Sunday, January 31, 2010


Once my father yelled at me: : "Ayeshaaa, stop harassing that piano". I must have been 5 or 6 years old at that time, but i remember his anger and despair vividly. The poor man couldn't help himself, as he wasn't adjusted yet, to a daughter who clearly tried to find her own way in the rather rigid and dogmatic world of classical music. Same story in school, in church or the synagogue, during ballet lessons, well anyplace were people wanted me to comply with their rules and regulations. I hated all that, rebelled against it, and resisted it to exhaustion.

I love to play the piano and can spend hours caressing, fighting, and seducing a Steinway or Baldwin, to get out of them what i want. I manipulate, vary, reorganize, and violate the work of famous composers, taking possession of their souls, and bring them to life again. I'm still here, but via the piano, i communicate with them in the afterlife, taking their work to a higher level, into a different dimension, making it better. More or less what i occasionally do with Nanshakh's drawings, of which there's an example on top of this blog. His original was in black and white.

What i want, is to unite with the piano and the composer, in one orgiastic threesome. Same story when on horseback, having a sexual encounter, dressing up in leather, or having a meal. I want to unite, physically and mentally, with whoever or whatever i'm involved with. The degree to which this actually happens varies of cors, depending heavily on the mood i'm in. But my passion for it, is always there. U should see me eating a strawberry, lol.

In fact, i'm not playing the piano, i'm dominating the thing.

As the years passed, i became a mother myself. My daughter is a grown up now, living her own life, and is as crazy about the piano as i am. In contrast to my own youth, i kept piano teachers far from her. All i did was encouraging her to touch it, to enjoy the music she got out of it, and to enslave it. When she's visiting me, we test each other: Who's the best at the piano. It's almost a ritual. We dress for the occasion, as if it were a public recital. We love to wear contrasting colors. If i would be in black velvet, silver jewelry, and red heels, her choice could be, off white leather, black pearls, and matching boots. Add to this a room with only candlelight, et voilà, the perfect setting to collide. We compete vigorously, each time convinced that in the end, there only can be one. How wrong we r, cos in the end the 2 of us unite too, in one passionate 4-hand, communicating on a different level, and wiping away any distance between us, or whatever is left from our silly competition. It's very intense, and strengthening the bond between us over and over again. It's a very sweaty affair too, and we desperately need to shower when our musical hurricane came to a rest.

There must be positive chemistry between me and a composer. Like i have with Chopin. Otherwise i refuse to play his/her music. This not only depends on the music itself. For instance, there was a time i adored Franz Liszt, till i learned about his anti-semitism. I loved to play him, as most of his works were challenging to me, asking from me all that i got. It hurt to let him go. Very much so. For me there's no middle road tho. I'll never play him again, although his hate for the Jews was by far not as virulent as Wagner's, who on top of that hated women, or rather, was afraid of them, as is displayed in all his works, were women (mostly) die a fatal death. Same story when it comes to art, and especially poetry. Once i find out an artist's personality is contaminated with xenophobia, fascism, or related filth, it's over.

I selected 3 videos of women who i believe possess the passion i was talking about. Do not only listen to the music, but observe their body language as well.
's a fourth one.

Et une autre.........tralalalala.

Y mas

En verdomd astnie waar is....hier ister nog eentje, hehehe

Monday, January 11, 2010

Look at me slave

Look at me slave
When i spit into ur mouth
To trigger ur lust

Look at me slave
When the hood goes on
And the smell of rubber
Takes possession of ur ego

Look at me slave
When i’m uncoiling my whip
Anticipating ur blood

Look at me slave
When skyscraper heels
Approach ur aching body
To open ur flesh

Look at me slave
When my leather stained temple
Mutes ur voice

Look at me slave
When razor edged nails
Dig deep into the wounds
I inflicted upon u

Look at me slave
When the iron sinks in
Branding u with my name

Look at me slave
When i dance
In front of u
Touching myself

Look at me slave
When in ecstasy
U make love to my boots

Look at me slave
When ur manhood is forced
To rise and stand tall
Only to collapse in agony

Look at me slave
When i abandon u
To enslave a woman instead


Yearn for me slave
When alone in ur cell
Bound in strict leather
Chained to the floor
Awaiting the hour
That never will come

Monday, January 4, 2010

I'm Medicine for..........

Above u find yet another picture from the masterful hand of Nanshakh. This time in its unedited form. Consider it a tribute to this giant among the giants. It was drawn by him a couple of years ago, and meant to grasp my physical appearance and personality. These days one can encounter this fabulous illustration on many sites around the Net, often stolen, but also decorating the site of a pro who caught his heart and to whom he is supposedly a slave now. Well, so to speak eh, cos i don't think he's participating in the flock of human dogs she's entertaining.

Ø men who believe they r masters
Ø women who eat too much
Ø people who r constantly telling others “I love you”
Ø jokers full of wit
Ø nazis in drag
Ø pimps who r beating their whores
Ø d/s aficionados lacking a d or a s
Ø housewives chatting in a gym
Ø smokers resisting lung cancer
Ø poets writing clichés
Ø slaves who behave like subs
Ø generals away from the frontlines
Ø women who want to emancipate
Ø CEO’s who think it’s them running the company
Ø mistresses with virtual slaves
Ø politicians cheating on honest agendas
Ø she-males who refuse to be sexy
Ø scumbags with no balls
Ø rubber lovers neglecting their rubber
Ø males claiming to be lesbian
Ø parents exploiting their children
Ø women who r bowing to men
Ø cowards trying to escape from the whip
Ø masters who believe they r men

Ø and………..
Ø the rest of the congregation still waiting in the waiting room

Told u………i’m a regular Florence Nightingale, the Lady with the Lamp, Ruthless Rubber Nurse, enhancing ur discomfort and pain.