I, Abstract Expressionist

Hope I'm not betraying any confidences by reproducing in part the email I just sent, but I can't not share this wif alla youse...

So I'm drinking my mug of tea, and I check email, and oh, look, email from girlfag, she with whom I'm cosmickly (sp?) linked...

As I read her email, my Sadistic Muse visits... As if watching a movie in my head, I see a scene unfold, me and girlfag...

Here's the gist of the reply email:

Have you considered the play possibilities given that we're cosmic siblings? In your head, one step ahead of you... the little sister I always wanted to torment but never had the chance.

Grove on this, sis:

We do this somewhere outside. Somewhere leafy and green.
First, you strip. You stand for a while, breathing deep. Feeling the warm sunlight and gentle breeze. Very hippy dippy. Gettin' naked at the swimming hole or something.

I throw a length of good thick rope over the limb of a tree and tie off one end around the tree. Noose style. The other end you chomp down on, and the end gets looped around your head and tied in the back. A sort of minimalist head harness.

Then, I start wrapping you in fishline. I've never seen or heard of fishline being used for bondage, but I think it would be perfect. Winding it around you duct-tape-mummification style would leave you perfectly immobilized. It digs deep into you skin. (O! The Marks!) Chomping down on the rope in your mouth will enable you to steady yourself and not fall over.

Once you're bound, tits to toes, I start working on you with my really heavy flogger. Everywhere on your body. Wrapping a lot. ("You need to SLAM her hard.")

The flogger is really heavy, like getting kicked by a mule. Or being hit with a water logged blanket. I could be at it for a while, circling you... SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!

With the rope in your mouth, you'd be able to let your body sway to take the blows, but you'd be able to steady yourself and not fall over.

And afterward... (O! The Marks!) your body would be a symphony. The grid of the fishline with the splashes from the wrapping of the flogger, but once freed, these vibrant areas with so much going on would stand in contrast to the parts of your body--under your arms, the insides of your thighs--that are still clear and untouched.

The artist becomes the canvas.

Huh. That never occured to me before. I love Abstract Expressionism. Just cream my pants over the New York School. Pollock makes the blood rush to my head. I have to sit down. Just think about the process that went into making one of those paintings... That flick of the wrist that Jackson must have used to get the paint to explode onto the canvas... just like whipping. Just like whipping. I know that headspace.

Enjoy your day.

XOXOX,

Your Big Mean Brother.

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