...and the strangest things seem, suddenly routine

2011-12-29T15:51:00.000-08:00

Shows and Performances in January!
Jan. 16: Starving Artists on Parade (Seattle)
Come out on a Monday night and see me rig... there will be a dead girl and a body bag. Nuf' said?
http://www.facebook.com/events/251894758201926/

Jan. 21: Art of Restraint (SF)
Bringing my own twist to the combination of art and sm.
http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/213254

Jan. 28: Steampunk Exhibition Ball (Seattle)
I'm returning to MC this event as well as perform.
http://www.steampunkexhibitionball.com/

Feb. 4: La Petite Mort's Dark Cabaret (Seattle)
Blood, boobs and bondage. What more do you need?
https://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/218326

Think suspension bondage is boring to watch? Think again..

Live Performance "Tryst @ Little Red Studio 05/2010" from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

Twisted Monk at Art of Restraint 3/27 from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

2011-12-18T18:00:00.001-08:00

Lessons on the field of green felt

The men of my family spoke the language of cars and pool. Ask them about a complex emotional or spiritual matter and they would freeze up, stare at you with cautious eyes and wait for your “trap” to fall. Now talk to them about the .60 over bored pistons and double wound cam that I wanted to install in my 1964 Corvair Spyder? Well we could discuss that all night.

We spoke two common tongues, my family and I, that of engines and of pool. Some of my best memories are of my father, guiding me on a lazy Sunday afternoon, thru some complex part of an engine rebuild. We all raced back then a trio of restored Corvairs. Each one sight to behold, from my father’s tricked out turbo to my own, heavily modified “touring” car, speed and power were the goals and we would talk at great length about the complexities of power vs. speed. Was it better to burn rubber at the light, vs. the value of pulling up from behind, to loose your competitor in the curves as they underestimate the skill of the man behind the wheel? If it had an accelerator pedal, we made love to the idea of what it could become.

Pool? We played pool for hours. It was the only thing we all could do with out wanting to kill or get so drunk that we did not have to deal with the other. Soon as my brother nd I were old enough to hold sticks, we were ushered into that dim, smoky world at every chance. My grandfather learned while working in a CCC camp during the depression, he taught my father and he taught my brother and I.

The green of a pool table, its smoky half light in the back of some unknown bar, will always stand out when I think if them. These men were my heroes, my mentors, my definition of what it meant to be a “man”. My granddad would saunter across the table from me, stetting his Olympia tall boy down just long enough to line up a shot. Fingers, stained yellow for years of nicotine would splay across the green of the table as he guided the queue between two broken and malformed knuckles, the result of keeping the engines of industry running.

Like his father, my father taught me. “Just 25 cents a lesson, son” he would joke as he schooled my arrogant young ass at the find art of pool. My gramps would say, “Show me a man who is good at pool, and I’ll show you a boy with a wasted childhood”. Needless to say, both my father and grandfather were astounding at playing the game. The kind of grace you would expect from a top surgeon or concert cellist, they would display on the felt. Fingers, nimble and splayed, eyes fixed on the ball, hands smooth and effortless in their execution.

This was where they taught me grace, just because you can hit that cue ball hard it does not mean you must. Rather, as I leaned over the table, tongue clasped in my teeth and I concentrated on the invisible lines of geometry that imagined across the table, each one predicting a different arc of my shot, was when they did it. My father did it first, placing a hand on my cocked elbow and holding it firm,
“Just cuz you can it that ball hard, don’t. Use some finesse. If you can’t sink it this round, ease it up nice and close so you can do it later… and confound your opponent.”

