Violeta Noir is a woman with a long memory.
She writes from Jacksonville, Florida, where desire, power, appetite, men, food, beautiful rooms, bad decisions, and the peculiar things people reveal when they believe no one is taking notes.
Some stories have already settled into The Archives. These are the stories that survived long enough to become evidence.
Others are still unfolding in The Margins, written the morning after, while the dust is still in the air.
Some evenings deserve a table, a cocktail, and a review Around Town.
And some things are better understood through what was cooking or what was playing in the background.
This is not a diary.
It is a collection of observations, recollections, recipes, places, playlists, confessions, and occasionally evidence.
Names may change. Details may shift. Memory is an unreliable narrator.
Violeta, however, keeps excellent records.
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An Unusual Amount of Playmates
There are suddenly too many creatures wandering around my freshly waxed forest. Okay. Freshly might be generous. It’s been a couple of weeks. Still. There seems to be an unusual amount of playmates wandering around lately. Pint Sized Mechanic, however, seems to be dawdling. This is particularly amusing considering the last time I saw him,…
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Too Many Men, Not Enough Nights
I came in Pint Sized Mechanic’s bed before he even touched me. Which, frankly, feels rude. Not rude of me. Rude of him. My mouth was otherwise occupied and somehow this man still managed to have me losing my fucking mind before he’d put a hand on me. Then he told me to take a…
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Ravenous
The burger place never happened. By the time I left the salon, my nails were fresh and my toes were perfect. His favorite color. Of course. Wounded Boy has always had a particular weakness for my feet, and I knew exactly where his mind would go when he saw them. I didn’t need to tell…
