R. Virchow, 19th century German surgeon

There is a box her father forbid her from looking in when she was a child. We are in one of the central rooms in the mostly converted attic of a giant mansion owned by her parents. She nods towards an old leather trunk about the size of a washing basket.

‘Do you want to look inside?’

I already know what is in it, she opened it in secret when she was young. I lift the lid and the smell is revolting. Stacked inside are human bones, brown and greasy with bits of flesh and sinew withered up and sticking to their sides.

I take flight, I fly away on the breeze. I rise and fall with the orcestra of the wind. Her father watches me leave, wistful and meloncoly but determined to find a box for me also.

I find a bar and go inside. The locals seem uneasy and there is a tense air of violence. I steadily realise it smells like the contents of that leather trunk and start to panic and leave. Out side a tree is writhing like a leviathan. A man, another foreigner, tells me the tree is considered to be a goddess. It thrashes like a monster and I see in its branches human remains are fused and enveloped inside them. Flesh bulges out from between the bark, not escaping but being consumed. The man starts to attack it and I shout at him not to as its a battle he will not win. I dodge the trees attacks and run into an open field.

]]> http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/05/etsy-shop/feed/ 0 http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/04/something-lost-behind-the-ranges/ http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/04/something-lost-behind-the-ranges/#comments Sun, 22 Apr 2012 10:55:49 +0000 bonnie http://amoredemori.com/blog/?p=1186 I walk in through the entrance and I know this is the first time I’ve ever set foot in the tiny ruin, but I have also always been here. The stone is worn away with time but you can still trace the line of  florishes and patterns in the masonry. Along the edge of a weathered picture rail sits small items of sentimental value, ornaments, trinkets, toys. A large plinth acts as a ledge to house a crunpled up duvet and pillow. Brambles spill in through an opening above it and in washes bright warm sunshine.
Outside fields and hills roll on forever. There aren’t any people for miles, maybe no other people at all. I am not alone, I am held by a presence so sweet and so dear I will never want again.

**********************

“There’s no sense in going further–it’s the edge of cultivation,”
So they said, and I believed it–broke my land and sowed my crop–
Built my barns and strung my fences in the little border station
Tucked away below the foothills where the trails run out and stop:

Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes
On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated–so:
“Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges–
“Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!”

So I went, worn out of patience; never told my nearest neighbours–
Stole away with pack and ponies–left ‘em drinking in the town;
And the faith that moveth mountains didn’t seem to help my labours
As I faced the sheer main-ranges, whipping up and leading down.

March by march I puzzled through em, turning flanks and dodging shoulders,
Hurried on in hope of water, headed back for lack of grass;
Till I camped above the tree-line–drifted snow and naked boulders–
Felt free air astir to windward–knew I’d stumbled on the Pass.

‘Thought to name it for the finder; but that night the Norther found me–
Froze and killed the plains-bred ponies; so I called the camp Despair
(It’s the Railway Gap to-day, though). Then my Whisper waked to hound me:–
“Something lost behind the Ranges. Over yonder! Go you there!”

Then I knew, the while I doubted–knew His Hand was certain o’er me.
Still–it might be self-delusion–scores of better men had died–
I could reach the township living, but . . . He knows what terror tore me . . .
But I didn’t . . . but I didn’t. I went down the other side.

Till the snow ran out in flowers, and the flowers turned to aloes,
And the aloes sprung to thickets and a brimming stream ran by;
But the thickets dwined to thorn-scrub, and the water drained to shallows,
And I dropped again on desert–blasted earth, and blasting sky. . . .

I remember lighting fires; I remember sitting by ‘em;
I remember seeing faces, hearing voices, through the smoke;
I remember they were fancy–for I threw a stone to try ‘em.
“Something lost behind the Ranges” was the only word they spoke.

I remember going crazy. I remember that I knew it
When I heard myself hallooing to the funny folk I saw.
‘Very full of dreams that desert, but my two legs took me through it . . .
And I used to watch ‘em moving with the toes all black and raw.

