I saw a spider in the snow this weekend,
And it was a little bit weird,
Like seeing someone drinking hot apple cider on a high summer day.
I kept wondering, “But, where are you going? Where will you take refuge from the real winter which hasn’t even started yet? Will you dig yourself under the snow, under the earth to sleep through the frigid dark months? Or will you… die alone… out here on some backwoods trail with no hope of shelter or survival, where not a single soul will know that you even existed?”
But I didn’t interfere,
Or try to rescue him;
Normally, I am a rescuer of spiders.
I cup and release them…
With no fear.
K, maybe a little fear,
But I try to save them.
I just like the terrifying little buggers.
But this guy was different.
I was told to leave him be…
He is stronger and more resourceful than he looks.
So I snapped a photo,
Wished him well,
And kept trudging up that silent backwoods trail,
Cheering him on in my head,
And wondering if we will ever meet again.
I always find ways
To take the scenic route,
Towards being somewhat close to at least half ready
To leave the house and start my work day.
But rushing is stressful and boring.
So I allow plenty of space and time
For distractions of my own creation.
I feel sweet this morning,
Like damp candy floss.
Making my fingers sticky,
And my teeth hum.
Tendrils of sleep creep and curl up my legs,
Pulling me back into my bed,
And into my sleepy little head,
Where visions of Bowie’s Labyrinthine bulge dangle and jangle before my star-crossed eyes.
Why do I always have to wake up?
I miss my underwater dream world, where everything is always wet and warm.
But here I am… trying to get dressed,
Trying to detach from my other reality that I can scarcely remember,
But feel in every pore of my bones.
Today will feel long. Like the journey to the Goblin King’s castle… if it were underwater,
Where everything is in slo-mo and silent…ish.
This reality is too fast and loud for me right now. Shit.
Lately, my ass has been really artistically inspiring to me. I mean, I made art this past week with it.
Me and my softly-lit ass cheeks….
I am being guided towards more creative and spiritual pursuits as of late. Mainly meditation and self-questioning (this is a struggle but a worthy one) and more visual art.
My Kandinsky piece really got me excited to make more art with my body.
For this one, my ass would be the palette and applicator. Like my canvas, it was pristine and really to be sullied for the sake of art, self-expression and body positivity.
Here goes the first cheek! I used my hands because I am a savage like that.
Now the other!
Both cheeks are ready for their impression on the canvas.
I tried sitting on it. It was pretty funny to behold… and not efficient at all. So I just put myself into Goddess pose and pressed the canvas onto my ass. I wiggled around on it, and totally turned myself on while doing it too. Tee hee!
My ass looks like an assymetrical butterfly. Makes sense.
I applied paint to the cute part of my ass that curves in towards my pussy. You know which part…. And pressed the canvas into that… or rather rubbed myself onto the canvas. 😈
Then I poured paint onto my hand and flung it onto the canvas where my pussy would be… ish. I made sure to make that nice and messy. A pussy explosion, if you will.
There you have it. Sexy ass art. It will happen again.
I think I want to do a pussy impression. Not sure how to go about that but I will figure it out.
I want to use my belly to make art as well as that is my biggest point of (healing) self-consciousness and self-loathing.
Art is a soul saviour.
***This project happened yesterday; I am not this motivated in the mornings… at all***
I found a pack of pastels lying around and decided to do a little art project. It’s a full moon tonight, so it seems fitting to do some light creative catharsis.
I chose Kandinsky circles. It was a soothing experience, drawing circles in various colours with soft pastels while sipping Morrocan mint tea. I adore the smell of mint tea… and pastels. What a sensory delight!
In fact, it was so soothing that my mind got a little loosey goosey, and drifted towards visions of disembodied technicolour boobies. Of course, Dalíesque visions such as these are very common place in my imagination.
Then I got a super boss idea: I am going to turn one of my breasts into a Kandinsky circle, then press it into a canvas. A tit-pression, if you will.
So, I found some finger paint, took off my top and got to it. Time for some more titty art*.