From them I learned the art of the “kiss”, to not strike too hard or rely in too many complex angles or bank shots. But rather to ease the ball, dare I say seduce it into falling into place, just millimeters from the edge of the pocket. There it would sit, waiting for me, and turning my opponent’s next shot into a profanity filled mish mash of bumpers and too much “English”

I’ve not played with my father in years, nor my brother, not since that dark day when the fates took him from this world. No, today those who love me put up with me as I saunter around the table, pint in hand, and do not roll their eyes at me when I push my glasses down my nose and prostrate myself upon the table. Hands splayed wide like my grandfathers, save this time the fingers are stained blue from rope dyes, but the knuckles are no less deformed, as I take aim and quip to my opponent, “show me a man who is good at pool…

2011-12-12T02:55:00.001-08:00

First and foremost, I’m a film nerd.

Specifically, I’m obsessed with the films of the early to mid 70’s and how they reflected our culture’s response to things like Watergate, Vietnam and the whole collapse of the 60’s “free love movement”. In short, I love grind house, exploitation films from the 1970s. Not only as entertainment, but also as a reflection of culture and shifting ideals, in fact I almost got tossed out of film school for arguing about the cultural significance of the x-rated film “Barbara Broadcast… but that is a story for another day.. When a blatantly pornographic film like Deep Throat can gain a mainstream audience and a film like Midnight Cowboy can not only carry the dreaded “X” rating, but also garner an Oscar nomination? Times, they were a changing and I’ve always said that you can tell a lot about a culture based on what it views as “porn”.

But I digress, I love old school porn. Probably my first erotic memories were from seeing the full page advertisements for 8MM loops in the back of the nudie mags I stole from my grandfather. Back then all the penetration was covered by black censor bars, but I remember the sheer volume of sexual images to be overwhelming to my young brain. If I had a time machine, I’d go back to NYC in the 70’s, to walk along 42nd street and experience the grind houses in person. Not for the sexual thrill but for what I call the “meta” to understand who and what made us tick, sexually and to understand why it had such an impact on my young brain

Again, I digress, but when it comes to this topic I can bore the paint off a wall at 20 paces with my thoughts, observations and (worst of all) questions.

Fast forward to the summer of 2011.

I have the unique and wicked pleasure to be traveling in Portland with a companion who is also a fan of the grind house. Much to my surprise, she informs me that in the heart of old town Portland there is an operating grind house theater, still! This is amazing, most of these monuments to rain coats and masturbation were closed down when the VHS tape took off and we could get smut in the comfort of our living room, not some smelly (often sticky) theater in the “bad” part of town. Much to my delight, this theater was still operating. Relying now on the hipsters and anime nerds, but its doors were open for us to wander into one warm summer eve.

(Jesus Monk, quit talking about social impacts of film theory and give the nice people something naughty to read!)

And so, this particular summer’s eve my companion was dressed in a short black dress. Nothing too “complex” to bastardize the great Mel Brooks, but it was what was *under* the dress that mattered. Beneath her simple dress, she wore long, silk stockings, connected to old school garter belts that came up to frame her panty clad ass like a pair of goal posts, guiding you into the in zone of her firm, pert bottom. Not the quasi “retro” kind, but the lace covered, thigh spreading wonders that only the 1970’s could manifest.

Stepping into the theater, we are greeted by an over eager door man. He is more than happy to explain that our presence at tonight’s showing would be free of charge and that anytime we wished (as a couple) to visit the theater it was “on the house”. Hmm, interesting to say the least, but who am I to complain? Sadly they were showing modern porn, not old school stuff that still existed on a reel of celluloid. Someday I hope to experience sitting in a darkened theater, listening to the whir and clatter of a projector as something taboo flickers to life on the screen before me. Again, I digress. Sorry. I’m out of practice at this blogging thing.

The theater it self was a dingy affair. A few hundred seats at most. Spread out in a bowl around a screen. A screen showing some random European girl getting her various bodily orifices stuffed by a number of random, forgettable (and slightly oily) euro dudes. We were soon to find out that what was happening on the screen was not the main attraction…

The usher guides us to the “couples space”, a cordoned off space in the back of the theater. Leather (ish) seats and a very solid looking, waist high fence awaited up as we sat back to take in the show.

