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Cat C's Activity
Cat C added a blog entry in Hell for LeatherEl Monja BlancaLast year I studied a module at university called "transformative writing". Basically, you found inspiration in a piece of art, film, or literature and "transformed" it into an entirely new piece of writing. You could watch an episode of your favourite TV programme and write a spin-off screenplay. You could stare at the Mona Lisa for so long that you saw colours and turned it into poetry. For all intent and purpose it was fan fiction.
For my final project I decided to write this: El Monja Blanca ('The White Nun' in Spanish). It's based on one of my favourite music videos of all time, Lady Gaga's 'Alejandro'. The years I've spent pouring over every minor detail of the video came in handy, and with this poem I intended to created a sort of metaphor for her sexual exploits during the rise to fame. I hope you like it. If you haven't already, please check out the video beforehand because I didn't spend hours picking out around 1,000 visual details for nuthin':
El Monja Blanca
Behind shadowed lace of a sister’s veil,
Betwix'd her royal roses’ splintered thorns,
Rests crimson lips; atop a canvas pale,
Their bold façade to mask her tender form.
Dark priestess guides a coffin into dawn,
With soldiers’ svelte, flexing bodies sublime,
Her faith unknown, yet her kingdom divine.
Upon kindred palms sits a fractured heart,
A ruby martyr; pierced, and crudely sewn,
Its stapled shards reflect in silver arcs,
A reckless lover who bestows one’s own
upon sinners: bereft to be alone,
Her solace found under the gowns of God,
Her strength pertained in those forgot.
In vestal limbo, on a militant throne
She dwells a tortured mistress drowned in jet,
Her conscience bruised by heaven’s stones,
And recollection burned by sore regret,
Fresh tears admit what eyes forget:
Her naivety, long dead; scorned by mistrust,
And fair beauty abused by senseless lust.
Resigned to twisted darkness, void of hope,
With a handsome suitor claimed as prize,
His chest caressed by creeping smoke,
And revolver gold, between his thighs;
- such perfection, ‘thy holy status’ buys -
Yet in her vacant eyes, nightmares reflect:
The ruthless fame and heartless sex,
of a naked Idol, her vanity stripped,
Her condemnation served on rusted springs,
Obtaining punishment from strangers’ hips,
Her chalice spoiled by sordid kings:
Between baited lips, she bleeds her sins
of cruel romance; of true love’s decay,
As how the evil night devours the day,
for twisting bodies with complexions silk,
Their tender skin as cold as birch afresh
With bitter frost: yet in their stature built -
With their biting limbs they purge in flesh,
As they gasp, and writhe, in staged distress,
Their pleasure earned in trysts of pain,
A rare taste preserved; their hunger trained.
A rouge crucifix upon latex clothe,
Her stark contrast not to be begrudged,
In a cabaret of bearing the cross,
In united stance, and voracious touch;
She is offered for The Lord to judge,
Sedated by their monstrous thirst,
Her body numb to all their hurt,
in her habit torn by probing hands,
Her headdress warped by starving nails,
Vision compromised by angel's strands -
A halo spoiled, atop a tightened veil,
Devoured by men; fair skin for sale,
Damned to prostitute her rights to love,
The fame deems her unworthy of.
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