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The Awakening ... I have a voice Part 2

5/26/2018

Written by: Keturah Charles
For: Demedrius Charles Productions
All rights reserved

The piercing sound of the alarm clock woke me up. I gingerly reached for it, and as I squinted to see the time, I realized that sleep had indeed announced its presence for it was now 8:08 in the morning and I was late for an appointment. I quickly dashed out of bed, jumped into the shower, got dressed and was out the door half an hour later. As I drove down the highway taking in the lush scenery I couldn’t help but smile as the memory of my husband re-entered my mind, because to be quite honest, it wasn’t always bad, especially the first two years.
Ah! My husband! He was one of them alright…. a man in uniform. I had always been attracted to them. I don’t know what it was, but there was something about the uniform that just did something to me. I remember vividly how he was dressed; stark white shirt starched to perfection, the silver buttons that glistened in the sun, a pair of neatly pressed black pants, with white piping on the sides and to top it off, a black cap pulled low just enough to partially shield his eyes.
He strode over to me and asked me my name to which I reluctantly answered. He introduced himself as Derrick and immediately started a conversation. I gradually warmed up to him because he gave off this air about him that made me all warm and fuzzy inside; not to mention the fact that I was already charmed by the uniform. His smile was so captivating, revealing, every time he smiled, a set of pearly white teeth and that spaced tooth that literally sent shivers titillating down my spine.
The sudden honking of a car horn behind me stirred me from my reverie and I realized that I was holding up traffic for the light had turned green. I quickly sped away and took the next corner on the right which would take me to my destination. I drove up the driveway, parked in the closest spot to the building and got out of the car.
The room had a faint smell of pine sol. The walls were freshly painted in yellow and white, colors specifically chosen to lift the most sagging spirits. The grand mahogany desk was parked right in the middle of the room, with shelves of books lining the back wall from ceiling to floor. On the left wall was a huge bay window that overlooked the scenic waterfront. She was seated at her desk intently poring over an article of some sort.

She must have been deeply engrossed in whatever she was reading because she was seemingly startled by the knock on the door. Surprise turned into a broad smile as she stood up to welcome me in.
Joanie and I had quickly become good friends because of her warm and easy-going personality and over the years our friendship deepened. She made it so easy to open up about my deepest feelings, a trait that did not come that easily to me. I stood at the door and stared at her with a pained expression on my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern carved all over her face. She quickly walked over to the door, took me by the hand and led me to the couch under the window: a couch she had spent a fortune on.
“It’s Corinthian leather for goodness sake, plus it’s cherry red,” she had remarked jokingly.
I sat on the plush leather and nervously wrung my hands together. Joanie sat next to me and held my hand in hers. “What is it?” she asked softly. My eyes immediately clouded and as I struggled to maintain composure I replied in a barely audible voice, “I was at that place again!” She gently squeezed my hand then hugged me tightly.
“So tell me what happened,” she continued.
“Same scenario,” I answered.
“Can you tell me what happened when you finally came to?” she gently pressed on.
And with a heavy heart, I proceeded to unravel my heart one more time. When I finally became conscious again it took me a while to realize that I was on the bedroom floor. My body felt like lead and my head throbbed to the drumming of tin soldiers. The house was deathly quiet. After lying there for a few seconds, I crawled my way to the door and with trembling fingers, I reached for the knob and cautiously turned it. The hallway was empty and the light turned down low and, still feeling wobbly, I inched my way down the hall. As I was about to enter the living room I caught a glimpse of him standing on the balcony. I was about to make my way into the kitchen when suddenly he turned and saw me.
At that point I mustered up all my remaining strength and I made a mad dash towards the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I pointed the knife at my stomach, and with a look of wild terror in my eyes, I screamed at him, “If you touch me one more time, I swear I will kill myself, right here, right now!

A glimmer of light to guide you through those dark moments.

4 Comments

SPOTLIGHT ON

5/17/2018

12 Comments

With a name like Art Jones, it seems like this New Jersey born, New York based ARTIST is destined for stardom. DCP sits down with the up and coming artist and gets personal.

Ten Poignant questions.
DCP
Who are YOU?
Art
I am an Artist; I sing, write, model, act and create. I’m a very motivated person who embraces all positive spectrums of the Arts.
DCP
Art Jones, the name, very stage appropriate, given or altered?
Art
My actual name. Is Arthur, Art for short.. i was raised in a single parent household. I did'nt like my name at first because It was my father's middle name. I did not want to be associated with him and was embarrassed by it. But as I got older and more spiritual, I realized that the name actually embodies who I have grown to be. I started to look at it as more of a purposed name instead of an embarrassment.
DCP
What was it like growing up in a single parent house hold?
ART
Challenging but I had a great Mom who found ethical ways for me to do anything I was interested in growing up. I’ve played tennis, I am a martial artist, i boxed, sang, and played all brass instruments eventually specializing in the trumpet throughout high school and my early 20s. I eventually got more involved in entertainment, focusing on singing, modeling and now acting. So ART JONES transitioned from a negative into a positive. God knew what he was doing.
DCP
If you were given a choice as an artist, Film, Music or Modeling, which one would you choose and why?
Art
As an artist I would do it all. Music is my first love. It was a way to escape and still is. Film and Modeling are also ways to become someone else but I would still do it all.
DCP
How are you pursuing that dream?
Art
It’s been a long journey but it’s worth it. I’ve been writing and hoping to finish with my single soon. I stopped recording for a while due to a disappointment in my younger years but now is the right time.