Now is where things start to get a bit… odd.

Sitting back to enjoy the pornographic film playing on the big screen, my companion lays her head across my lap as she kneels at my feet. A very natural pose for her this particular weekend of sin. If my count of the heads in front of me is accurate, the theater holds about 30 to 40 patrons. At first they take no notice, then... Well then something odd begins to happen. A few brave souls get up from their seats in the middle of the theater and move to the back wings on the left or right of our position. Staying at what I could only call a “plausible deniable distance” the sat, watching us out of the corner of their eyes while pretending to still watch the feature on the screen.

Others were not so subtle, like prairie dogs we watched as one head after another pops up, turns back and realizes that there is an actual female in the audience. Leaving the well worn seats, they begin to line the barricade that separates our “couples only” space and the rest of the theater. Ignoring the girl as her anus takes not one, not too, but three cocks at once on the screen, they all sit in silent admiration for the girl at my feet. Each one waiting for her to do something, something *real*, not acted on the big screen.

Here is where I must pause and say that I am a sick, sadistic bastard. As the men stared, their eyes penetrating my companion in every possible way, I instructed her to stand. Stand and raise her skirts to the admiring crowd.

Hands slide off the rail and into *other* places as she parades her ass across the room for all the patrons to see. Panties stretched tight and wisps of hair peeking from between her legs, she giggles and shakes her ass with seductive glee before bending over my knee. If I am a bastard, she is a cock tease and enjoying the attention.

My hand rests on her bottom as she closes her eyes and pushes her ass up to meet me. My hand connects with her bottom, making a loud, sharp report. Some of the audience smile, others look with wary concern. This was not the show they were expecting. With growing force and speed, I strike her ass. Raising the skin to a bright, swollen red. Her thighs are aglow as the blood flows to her pale, almost transparent skin.

At my instruction, she stands skirt still up around her midsection and turns to the watching crowd, each one transfixed and staring with jaws agape.

“Show them your bottom, darling” I tell her.

“Now boys,” I say to the pie eyed men watching the scene, “I think you best give her a round of applause for her contribution to tonight’s entertainment”

Awkwardly hands emerge and a round of applause comes from the watchers. My companion blushes and takes a deep bow, showing them the growing wet spot in her panties.

I raise and take my date by the hand. Pushing through the watching crowd and making for the door. A chorus of “thank you”: can be heard from behind me as I steer her through the exit and into the night air.

“You are a mean man, Sir”: she tells me,” Not giving them anything more of a show than that”

“Oh my dear child” I laugh, “All good story tellers know that the best thing is to leave them wanting more….”

And into the warm night we walked, arm and arm.

2011-09-22T14:44:00.000-07:00

Snapshots from Dr. Sketchy's Seattle

Some snaps from my rigging session on Sunday, Sept 18 with The Shanghai Pearl for Dr. Sketchy's "anti-art school"

2011-03-31T14:59:00.001-07:00

Performance Video, "The Ripper"
Performed at Dr. Rocket's Medicine Show, Seattle 3/24

Somebody finally caught the "infamous" Ripper act on film! Unfortunately they caught the performance where I was just recovering from a 3 week cold and my *favorite* straight razor broke. Oh well, that is the magic of live theater!

Seattle Burlesque Presents:La Petite Mort & Twisted Monk Perform "The Ripper" from Omar Taboada on Vimeo.

It goes with out saying, but I will anyways, this is a *performance* and not intended to be an instructional, how-to video. Suspension bondage is dangerous and potentially lethal. Seek proper, in person instruction before attempting. Also, putting rope around someone's neck is a no-no! The rope I am using is a specially made "break away" prop rope. Play safe kids.

2011-02-22T23:47:00.000-08:00

Something worth the wait.

