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visual artist and writer marisol diaz

i am a self-defined Nuyorican creative (that is a Puerto Rican who is from both the isles of Manhattan, NYC and the Caribbean). I share daily in the joy of education and live in a cute port town in New York, in a 'teensy-weensy' apartment with my two dogs and canary named Valentino. Check out my Etsy shop for purchasable pieces. Please do not reproduce imagery off of this site without explicit credit and no derivatives may be made of my original imagery- Thank You.

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Grab This Blog's Widget! < Amarettogirl
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This is my FICTION writing section.
Copyright © 2008, Amarettogirl. Images and Words. All rights reserved.

The Key to the Rabbit Hole

3ww Prompts: Change, Dizzy, Key
Sunday Scribblings: Night

I wrote this piece about Night for Sunday Scribblings this past weekend and I thought it went too well with the words that Bone picked, so I fused the two together - hope no one is disappointed!


Through the frayed edge of her petticoats comes the gleaming orange of twilight.

She wrestles with sleeplessness solving puzzles in her minds eye, causing dew to tear up in droplets on her flesh.
One pill makes her larger and one pill makes her smaller, but they all unlock the rabbit hole.

What is night but the key to the door that holds back the torrent of unleashed possibilities...

Night is the rehabilitator, the ancient bearded page-turner...the fanciful carnival lady who peddles change in a bottle...
Night is the uninhibitor...
The unabashed beast rocking the gates of his cage as the bars give way...

Night is the Queen that yells "OFF WITH HER HEAD!!!" as the deck of cards fall where they will with a dizzy flip of heads and tails.

The cooing of a one legged bird and the cricket's song...the mad woman in the attic.

Each and every exhale she falls deeper down the hole. The hours are dressed in winds howling blows...
Candle light flickers, fears rise and fall and an indescribable release takes hold.

The ground is a trampoline of bleeding colors.

Once and for all she lands in place.
What is night but the key to the rabbit hole, what is day but the lock.



3ww prompt: Deny, Smile, Uncomfortable


Her skin was marked with the light of waves,
she had dark long hair swollen with brine
and she had glass black eyes that ran quite deep
into a place where absolutely no light did shine.

Uncomfortable her gaze did make you
even through the most congenial smile
her webbed fingers touched you like ice
and her cracked face did completely beguile.

This little sliver of a girl
was a wonder of the deep that is me,
years have passed between this reflection
I think she drowned in that god foresaken sea.

One thing you could most certainly not deny,
is that scales are definitely sharply and prickly
as your fingers winced while you ran them up her thigh
and her blue lips can make you feel sickly
but all she wanted was to find the right guy.


Rota Fortuna Seminary

Sunday Scribblings Prompt: CURVES or CURVE


"The is no greater curve...not the grade curve, not the hip curve, nothing is as dangerous as the wheel's curve. That's what my father used to say." Gita announced while staring blankly into nothing.

"What like a car's wheel?" Interjected Alan with the same smug tongue and obviously inept capacity, that always rubbed everyone the wrong way.

Jane rolled her eyes and began to doodle circles on her napkin with her finger.

She had known Gita Vortumna for two months now, since the first day of school. Jane was always smitten with Gita's philosophical tangents and imagined her as the long lost bff she never had. Alan on the other hand was just a pathetic excuse for a friend, a lost emo-wannebe who always just hung around. He had been sitting with an ipod ear pod hanging out of one ear chanting the months of the year, over and over again.

The three were sitting in the well-worn booth at Laini's, their fave after-school haunt. Laini's was a place pent-up with the curse of being located across from a school; where kids sit all afternoon, order nothing but fries, consume the seats, and dismiss paying customers.

The waitress hurriedly walked by, and as she did, Gita pushed her glass of water over, causing it to tumble violently, spit out its contents and crash onto the ground.

Jane was shocked because she saw her do it, "What the f... Gita!!"

The waitress was mortified. Through her humiliation she chose to react by ripping her apron off, yelling obscenities and punctuating her rant with, "I QUIT!"

"What the hell Gita, that was such a bee-atch thing to do!!" Jane whispered as she stood up and tried to push through Alan who was still laughing in a nervous frenzy.

"All I did was spin the wheel! That waitress was ready to change her life, don't you think?"



3ww prompt: Blurred, Illegal, Match


You, a beacon of hell,
entered the center of her being with
pyromaniac hands.

Though your marriage to her elder was lawful,
the way you kicked in her door was quite illegal.

It's not an excuse to claim you were temporarily blinded...
your vision blurred by the heat.
It's not an excuse to say she handed you the match,
little girls don't ignite inebriant doused breath.

But this little girl survived the fire
and has put you
to death.


The above image is of a life-size sculpture I made years ago using celluclay (a paperpulp-based clay), that I torched to achieve the 'burnt' surface. There is a bed within the room in the open cavity and it too has been scorched.



Sunday Scribblings Prompt: Quitting


My dress, made of the shaved leaves of bark
is on display
behind glass.
Like a relic,
I donated it to that place when I made the decision that I am

I am quitting blending the pulp.
Tired of mashing the fibers into coats of moments.
I am quitting the relentless frustration of
hoping to to be reflected in someone else's eyes.
The sitting in place and willing affect.
I am quitting rolling my palms across your spine hoping
transfixed on a spark of recognition.

I am quitting.
I am going to stop staring and walking in place.
I will now begin mixing the ingredients, turning the gears, sowing, growing and
building wholeness.

I will never wear that paper dress again,
I realized after all these years,
it's too easy to set on fire...so
I am quitting the waiting to be burnt.

Quitting means,
I can call it finished...
even if unresolved.
Quitting means I can stop and
be here in this moment un-tethered to your expectations.
I am done.

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