But at last the country altered–White Man’s country past disputing–
Rolling grass and open timber, with a hint of hills behind–
There I found me food and water, and I lay a week recruiting.
Got my strength and lost my nightmares. Then I entered on my find.

Thence I ran my first rough survey–chose my trees and blazed and ringed ‘em–
Week by week I pried and sampled–week by week my findings grew.
Saul he went to look for donkeys, and by God he found a kingdom!
But by God, who sent His Whisper, I had struck the worth of two!

Up along the hostile mountains, where the hair-poised snowslide shivers–
Down and through the big fat marshes that the virgin ore-bed stains,
Till I heard the mile-wide mutterings of unimagined rivers,
And beyond the nameless timber saw illimitable plains!

‘Plotted sites of future cities, traced the easy grades between ‘em;
Watched unharnassed rapids wasting fifty thousand head an hour;
Counted leagues of water-frontage through the axe-ripe woods that screen ‘em–
Saw the plant to feed a people–up and waiting for the power!

Well I know who’ll take the credit–all the clever chaps that followed–
Came, a dozen men together–never knew my desert-fears;
Tracked me by the camps I’d quitted, used the water-holes I’d hollowed.
They’ll go back and do the talking. They’ll be called the Pioneers!

They will find my sites of townships–not the cities that I set there.
They will rediscover rivers–not my rivers heard at night.
By my own old marks and bearings they will show me how to get there,
By the lonely cairns I builded they will guide my feet aright.

Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single acre?
Have I kept one single nugget–(barring samples)? No, not I!
Because my price was paid me ten times over by my Maker.
But your wouldn’t understand it. You go up and occupy.

Ores you’ll find there; wood and cattle; water-transit sure and steady
(That should keep the railway-rates down), coal and iron at your doors.
God took care to hide that country till He judged His people ready,
Then He chose me for His Whisper, and I’ve found it, and it’s yours!

The Explorer
Rudyard Kipling

The competition will consist of 3 prizes.

First prize is a piece of ‘Sleep’ taxidermy work-

Garcier and Dalia

Born in Louisiana from a mother whose life was sacrificed in a powerful hoodoo ritual, Garcia and Dalia came into this world sharing one body with two minds and an ability to tell the future. While Garcia reads the tarot cards Dalia searches her crystal ball, both foreseeing their own death.

Considered a freak of nature they were shunned from society and flew from their small home town. Then on the longest night in the summer of 1932 during The Great Depression they came across a travelling carnival at a dusty crossroads . Here they found solace amongst fellow oddities and there they stayed until fate found them and took them into her amber light.

Garcier was forever the gentleman and lost the sight in his left eye during a duel defending Dalias honour. His opponent did not live to tell the tale and it was rumoured that his end was seen in the crystal ball a month before their paths even crossed.

Dalia was the quieter of the two and was considered a mute for most of her small life, conversing only through Garcier. Local legend tells that the two, although related and conjoined, were hopeless romantics and married in secret by a lesser known Loa.
It is thought that the only two words she ever said aloud were ‘I do’.

*****************************************

Second prize,  Amore de Mori taxidermy necklace-

The Baron

The trophy mounted head of the scoundrelous villain who took Garciers eye.

Known only as ‘The Baron’ this lecherous pest tried in vain to take Dalias maidenhood. Not realising that the sleeping brother lieing beside her in bed was actually her siamese twin, The Baron drunkenly falling into their bedchambers tried in vein to have his way with her at knife point. When ripping back the covers he discovered all was not what he thought and stood aghast while Garcier awoke to kick him from their room. The next day they duelled at high noon and The Baron met his demise.