The first video from our newly re-launched youtube.com channel "TwistedMonkStudios". (we will be re-adding the how to clips as bandwith allows, but the racier performance stuff will remain on Vimeo.com) A hardware review of the portable bondage frame, The Tetruss 2. As you may recall, we had a near miss with an early version of the product last year while in Vegas. Since then, the manufacture has redesigned the product, addressed the flaws and sent me this for review.

Here is what is most important. I AM NOT AN ENGINEER. Nope, I'm just another guy who does bondage and wants a safe, reliable piece of hardware. This review is not a paid endorsement, rather I took the approach and asked myself "what would I like to know before making a purchase?". So I took a page from the various tech blogs and did had the manufacture send me a unit, same one that would be shipped to you. We fired up the camera and tore into the unit to see what we could find.

So there you have it, almost 13 months later. It is my firmest desire that you, the consumer, get as much information as possible so you can make the best choices.

My final take? With some modification AND understanding the limits of the product I have chosen to add this truss to my arsenal of hardware.

Remember, suspension bondage is dangerous and potentially life threatening. No hardware is 100% fool proof. Always check your gear, use only the best quality equipment and GET PROPER TRAINING before attempting.

2010-11-25T13:18:00.000-08:00

SEAF Performance, PT2
Once again I want to say thank you to the amazing Ms. Shanghai Pearl. She took a serious beating in this show, between the harness, her costume and me carting her about, yet still she made it all look so beautiful.

SEAF 2011 Performance Pt2 from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

2010-11-19T02:40:00.000-08:00

Better late than never
Hello again, gentle readers, I have not forgotten you. Rather, I've been up to my ass making rope and trying to spend as much time as I can muster on stage. Last year you will recall that I was asked to take part in the Seattle Erotic Art Festival as a "Bondage Consultant" and ended up as part of the stage show. Now I can make like this was a huge and terrible thing, but really I loved every minute of it. Getting to share a stage with some of the city's finest cabaret talent was a serious honor.

After many months I've finally gotten my video guy to pull down some clips from the show. He has been a tad distracted with his day job as of late (if you like your kinect, you should say thank you now) and here we are with the first of 3 segments from the show featuring me, the AMAZING Ms. Shanghai Pearl and of course, lots of rope.

Enjoy

SEAF 2011 Performance. PT1 from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

2010-09-21T12:01:00.000-07:00

Hair Today, finished.

It is true, what I said earlier about not wanting to move when being shaved with a straight razor. No sooner do I begin to take the lather from the bone china shaving cup and begin to lather her thighs, she freezes in place. Not a freeze of fear, well maybe a little, but more calming as the bristles of my shaving brush float across the summit of her shin bones. Of course, a boars' hair bristle brush against her legs will illicit a giggle. Said giggle is quickly replaced with a sudden gasp as I place the blade of my razor against her skin and draw it, slowly, along the length of her long, firm legs.

The first thing I fell in love with about shaving with a straight razor? The sound the blade makes as it makes its way across taught skin. Press too hard and you can slice clean to the bone. Too Soft and your blade slips ineffectively past your target. Rather, there is a sweet spot, where your blade rests at the proper angle against the skin and the tension in your hand is firm, yet graceful. The sound of the blade as it effortlessly removes anything in it's path is a humming to the harmony of each strand of hair it removes. You will hear when you have your stroke down before you can see it.

Legs smooth and shimmering, I move to the nest under her arms. Her jaw clinches and I can see the outline of her jugular vein begin to throb as I prepare the area. The curve and shape of the armpit requires me to draw in close, inches from her skin I can smell the mix of sweat and shaving soap on her skin as, with a few percise strokes of the blade render her bare. Sweat forms between her breasts and gathers down the line of her flat stomach, pooling in ht well of her navel. All the while she remains, motionless, save for the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathes deep.

Stepping back to admire my work, I can't help but grin my huge, lopsided grin. Wiping the mixure of sweat, lather and hair from my hands and blade, I ask "ready for the main event?"
With out saying a word, she opens her legs to me. Exposing her most intimate self, a thick curly nest of fragrant black curls, hair that run in a thin line from her navel to a rich, sweet expanse of damp coils that almost, but not quite, hide her deep pink sex.