DCP
It's a hustle in the entertainment industry Art, what will make YOU stand out?
Art
I’m no better than anyone else but so I remain true to who I am. I don’t apologize for being ME. It took a lot to become who I am today and I’m proud of it. So if I stand out, it’s because people see the real me and not me portraying to be anything other than that.
DCP
Who inspires you as a person?
Art
I draw inspiration from the world. A good deed being done by a stranger, or Obama becoming president. However, If I had to choose a person it would be my mother. She embodies strength and getting through.
DCP
Who inspires you as an artist?
Art
I’m really into a lot of artist for different reasons. Definitely old school like Donnie H, and Stevie W for their creative soulful sounds to name a couple. I’m in love with the 90’s music. A lot of my inspiration comes from that era.
DCP
Do you believe in love?
ART
lol ... I do, whether or not I believe it’s for me is still up for debate but I do believe in it and believe it’s a beautiful thing.
DCP
What do you think are your best features?
Art
As a creation of God I’ve grown to love all of me and continue to work on myself. But if i had to choose a feature I would say my eyes.
DCP
Any advice for The ARTSIT?
Art
Just to never give up. Stay true to what you love. Fall in love with yourself and your art. Embrace it and stay positive thinking. Every no does not mean it’s over. Just means not yet or something greater is coming.

Photo Credit @photochase

12 Comments

IN FRONT AND BEHIND THE LENS

5/5/2018

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When a picture is not just a picture and the model is not just another pretty face but when that vision is so captivating it draws your attention to every detailing by the artist behind and in front of the lens.
Model Chal Harn definitely captured the attention of Demedrius Charles productions with his variation of what I call artistic pieces. Kudos to this Philippine model and graphic designer Chal Harn

All photos and videos on this blog are retrieved from various sources or found while using the Internet which is considered public domain. If you feel that any photo posted is in direct violation of your copyright or creative liberties, please email me at [email protected] immediately with details of the materials and I will remove it promptly.

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Confessions of a Mistress Pt 2

5/2/2018

38 Comments

Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Tick Tock ..... and let the drama continue

Written by
Mimi St.Clair
All rights reserved by
Demedrius Charles Productions

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. That’s the sound my clock makes. I glance over at it. Perched righteously on the mantle, glaring back at me. Daring me. Willing me. Encouraging me? Call him, it whispers. I stick my finger in my ear. Huh, I must be hearing things. But the ever irritating clock was correct. Sigh. I should give him a ring.
Its been three weeks since I last saw My Politician. Three weeks is not unusual. It was becoming more of a scheduled appointment really. More of a nuisance actually. Being a Politician’s Mistress came with sacrifices. Sacrifices I was prepared to make, have been making. It made unconventional sense when u look at it. He’s married, thankfully no kids. Or else my moral compass would be spinning out of control. Its already somewhat broken. He travels a lot and his office hours are insane. So once a month in the comfort of my arms, is like breathing air after a brush with drowning.

Darn clock. Playing tireless and tuneless beats on my varying emotions. Three weeks, yes. But its been one week since I heard from him. Heard being the operative word here. It was uncharacteristic, even for him. I was beginning to wonder if I had been replaced. Was the Mrs. reinstated in the private quarters? I laugh out loud. Political jargon, now? Reinstated, my heinie. Ok, I admit, she’s a looker, smoldering at times. Struts with such indignant confidence. After all, why shouldn’t she? The wife of a Politician draws glares from their Constituents. Quite simply put, she is a beneficial prop. Mrs. What’s-her-face, also known as Mrs. Croatia DuJour, is by all means, lackluster.
You may think I’m saying this because I’m itching the green eyed monster. But the proof is in his eyes. Those piercing, brown peepers that twinkle when he grins. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. His stare devoid of emotion. Unimpressed by her Stepford Wife persona. Mrs. What’s-her- face was for the grand standing, ongoing, political circus.
I turn away from the clock, concluding I had two options. Laze around this immaculate, well decorated, picket fenced prison, he has so generously paid for, or, ring him. So he can inform me that he’s swamped at the office. His numbers are soaring, the polls are great. He’ll swing by as soon as time permits. Those words. As true and relatable as it will sound, still so not what I want to hear.
Decision made. I flop onto fluffed up pillows, reach for my phone and scroll through until my fingers land on his digits. I stretch my legs out and admire well manicured toes, contrasting against a deep, rich, black sofa. I smile. Black is such an inconvenient color. The evidence of a satisfying tryst, so plainly on display.
I pause and close my eyes, for just a minute. Four nights ago came vividly to mind. I purse my lips as I replay empty conversations but meaningful embraces. Cornily smiling, with eyes still tightly shut, my free hand dances along my bare stomach, tangoing its way into loose ringlets. Twirling strands around my forefinger. Inching ever so slowly, easing my way through black, manicured lawn. I reach my top and senses its urgency. Begging to be caressed. I feel the pulsation. My eyes flutter open. I need to make my call. No more ifs, buts or maybes.

38 Comments

The Awakening ... I have a voice Part 2

SPOTLIGHT ON

IN FRONT AND BEHIND THE LENS

Confessions of a Mistress Pt 2

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