*****************************************

Third prize, preserved heart Amore de Mori necklace-

Garcier and Dalias heart

Whilst Garcier and Dalia had two heads, four legs and four wings, they shared  one heart

Presented in a coffin box, this tiny heart contained all the twins hopes and dreams. On a cold clear night if held to the ear under the light of a full moon you can still hear the slow steady beat of a love that will never end

*****************************************

HOW TO ENTER

‘like’ the Amore de Mori facebook  page and reblog the giveaway post here

Follow the Amore de Mori tumblr and reblog the giveaway post here

.
IMPORTANT- You can share and re-blog once every day for as many days as the competition runs. The more times you share or reblog the more entries you have and the better chance of winning. You can share  BOTH the page and blogs to maximize your entries.

(shares and reblogs from account set up just to generate entries do NOT count)

Competition Deadline-

The competition closes when the Amore de Mori Facebook page reaches 1000 likes and the Amore de Mori tumbler achieves 500 followers.

The WINNER of first prize will be the person with the most entries. The winner of second prize the person with the second highest number of entries and the winner of the third the person with the third highest number of entries.

When the Facebook pages and tumblr blog have reached their mark all entries will be counted and the winner will be announced!

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ASK ANY QUESTIONS YOU MAY HAVE

you can email me ame.solitaire@hotmail.com or comment below

]]> http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/03/competition/feed/ 0 http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/03/a-lesson-in-indifference/ http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/03/a-lesson-in-indifference/#comments Thu, 29 Mar 2012 13:41:47 +0000 bonnie http://amoredemori.com/blog/?p=1128 Today is the day of the worst nightmare I have ever had in my life. I would not expect anyone to read this but if you do I am immeasurably grateful. I apologise in indulging myself this way but to me putting this here is letting go of a paper boat in a lake.

I had a dream

they are taken to a big top outside in a field under beautiful sunshine. the theme takes on that of a japanese game show and it is like they are given party hats and prizes and they are all clapping and laughing and smiling and hugging. they are told to look at a cirled fenced with a strpied red and white banner where a crying terrified japanese boy stands holding a rudimentary bunny shaped pink package with a large bow. they think it is part of the act and a foregin humour, not realise of choosing not to notice the crude way the rabbit is wrapped and the blood that is seeping through the paper. suddenly a beautiful cherry blossom appears within the circle under a shower of confetti and a host excitedly announces ’sakura’. they are clapping and laughing and so happy as they think something wonderful is about to happen and they will be rewarded for passing the first task. they are told to look up at to the sky to the top of a large crane where a firework is let off and is folowed by a deafening explosion. it startlels some of them from their joy and excitement that they then try to smile over and tell themselves its alright and not to be so silly but still it leaves a taste of anxiety on their mind and anger that the show would allow them to be scared like that. they are told to look up again at a blind folded large muscular black man at the bottom of a large platform like a pirateships plank at the top of the crane. a count down is started (10, 9 i start to panic and cry and tell sam i have to get out of there. she asks me what is about to happen and i tell her 8, 7, she is fascinated and excited but i have to get away. i tell i dont blame her but i can not stand it i have to get away 6, 5 i can not be out in the open for the countdown to finish, i am struggeling through a large crowd that is there to watch what is happening and am trying to get into one of the near by tents 4, 3 i am so terrified and i can not belive i am going to see this for a second time, i can not believe i am going to be around when it happens i can not believe the horror the cruelty and the inhumanity 2, 1). a pulley is released and the man is projected down the plank staight into a stop at the end where his face is smashed into a brick and his head collapses round its sides and explode his skull, raining blood and brains and fragments of bone down over the contastants who scream in abject fear and terror. all bets are off, chaos erupts and the crowd is swept into a blind pandamonium.