Soon, this too will be laid bare to me, exposed by my blade.

Making small circlies with my shaving brush, a small moan escapes her lips as I follow the whisper thin trail of hair on her taught tummy and work my way down. Where the thick lather of my shaving soap ends and the desire begins is lost as I carefully spread her skin flt and begin with my blade.

In this moment, my focus is complete, inches from her sex, one hand resting on her body while the other holds my blade like a concert violinist would hold his bow. Fingers firm, locked on the handle less it slips from the steamy damp, consciously relaxing the rest of my arm so that my movements are fluid, percise and free of any nervous energy. Here, shining blade mere milimiters from her clit, a nervous twitch or a moment's hesitation could spell disaster. Here I am so close to her body, here all mystery is stripped away as I pull apart her folds in order to gently take those few wisps of hair from inside her.

Stroke by stroke the thick sweet smelling curls are replaced with pale, sensitive skin. She gasps as I run my sticky fingertips along the now bare crest of her pelvis to inspect my work.

"Almost done," I tell her, "turn over please."
"Why?" she asks nervously then eyes growing wide with fear as she realizes what is next.
"just one small bit let"

Knees tucked under her body, she bends and offers herself up to me once again. This time it is her ass, soft and round that is exposed to me. Once again, I have to smile and do a little dance of evil glee at the sheer beauty of the site.

While I am not a fan of breath control play, I know I best work fast save that she pass out from holding her breath as my blade makes those few last strokes along the inner curves of her ass and thighs. Ok, maybe I linger just a wee bit longer than needed, but what sort of sadist would I be if I didn't enjoy the moment?

Done, she collapses on the table. Heaving for air and coverd in a mix of sweat, shave soap and fragments of hair.
"ya know," I say opening a Mexican beer, "the best way to get all that off is nice, warm shower..."

2010-09-16T10:23:00.000-07:00

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Now I've said it before on many occasions here on this blog, I've got a soft spot in my kinky heart for a woman's pubic hair. While not a deal breaker or must have by any stretch of the imagination, rather I just get a secret (or not so secret) smile when I discover a woman who chooses not to follow the fashion of the day. As an aside, I would pin the blame for this particular kink of mine on this woman, but that is a tale for another day.

No, today's story is all about the possession of body hair... and the removal of it at the edge of a straight razor.

"The black one", she says with a sigh, "the one you use every day"
She points to the row of razors, laid in single file before her, their blades gleaming with the promise of danger. Each blade has a story, a history to me. She listens wide eyed as I pick each one up, caress it like a lover, and share the blade's story.

"this one, this one I named Klaus", rolling the handle so that the dull gray of the blade explodes in the light before her, "hand made in Berlin before the war. Found it in a roadside antique store. This", picking up a simple black handled blade," this was given to me by a 70's porn goddess. She used it in a film that once scandalized the audiences of grind house theaters across the country. Took me months to return the blade to perfection. And this", pointing to a pearl and mahogany handle of another, " was a gift and may only be used on the skin of the woman who gave it to me..."

She is naked and the room is *just* cool enough to see the landscape of her skin explode in goose flesh. Maybe it is the temperature, or perhaps not, either way I can't help but smile at the way the hairs along her inner calf bristle and rise in anticipation of what comes next.

Tonight, tonight that hair will be mine. All of it.

Yes, unlike previous times when I have been so honored to have a woman offer me the hair between her legs, tonight I am being given a truly special and rare gift.

She is one of those funky neo hipster types. The kinda girl who only shops at second hand stores or street fairs and sports a look that is both chic and self assured. Lithe and tone, her dancer's body is before me. Tufts of thick, curly dark hair peek out from under her harms. The a gift on Christmas morning, a tiny red bow is tied into the thick curls of her pubic mound.

