S and M

S & M

S and M

Are you listening closely? Pay attention as you are taken on a guided tour down to the basement by the artist who has created his most wonderful spectacle yet. It is a very intimate, very intense one-on-one with the artist, but what lies in wait at the end of the story that you are taken through? Is the art installation which is hidden underneath the stairs an aberration or a sublime beauty because of the source of its inspiration? It’s for you to decide.


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See, it’s all a matter of interpretation. The left hand giving, the right hand taking. But giving isn’t always good. Taking isn’t always selfish. Giving charity? Giving pain? Taking pleasure? Taking pain? I’m talking to you, the unknown, the observer peeking through the curtains into my life. My very own personal private life. My private life. You are observing me, your eyes following, tracing every mechanical movement that I make. Let me say now, right off, that I know. I know you are uncomfortable with me. I can taste it in your breath. Your exhalations are short and sharp. Fear of the unknown is cowardice. Are you a coward? Do you fear? Do you?

Remember you are only here because I invited you. You would not be seeing through my eyes without my permission, and while you cannot borrow my mind to see into my world, I certainly, without a shadow of a doubt, am in your mind. I am burrowing at the roots of your thoughts. I am spawning creations in your skull. Creations of thoughts you would never have thought of before. What are those sinister, black rivers of thoughts creeping over your mind like poison ivy? Can you look at them? Are you brave enough to look at what dark thoughts you are capable of? Or are you afraid?

Let us hesitate no more. You are my guest, so observe me not as the psychopath. Yes that word’s probably already formed in your head hasn’t it? Psycho. Are you mentally painting a picture of me too? Do you need a face to go with that name? Do I look evil? Do I look like the person you expected to crush that bird with the broken wing? Can you see me with that rock? That cold, emotionless, heartless piece of stone, raised, ready to bring it down with the all the vengeance of a wrathful god onto that weak creature? Have you given me a face? Or am I the blank mask, the gaoler of the lascivious, wicked thoughts you keep locked in the back of your subconscious? The man who opens the cell at night? Is my face significant?

Yet, my friend. Who is meant to be the ‘Psycho’ here? OK let’s talk S&M. shall we? Your perverted mind has misled you again. See how weak you are? How feeble?

My ‘S’ is sane. My ‘M’ is Mad.

To ‘Sane’, what ‘Mad’ does and thinks, is ludicrous and beyond the realm of normality. But to ‘Mad’ what ‘Sane’ doesn’t do that he himself does, well, he finds that hard to comprehend.

‘Mad’ likes to eat people’s toes, but ‘Sane’ doesn’t. ‘Sane’ instead, he prefers his sausage and mash. Surely from the perspective of ‘Mad’, ‘Sane’ must be the mad one for not liking toes!

It’s all a matter of interpretation and perspective.