Savannah Browne Photography

07/10/2022

Your intrinsic mesmerism,
Your faultless sins,
The perfection of your phantasmagoria,
Pull rubies from the shadows with your teeth—
It matters not the degree of horror—
For you are the moonlight, embodied,
And soften every ill-disposed blade

My veins, embedded in their labyrinth of flesh,
Tremble, like the disturbed strings of a marionette,
In elation to know, no matter where you might wander—
In forests or in visions— that your pure pulse sings,
From the mouth of Heaven’s gramophone,
Of the strangest dreams
And the greatest love

I envy each eye, with their circlets of lashes and curtains of skin,
That pierces your ideal corporeality—
And hate each one that entertains malignancies—
I would have them extracted from the very fabric of life!

You are the silent film in my heart,
Endlessly flickering—
Like the mirage of a thousand moths;
You could end my life
And I would feel just the same, for
Your blood
is my blood.

07/10/2022

SINEMA SANGUINARY
{ Part III }

He awoke in a derelict place, his wrists bound. A young lady, her dolllike face framed by a bobbed haircut, was watching him. His heart grew covetous of her porcelain skin; his flesh crawled with the maggots of cupidity. He struggled to move, twisting his arms, clenching his jaw as the rope penetrated him with a thousand minuscule fangs.

“So you’re that bimbo who calls himself Monsieur Time?” she took a drag on her cigarette. “Welcome to Hell. Glad you could make it.”

She stood up and sauntered towards him.

“Tick tock goes the clock,” she brought her face close to his, so he could observe the gleam of her fangs. “We’re about to play a little game…”

It was a game of celluloid film and blood.

07/10/2022

SINEMA SANGUINARY
{ Part II }

The messenger was dressed entirely in black. Lamplight drew its talons over his frock coat and mask. He was a man of the most refined obscurity.

She expressed her consent and the man nodded curtly before turning on his heel and disappearing into the slowly twisting flesh of the fog.

x x x

The moon bled silver the night the Management arrived at her doorstep.

“Are you familiar with our little enterprise?” the man asked as he removed his mask. His thin lips stretched into a smile across his visage of pallor mortis. “We create films for the Damned, the Undead, the Sick, and the Irredeemable. We seek to capture death in His various forms and strive to demonstrate His beauty… May it be vampiric in nature or… Some beauteous annihilation.”

“And what does this have to with my client? I was most alarmed to learn of his… occupation.”

“We are desirous to… hire him, if you will. But he has been most elusive. Tell me… When is your next appointment with this diabolical delight, if you have one, that is?”

x x x

Illustrious murderer. Charming corruptor. He gave her his collection of incisor teeth and fangs. “From my undertakings,” he said, as she gazed at the macabre profusion rattling in a jar. She knew from whence they were extracted and strove to maintain some semblance of composure.

“You are too kind, monsieur…?”

“It is monsieur Thanatos today.”

The masked man emerged from behind a velvet curtain. “Freud, monsieur?”

The jar slipped from his hands and kissed the floor with a thousand shards.

“There is no need to be alarmed, monsieur. We are aware of your … extraordinary career. It dazzles darkly.”

“Indeed? What of it?” he hissed. “You do realize you’ve made me drop a gift beyond precious? A gift worth more than your inferior life?”

The masked man held out a gloved hand. “Quiet,” he said softly. “You are now under my command. You will do as I say.”

His eyes appeared almost prosthetic. Glass ghosts.

“For someone so skilled with the art of death, one would think him more perceptive…” she said, drawing a finger down his chest.

“You forget that he is but a human, and I have sought to carefully conceal that I am of the undead…”

07/10/2022

SINEMA SANGUINARY
{ Part I }

He gave her a different name each time they met. This time, he bade her to refer to him as monsieur Steel.

“Like the steel of a fine blade.”

“With which you could readily steal my heart,” she replied. The walls of her bo***ir were evocative of some decadent cage, a vessel for beauty and blasphemy.

“I imagine you would put up quite the fight, which undeniably excites me… As it is, I much prefer you as you are: an exquisite specimen of the undead.”

“I’m flattered, monsieur Steel.”

“But should you displease me, I may be inclined to punish you most severely.”

“I do not doubt it.” She knew very little about monsieur Steel, but she knew he had a fondness for hunting—for he would, on occasion, share fragments of his pursuits; vague and vicious like the shards of some exquisite nightmare.

“Time is not an illusion, my pet. When I kill, I am Chronos. I am time Himself. Indeed. My hands become wielders, embodiments, of scythe and hourglass.”

His eyes, vestibules of wicked cunning, gleamed momentarily like those of a madman, hallucinating the machinations of some phantasmagoria; shadowy monstrosities crawling and moaning of Asmodeus: “Taste of our sinful sweetmeats; let us besmirch the remains of thy innocence.”

“And what handsome hands you do have.” She pressed his palm against her cheek, then drew her red rose tongue along his thumb.

x x x

It has recently come to our attention that one of your clients is the notorious monsieur that has been stalking the streets of Paris and eviscerating our modern women—human and undead. We are sure you have read the newspapers and are aware that he skins his victims and leaves love letters signed Monsieur Time. With all this in mind, we have a proposition for you and respectfully solicit the pleasure of your company when the moon enters Scorpio at 8 o’clock. Please inform our messenger of your decision. We will come to you.

Kind regards
from the Management of Sinema Sanguinary.

07/10/2022

🖤 Opening night of the Paris Salon show was a delight! 🖤
Thank you to everyone who attended. 🖤 The show is open until the 26th of this month.

07/07/2022