Next comes the strop, I run the blade along the long strip of leather in slow, even strokes. This is not so much to sharpen the blade, as that has been done with painstaking detail already, no this is more to prepare the blade and align the microscopic particles of metal along the razor's sharp edge so that there is nothing but pure, single minded, sharpened steel. All fixed upon one tasks.

As she lays back on the bondage table, trying to relax, she asks if I am going to restrain her... open.
"Oh no..." I say with a wicked laugh, "I assure you, you will be very motivated to stay very, very still for me"

Dammit, I've rambled too long and there are rope orders that must go out today. I'll pick this tale up again tomorrow.

2010-09-01T13:49:00.000-07:00

Not your typical reader photo!

I love hearing from our customers, Twistedmonk customers are some of the coolest in the world and they continue to amaze me by sharing photos and stories of how our rope has changed their lives. This just came in from a long time customer and friend. It was too cool not to share.

"So during labor it's a good trick to 'tie up' the belly so that you are holding the baby closer to your spine and therefore gravity works more effectively. Normally this is just done using a strip of material. I informed my doula I could do a better job. And it just so happens I was wearing one of your shirts because it was fabulous as maternity wear. So here you go. :)"

Do you have a rope memory that you wish to share? Email them to monk@twistedmonk.com

2010-08-23T13:10:00.001-07:00

Letters to Monk, Practicing Solo

Monk - I've been following you on twitter and watched most of your vids, so thank you for being such an inspiration!

My question is tied to my circumstances, but it boils down to, how is it possible for a person to start practicing ties and knots *without a partner*?

Yes, the knee-jerk reaction is "find someone to play with!" and thanks, I've read that in every forum I've searched. But sometimes that is not an option, to wit: I live in a small Southern town with no real "scene" to speak of (I know what scene there is here, all three of them); I'm a grad student on a very tight budget, so I can't afford to travel much less pay for shibari clinics/training; I'm recently divorced and very much NOT into developing sexual/romantic relationships with anyone right now. Heck, I barely have time for my friends.

I'm also a bit of a control freak (yes, really) and I don't want to worry about my partner's situation during play while I'm trying to figure out a damn knot.

I've thought about mannequin torsos, life-size rag dolls (not that I've found any), practicing with thin rope on teddy bears...seriously, I've considered options. But surely I'm not the only person in this situation? If you have any advice particular to this, I'd love to hear it. Thank you!

I remember my friend Sam used to practice her ties on the back of a wooden chair. She would joke “If I can top a chair, someday I might be able to work up to a person!”

In all seriousness, this is a common question even for those who have a regular practice partner. Everyone needs to learn the basics, those fumbling first ties can be intimidating and even with your regular lover, who wants to worry about the whole “bunny goes out of the hole, around the tree” thing? No way, you want to do the fun stuff. I’ve seen many a scene become mired and stall due to the top becoming obsessed with the technical and forgetting that there is a living, loving human they are supposed to be interacting with thru the rope.

Here is what I did. Vending at classes and conventions means lots and lots of down time behind the table waiting for classes or end/ vending hours to start / etc. In those days I would pass the time practicing my single and double column ties on my legs. Part of how I developed my own personal style of fast bondage was due to this practice. Over and over, tying the same thing till it was reduced to muscle memory and not something I had to “think” about.

I will pause here and caution, using your legs to practice ties on and “self bondage” are very different things. I am not a fan of self bondage and would urge you to read up on the topic. Some very well informed people have made this argument far better than I.

As for mannequins, rag dolls and stuffed animals? I’ve heard of folks using these methods too. In the end, it is all about rope on the body. Substitutes will help you gain the confidence in your technical ability, but in the end you will want to put that rope to good use on a person.

2010-08-17T17:29:00.000-07:00

Why does Monk have a bruise in the perfect shape on @dynamicload's boot in the center of his chest?

