"My SHIT Art = Project PUMA +Playlist"
"MY ART IS SHIT!"- Sound Advice from Matt Wall - Project Puma (A fictional chapter) & Chasey Dreams Typing Playlist.
Nothing Motivates Me More Than Sound Advice from THIS Artist, Writer, Movie Maker, Rockstar Singer, Musician, Poet:
Hello and welcome to WRITE WITH ME on Saturday 2 November 2024.
1. Source of Inspiration TO GO DO the THING! x
“Don’t Worry about any of this stuff - Your Art is Shit!” - Matt Wall
2. Some of the SHIT fiction writing I started…
PROJECT PUMA - A Fictional Chapter.
By Chasey Delaney [19 October 2024]
“Casual beginnings of a ‘Beach Read’ Book”
Strutting through the airport lounge in knee high white socks, a tartan mini-skirt and a similarly ridiculous t-shirt combo with parka style coat (something you’d call a ‘bad-cosplay’ get up these days) she was going for brit-pop/skater-chic groupie maybe?, and to top off that look she thought she radiated sexuality and sunshine with a reddish-tinged artificial tan all over her body. Her mind slips back to the tanning shop earlier that morning.
She had lay in the sickly heat on the sunbed, naked and making a lot of effort to cavort her vagina up higher to the plastic covered bulbs. She would live to regret doing that years down the line when her crown jewel resembles an old albino prune, dense with wrinkles the surrounding skin a tad shy of its original elasticity. ‘’Saddlebags’’ were never on her agenda or even within reach of catching a glimpse of caution. Shame about her radar. Back in the passenger’s luggage pick up point, she’s starting to panic and the thick (wet and messy) make up smeared to cover her entire face begins to show signs of stress.
Her inner turmoil of losing her suitcase and have somebody rifle through it looking for identification for her to retrieve it from lost property or wherever the fuck these places store our things. How embarrassing it would be, with at least 3 dildos, many bottles of lube, homemade porn CDs she’d burned herself, polaroid photos of her in unprecedented poses - all obscene and only supposed to be seen by HIM. She’s thinking she will just leave without claiming responsibility for it.
Maybe some lucky employee on the night shift might find it incredibly interesting, hopefully. An erotic, and mysterious find. She could only hope to become a source for inspiration to an unknown over-imaginative mind in someone else's life. With this though she perked up a touch. Pouting without noticing if anybody was watching her this time she eyes the neon bright shade of hot pink plastic coming down the line strikingly obvious amongst the demure black and monotone coloured baggage. How could she have worried about missing it, but she had been doing that almost every time she blinked.
Relieved to have it set in her sights she relaxed, forgetting to try and suck in her navel even closer tighter to her backbone, creating a looseness around the skirt’s waistband which always helped her feel empowered somehow. She exhaled and even when doing so had no overlap of gut to push out. Everything was as neat and tidy as the precious cargo of pussy which had been entirely responsible that she was ever there at all. One thing she had been too distracted to check on before was the state of her hair. Stroking it down with two handfuls each side of her face satisfied her to an extent.
She figured that her naturally ‘manga-looking-locks’ that could stand the test of time without much product was, in some girl’s opinion, a stroke of good luck, and in some girl’s eyes a trait to be envious of. She hadn’t always seen it that way until today when she was going out of her way to stay positive and soak up the attention HIS way, nothing could soften the blow of his disappointment that she’d only notice in hindsight years down the line. She was high on love, hedonistic, and a risk-taker. The way she’d seen it was ‘having nothing to lose’ meant a limited risk factor; in fact to her it meant there were no risks at all.
Still idly stroking the shaft of her hair as if in preparation for cock later on, she confirmed and checked her hair as Done. Bending down quickly she grabbed the bag still in motion on the conveyor belt, a bit stiff from the sting of burnt skin around her arms (especially her armpits, why had she held her arms above her head on a lie down sunbed?), always trying to go to the extremes “but it'll be worth it -for HIM”, and her best quality of a small size 8 arse was a curse and a blessing. It had taken a lot of maintenance to get to the position of it looking in great condition.
Today had been no different but she could feel the pressure of it aching as she pulled her pink lifesaving smut, concealed in plain sight, neon-pink casing; chased it slightly and saved it from drowning in the gutter in front of her. Like dragging your best friend’s dog from a sinking sailboat. Taking one last deep breath in, assessing her clothes -check. Make up - check. Hair - check. Arse - check. She thought she looked hot (and probably did!) but she wasn’t quite so sure that she actually had ALL of her shit together yet.