*Some of you may remember my boobies in the snow project on New Year’s Day. I am a very big fan of making art with body parts, and hope to embark on more of these adventures. Shoot me an email if you have ideas!
I never imagined how much fun it could be to paint a part of my body, let alone a private part. Let me tell you… I have been missing out. And if you haven’t tried it… so have you.
It’s not perfect but its charm is in the process through which it was created. I may add some detailing if the mood strikes. It needs some gold… because titties are GOLD, JERRY, GOLD!*
*Seinfeld reference. Come on… do I even need to include this note? Everyone knows Seinfeld, right?
Here is an artsier angle of the same masterpiece
Of course, I couldn’t resist smearing the paint all over my breast after my tit-pression. I already have paint on me; might as well make it worth the effort it takes to clean up.
You should go make some art now. Maybe I should do a bum one next. I will need a bigger canvas. A much bigger one.
I smoke weed.
Not before work or anything like that.
I wake and bake only on days off when I have few responsibilities other than breathing and eating and some light cleaning. And masturbating.
I toke up as soon as I get home from work… to shift gears and chill the fuck out.
It helps with my anxiety and existential despair.
But it does make me a little sleepy.
I need more sleep anyway.
Now, let’s smoke up, yo!
Licking my silhouette, the soft light from the lamp draws envy from the flames in the nearby fireplace.
Whose light is too far to warm me up.
But I am not worried, nor am I too cold;
I have my own heat source.
I am never quite sure if it is actually myself I see in the mirror,
Or if it is just an avatar.
I see a construct of flesh, bone, muscle and curves, and eyes that shimmer with Divine Knowing,
But I don’t see the heart;
I only feel that part.
Is this all that we are? Or are we more than meets the eye?
Are we meat cases with looming expiration dates?
Or are we eternal beings, experiencing the infinite from the confines of the finite?
These are things that cross my mind when I play with the one I see in my reflection.
And sometimes… I don’t fucking think at all.
Gushy 80s songs play in my head as I grab myself.
Like someone is serenading me from within.
Here is the shadow of my right breast… in different filters!
As with many parts of my body, I used to think my legs were too short, too fat, too cellulite-y, too imperfect, not feminine enough. All that. I would look at them with derision and a sense of betrayal.
“Why can’t I find boots that fit my calves?” “Why do my thighs chafe?” “Why can’t I have gotten my sister’s slender legs?” Accursed legs!!!
It took my lifetime to date to come to a place of peace about my legs. They are strong and shapely and perfect the way they are. That dumb boy at summer camp in 1993 was wrong about my legs being “too fat”.
However, I do agree with my high school crush; I do kind of look like She-Ra!
Plucking my pussy like an upright bass.
Losing myself in Shirley compositions,
Causing universes to explode me outwards,
To magnitudes unheard of.
Unzip my jacket. Slowly. Outside in the cold.
Bare my warm skin to the winter wind and let loose my hidden charms.
Expose me, show off my stripes, my joys and my sorrows.
My soul finds purchase in my flesh and holds me tight from the outside in,
And the inside out.
It is now time to look at what has always been obscured, what has always been blurred, ignored, brushed aside, overlooked, and shamed into oblivion. See what you have been leaving out of the picture.
Don’t just explore the obvious; look beyond to what is not immediately apparent, and in that space, you will find your healing.
❤xoxoxo The Empress xoxoxo❤
Ever get a profound urge to pleasure yourself right before bed, no matter how tired you are? No matter what time it is, and with little regard for how much sleep you will be sacrificing?
Sometimes that happens to me. So to be more present and creative, I will smoke a j and take a few mildly naughty photos of myself to whet my appetite. Sometimes the photos are a little more than mildly naughty.
Just the thought of objectifying myself for my own enjoyment delights me in ways I can’t explain. It feels like a deeply intimate act of self-love.
Some pictures, though. Some pictures I take of myself so surprise even me that I have no choice but to relinquish my camera to sudden indifference, and lose myself in… well, myself. Wink wink, nudge nudge. Say. No. More.
Why do you think there are only two photos in this series? Ahem…. I mean… dat ass doe.