No, no I have not adopted a new fetish for being trampled... although it has been too long since I had a good, old fashioned ass kicking, but I digress. No, the bruises were courtesy of my pal Sophia. We make cool bondage art together, remember SEAF? Since then we have been experimenting with more and more dynamic bondage. Both experienced riggers, the focus is less on how is the "top" vs. "bottom" and more on how can we fuse our mutual love of movement and our love of rope to do something that is more like a dance than a suspension scene.

This took shape that afternoon, it was a sort of "Hey, what would happen if we both put on hip harnesses and tried to dance?

Keep in mind kids before you attempt this at home. We are both very experienced riggers and very in touch with what our bodies can and cant do. Suspension bondage it dangerous, add dynamic movement and positions that draw core strength the potential for injury is huge.

2010-08-12T14:46:00.000-07:00

Today would have been my Grandfather's birthday. I wrote this blog post about him and our shared birthdays back in 2004. It stands as one of my favorite stories and still makes me tear up.
The Year I Turned 12, Twice

Today, 6 years after first posting this tale, I still miss that old cuss. He never got to meet Tambo or Matisse. Of all my family, I think he would have been the only one who "got" what it is I have done with my life, my loves and my future.

Our family was not wealthy, in fact we were much the opposite. Of my grandfather I only have his hunting rifle, that deck of cards and my memories.

2010-08-11T13:51:00.000-07:00

There is a fresh podcast, courtesy of my ever awesome lover Mistress Matisse. She doles out wisdom while I make silly voices and keep her well stocked in diet Mountain Dew. Enjoy!

2010-08-10T10:52:00.000-07:00

This is what 40 looks like. Long way from Monk at 30, huh? A lot has changed in those 10 years, makes me look forward to seeing what the next 10 will hold.

2010-08-09T11:43:00.001-07:00

Little Red Studio Performance: Jul.23.10
One of the things I love about working with the folks at the Little Red Studio in Seattle is the flexibility and creativity they grant me when I perform. I can come in, armed with an idea, a bottom and they tell me "take 15 minutes, open the show, have fun."

These are from an areal dance piece that I've been playing with.

This is Firebug, until this show she had NEVER been in they air with me before. This act was built the afternoon of the show.

Of course, the required "menacing rope top", I'm really enjoying the rigging in a mask look. Felt like some kind of comic book villain.

She looked like she was having too much fun to not join her.

And no performance is complete with out Monk's signature, "carry her off in the ropes" finish.

All photos by Charlie Noble, thanks again to Firebug and to LRS for hosting.

2010-08-06T11:04:00.000-07:00

The Mexican Beer Story

I got a ton of requests last week after my last video post to explain why getting Mexican beer made me laugh like a psychotic loon. In this video I do my best to retell the story, of course this was after having a few said beers. Please exuse the video/audio quality as I was attempting an experiment. Shooting a clip at the cafe where I and my charming lunch companion were spending a long afternoon being. Well being naughty, I'll leave it at that.

Monk's Video Blog: The Mexican Beer Story from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

2010-07-28T14:18:00.000-07:00

Fun lil video post!
I've often said that anytime a bottom gives their top a gift, particularly a toy of some kind, it is implied that this is a request to have said object used on them in the near future. In this clip I open up a small care package and discuss just what all the items *might* be used for.

Untitled from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

2010-07-15T07:25:00.000-07:00

Color of the Month: "WinterFetish Blue"

Our good friends at WinterFetish.Com have selected this month’s shade. A pale cobalt blue, think a well faded pair of Levis or for you color nerds, a Pantone 308C. Of course this is our *target* color, variations in water temp, salt saturation, and music played at the time of dying will all impact the outcome of the final shade.

We only have a very limited quantity and when it is gone, it will be gone for good.

2010-07-13T12:27:00.001-07:00

Color of the Month, Presale. WinterFetish blue

Historically, when we produce a new shade for our Color of the Month series, production usually looks something like this.

