Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

Home / woman

Had they made thousands of these? Yes. Thousands of unique, captured dreams mailed to the homes of the rich, the lonely, the sick. And he’d never touched her although he so often dreamt of what that warm, smooth skin would feel like beneath his hands, of what her breathing would feel like under the crush […]

Read More

She’d been modeling for him over the past sixteen years, and while technology moved on, their dances didn’t change. Clifford hated the flat boredom of video. It lacked the latent image, the romance of a movie camera. And he had no patience for editing. He captured only what was raw and real, a single reel. […]

Read More

The camera churned, a kind of rough chewing made by it’s teeth as they pulled 16mm film by its sprockets, delicately capturing her on celluloid for the last time. She looked this way and that, trained to ignore Clifford and his lens, instead appearing as if the moment were candid; as if this motion picture […]

Read More

Trapped by the flood of circumstance and the ardor of impossibly attained lust, the net cast, the zeros and ones of outrageous fortune that cling to hearts literate in the great languages of binding, abiding, yearning, desiring. Rocky shores threaten shipwrecked delight and moonlight reveals skeletons awash in the salt of uncommon release, cracked ribcages […]

Read More

More delicious than lost, she’s a battle cry in the sea of adequate. She’s flame in the soft murmer of falling snow. She burns even when it’s impossible to find oxygen under the thick coat of longing’s heavy slumber. The stars lost to the burden of cloud, flakes swirls in the ground light and she […]

Read More

This loss of breath, It’s wrong by design. A same shallow escape; A withdrawal into night As if the stars had hands That clutched at need, desire, worth. In that moment, she looked tired but fulfilled, Yet truth hung obvious to her As a coat on a rack Snow-flight drying By a closed front door […]

Read More

It was gleeful,  This delight. The hand finding wet, The body curling under  Each hot kiss And confident breath Bred from decades of waiting. She sung high quiet Into a pillow stained with lipstick And the smear of mascara. The moans of approaching release A chorus of measured patience eroding As cliff ledges falling To […]

Read More

    To see what's what in the world of Santo

    >> <<