i find him in the beer tent talking to friends and celebrating. sam turns to walk up some stairs and tells me they have arranged for us to have a night by ourselves in light of my distress. i panic and shout at her to not go up there nor leave my side. i see him and jump onto his back in anger my fists beating feebly at his huge muscular back. i am screaming ‘you know i was completley loyal to you always but i CAN NOT stand here and watching that happen again’. he turns from his friends that have all stopped laughing and are staring agast at what i ahve done. he looks at me (he is russian and wears an old fashioned outfit of a carnivale strong man. his skin is craggy and worn with pitted skin and a large forrowed brow with thick heavy eye brows and moustache. he is an enournous brute of a man that could crush stone to powder with his bare fists) and shoots me a glare of anger. he says he knows and do not think that if i EVER do something like this again that he would not have the sentimentality to treat me like any other. i understand, nod and leave.

suddenly shouting is heard and a fight has broken out between her and one of her flat mates. i have no idea what it is about and see she is extremley intoxicated. she storms off and i think to go after her but i know my prescence will mean nothing at all. i have made it clear to her and others i am deely upset but no one cares enough to ask or more so they do not even hear as it makes no impact on their life what goes on with me. she displays herself completely on the ledge of the bar, she has made herself nothing.

it was concidered a cutting edge film that is held in high regard for its ground breaking prestige. i do not understand, i am trying to but i simpley do not get it. it has a terrible chessy 80’s name like broken thunder or black arrow. the main lead is the large black man and he says to another ‘i care nothing for you, you nigger cunt’ before he unleashes hell and destroys him and others physically as his words have done their spirit. i do not understand.

i am at the part of the game that i have seen before in a clip on anothers facebook. it all becomes familiar and i am dissapointed because i do not want it to finish without the surprise and excitment of me discovering it for my self. in one of the last rooms i find the items my father donated were pencils me and my sister had as children. i am surprised and inwardly kicking myself a bit at being foolish not to realise. one of the pencils is sharpened to a short stub and my name is stamped along the end. i rub it with my forefinger and think of the sentimentality it holds, all those days spent with him drawing, and wonder slightly why he didnt feel the same  himself but know that not everyone feels the same as me no matter how much i care. i am being told to hurry, the game is ending and my time is up. i feel that i would rather stay in this parody of my real life rather then go back to the reality.

i am walking alone into the new day in the unfamiliar city along a street by a river thats lined with trees. i could have gone and stayed at hers and we may have confided in each other but i know it is fruitless and pointless so i choose to walk on alone. my phone was mispalced and i had picked up anothers but his is unfamiliar and i feel the hopelessness of it all and maybe i should just bin it but i think no i should keep it really. i think i may be able to find my way to my fathers place but am not sure of the way or the point. a man is late for work and is walking briskly past me in beige trench coat and black tie holding a brifcase. he thinks i am a prostitue looking for money when i speak to him and offers me £30 and tells me to keep my services. i think to correct him but what is the point. i think to keep the money but what is the point. i start to gravitate towards the water of the lake and he stops me.

we are in the hollow of a large tree. at first i thought the opening just lead to another much the same as the others scattered around. we are in the tree and i think we could use this place to take drugs or have sex and no one would see us or stop us and even tho the opportunity had presented itself i realise i dont really care to do either. we find a letter with the now almost obsolete medium of the video cassette tape and wonder what modern day house has the fascilitys to use this. to my surprise i find there is a player fixed into the bark. it is old and damaged but still functions so we put in the tape. i find discarded rubbish of instructions that accompany a new sim card. at first i think they are stickers but on closer inspection they are apps that have been thrown away unwanted. i think this is technology that was never even available to be me but is now not favored by a society that have rendered these things disposable.

Photographer: Charlotte Kinson
Model: Anna Swiczeniuk
Headdress: Amore de Mori
Corset: Boom Boom Baby
MUA: Tabby Casto
Assistant: Carl Osbourn

]]> http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/03/the-mourning-widow/feed/ 0 http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/03/garcier-and-dalia/ http://amoredemori.com/blog/2012/03/garcier-and-dalia/#comments Mon, 26 Mar 2012 17:05:22 +0000 bonnie http://amoredemori.com/blog/?p=1053

GIVEAWAY COMING SOON!