Step 1. Monk picks out a shade, usually a new color he wants to experiment with or something that strikes his fancy for whatever reason. (Having long given up trying to understand how he thinks, the rest of the crew has learned to just roll with it)

Step 2. We cook up as much of the shade as possible in a single dye run.

Step 3. Once the rope is dry enough to oil we take a look at the completed shade, photograph it, and post it for sale.

Step 4. Soon as the color is posted, the phone rings off the hook and we sell out of stock. Current record is 2000 ft in 7 minutes.

Step 5. Everyone who missed out on getting the shade sends me hate mail.

This time we are going to try something different.

Our good friends at fetishwear.net have selected this month’s shade. A pale cobalt blue, think a well faded pair of Levis or for you color nerds, a Pantone 308C. Of course this is our *target* color, variations in water temp, salt saturation, and music played at the time of dying will all impact the outcome of the final shade. Hence our announcing and photographing the shade AFTER it is dry and the final color is reveled.

For those of you, who want to place your order now, are guaranteed to get your order filled, as we will allocate your order before the color is made. For the rest of you who want to wait to see the final shade, we will post the photo when it is ready and then it is first come first served as normal.

2010-06-30T11:33:00.000-07:00

Immoral Support

My darling Mistress Matisse finally sat down with Dr. Dick to record a podcast! I tagged along to provide (im)moral support and the occasional (off) color commentary. As usual, when Matisse and I get going, things can get a touch... racy. Poor Dr. Dick, he tries his best to keep things on track when we get going, but I do not think I've ever seen a grown man blush *so* much.

Hear the podcast here. So, so not work safe.

2010-06-24T15:35:00.000-07:00

The rope, she sings to me.

"I just don't understand the appeal of it," he said to me as his powerful shoulders echo the confused scrunch of his brow, "the whole ascetic, I just does not sing to me..."

I hear those words, spoken to me at a party recently, and they just make me confused.
Confused, yes. Why you ask? Because his words are right now getting drown out by the siren's call of the rope to me. I handle the stuff all day, my hands scared and stained from the caress of raw hemp, but still the rope sings to me. Calling to me like a warm lover, still in bed, on one of those golden Sunday mornings that seem to last forever.
Right now its song is one of longing, to come play. No performances, no demonstrations, just to put rope in hand and follow the curves of a warm body. No destination, save the exhausted sighs of release when finished. The rope knows where to go, my hands just need to follow it's song... wrap after wrap against skin. Till that song is drown out by the rush of blood in my ears.
I love my toys, my sharp steel razors, wicked single tails and other devious devices. Alas, these are just tools, extensions of my skills and hands. I enjoy them, they bring me great pleasure, but they in the end are just tools, objects to be cleaned, sharpened, and stored for another day.
My rope? My rope is my lover, my sex, my ego and frailty all tightly woven into thick, soft coils... longing to be unfurled and run along skin.
I must answer the siren's call, soon.

2010-06-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

Quick and Dirty Podcast Action

My darling lover, Matisse, just posted another one of our "quick and dirty" podcasts. While not up the the polished audio quality of our studio recorded stuff, these make for a fun listen. Recorded in the moment as we were conversing on the topic of fashion.
Yes, fashion.
I know, normally I look like a jack booted thug in my cycle gear and Abbey clothes, but I have developed quite the fetish for dressing up. Perhaps it is the fact that I don't *have* to dress up for my job that makes it all the more fun? Or better yet, there is nothing more sexy than knowing you are a bad ass AND you don't have to wear leathers everywhere to prove it.
About 10 min long and mostly work safe.

2010-05-26T15:57:00.000-07:00

Performance Video: Tryst @ LRS 5/10

Live Performance "Tryst @ Little Red Studio 05/2010" from Twisted Monk on Vimeo.

In case you missed the last Tryst night at The Little Red Studio, here is what you missed.

For extra credit, can you name the video game that my costume was an homage to?