d follow them anywhere … but isn’t that just what zombies do? Oh, I can be so predictable.
If you love tattoos as I do, check out Chris Ranier’s haunting video, Ancient Marks, with music to die for by Anoushka Shankar.
post photo courtesy of Anthony Long Wu; his tattoo—the laughing buddha, a symbol of his belief and culture.