Garcier and Dalia will be making their gand debut shortly. YOU will have the chance to make your home their last resting place.

Please come join me here on tumblr

I will be using it for for Amore de Mori taxidermy and osteological adornments work, Once boutique work, Sleep taxidermy work and personal ramblings, musings and inspiration.

I will also be using this to announce and launch give aways, some only active on tumblr.

If you add me now I’ve recently found  this stack of really cute japanese writing paper I’ve had for ages and not put it to good use

If you message me a question about my work along with what your favorite animal is I will write you a personal letter with 3 bizarre facts on your chosen creature.

When I’ve published your question send me a private message with your address on it and I will send your letter

ask here :3

if you share the tumblr post i will also send you something extra

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(not that monster, sorry)

Plus, here is a sneak priew of the 1st prize for a big give away I am planning

you will have a chance to win him (or her…….or maybe them?) if you are added to my ‘Once’ facebook, my Amore de Mori facebook and/or tumblr (if you like give aways and fun stuff add each of them as some things are specific to that profile)

The room is cold and dark with a bath on the right side full of clear water. Through the whicker blind I can see a streetlight in the allyway behind the garden.
Sitting in the bath we are face to face and I learn he is my brother. He tells me that he hoped I realise this means we could never conceive. I agree and he tells me it would be impossible to ever love me either.
We are both flaxen blonde and pale. Fucking in the tepid water he is struck by some melancholy and the room soon becomes black.

I have always suffered from sleep paralysis  but after my first breakdown I was struck by a bout of it that started to cripple me. I would get waves of attacks where I would believe to be hearing the voices of the dead and feel rotten souls lacerate my feet. I could be stuck in it for hours, suffocating and struggling like I was swimming through tar.
I started to take myself through the process of sleep before reaching R.E.M. I would conciously remain liniar through the hypnogogic state where I could hear the echos of my subconscious before free falling helpless. It was terrifying at first and many times I would feel like sanity was escaping me and sit bolt up right shocked and breathless. After learning to let my fear go and allow it to take me I would survive through it and into a lucid state of sleep.

My body is nubile and beautiful as I walk headstrong into the room and see his head held high also. He emanates an air of power and for a moment I falter before going to confront me. When I pull my courage and breath deep I realise he was not the man that knew me. Sitting naked in a modified tub his form fills it to the edges. I look down at his paraplegic torso and he looks at me with a smile. He tells me that the dragon made him a eunuch and I guess I feel pity for the man that destroyed me. Only its not pity, its desire and I would still fuck his crippled form like he fucked me all those years ago. I feel no closure, I am back at the same place I always was.

I have began to write down recurring themes I encounter when dreaming. After writing the first 60 I came to realise that I was going to fill pages before even scratching the surface. I started to join the dots and notice many of the places in my dreams were based on real places in my waking life. This came as quite a horrifying realisation because I hold my sleeping life as something sacred and its connection to the waking one made it feel sullied.
I also noticed that I have far more recurring dreams about places rather then people. I realised a long time ago that when I dream about a person, even if they are based on someone I know in my waking life, I am actually always dreaming about myself (whatever part, desire, insecurity of me that is). Everything is symbolic and has reason, nothing is ever black and white.

He was an immeasurably strong giant brute of a man who drank from the blood of others.
At first it was just me and him but then he took another. They lay together like marble statues haunting the sky.
He cut off my hand and her foot and we wore them like badges of honour because we loved him so.
We were forged from frozen milk and porcelain and I clung to her like a sister.

When I am asleep I am am more alive then ever. My world is 4D, I am the trees the sky the smile on her face the cracks in the wall the atmosphere the light the fray in the carpet.

When I am awake I dream of sleeping. Sleep is the aspiration, awake I am unrequited.

noun (plural Wunderkammern /-ˌkaməːn, -ˌkaməɐn/)
a place where a collection of curiosities and rarities is exhibited.

Click here to vist ‘Once’ boutique