Diane Foster: Death Most Becoming


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Jeff Buckley Hallelujah

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Beauty is only skin deep right? I’ve been pondering the answer to that poser and, after careful deliberation, I can reveal it to be somewhat inaccurate. You see, the most effervescent beauty comes from inside; someplace way beneath the epidermis. I’m speaking, of course, of the soul. Back when Eric B & Rakim were convincing me that they had an inkling that I possessed soul, I wasn’t so sure. If that was the case then why did I resemble Steve Martin from The Jerk when I undertook a hootenanny? Why, when others my age were grooming their chest wigs, was I left with a mere couple of wispy strands? I presumed there had been some kind of clerical error back at the birthing pool. Turns out that I had soul all along. But it took mental implosion for me to suss that shit out. So you see, I’m speaking from personal experience. That is where the true beauty lays; just like an automobile the true horsepower is located under the hood. Does Diane Foster please us aesthetically? I’ll answer with a poser of my own…do I really have to supply the answer my previous question? She is more resplendent than I can place into prose. However, she also possesses soul, and it shines ever so brightly.

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Sharing the screen with her for the first time proved, without a shadow of a doubt, that she really was all that. My character Robert is beyond scum; the kind of cock jockey who gets his kicks out of acting demeaning against the fairer sex and ensuring that their confidence remains shot. In real life, that couldn’t be farther from the truth so I was required to step into character. The cameras rolled and I heard the words “mark it”; which translates in one’s head to “throw him to the wolves boys”. Suddenly all available exits had been sealed and I wouldn’t be granted release until I had tried on my alter-egos slimy skin. There should have been blind panic and now was the time for me to fake that coronary. However, as the next word “action” began to ricochet about my ears, something entirely unexpected transpired. I fell into Robert; not in the way that a rock star does his groupies, but through the inhabitancy of his soul. All of this would have been far less likely had it not been for one utterly divine pair of emerald peepers. That’s right; I’m speaking of those eyes, those swirling green whirlpools complete with burly undercurrents.

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It just so happens that eyes are regarded as the windows of one’s soul. If Tina Turner’s were steamy then it wasn’t actually on accounts of the body heat as she suggested, it was because her mean-spirited spouse was standing in her shadow slapping the business side of his size eleven against his palm whilst threatening to knock her back into Nutbush city limits. That’s not soul food if you ask me. Diane Foster’s windows are so transparent that you would walk straight into them if they weren’t surrounded by luscious ruby red lips and flaxen locks with enough vitality to make Sinbad’s famous golden fleece look like a knock-off. As splendiferous as the sum of her parts may be; for Keeper, the truest prize will always be the eyes. The reason for this is elementary dear Wattpad; they coerced something out of me that had laid dormant my entire life and totally without the necessity of applied force. They held me there, much in the same manner as a protective lioness would with her cub, and proposed that I feed heartily to build up my strength. Did I reciprocate in kind? Have you ever seen a famished cub turn down a prime rib? Exactly; I stuffed my cheeks like one of Alvin’s chipmunks and followed the path laid out before me, straight into the heart of my own darkness.

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As much as I was focused 100% plus change on my own performance; I was also wholly captivated by hers. I’ve watched her turn as Audrey Miller in the original The Orphan Killer more times than I’ve placed a nickel in my one-armed bandit; but nothing had prepared me for face-time with the ultimate modern day scream queen. Let’s consider this; as well as Audrey, this time she was tasked with bringing Baby Sister kicking and screaming into the fray. To say that the pair are chalk and cheese is akin to stating that Justin Bieber could never aspire to becoming the next Kurt Cobain…it’s as plain as the nose on Barbara Streisand’s face. There is nothing Yentl about the sibling of Marcus Miller; you could ask what’s up doc but the likelihood would be that he would send you off for a second opinion. She’s fucking heinous to her core and beyond even there. How could the cruel blood not have extended into her ventricles? The soul may well be tucked away in the farthest recess of our inventory but blood gets around don’t you know? Behind that mask is one so totally tainted that bargaining with her is only ever going to land you in hot water.

Animal Alpha Fire Fire Fire

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Yet, as much as Audrey is embracing her new alter-ego, there is still significant conflict over her soul’s ownership. She’s not giving up the lease without a fight and a rigorous training regime has left her in tip-top shape and fighting fit. This is where Diane Foster weaves the two threads seamlessly. There are degrees to madness and she tallies them effortlessly, swinging like a pendulum between good and evil and through an exclusive gift that just keeps on giving. How did she prepare for a big scene? By simply stepping on set; the rest took care of itself. She made something which was decidedly less than simple such as coaxing a performance out of Richard Charles Stevens like bread and bloody butter. All of this while gifting us with a turn so gloriously conflicted that you would be forgiven for believing that her head would be spinning. It wasn’t. She was calm, collected, and most critically utterly graceful. I witnessed the rebirth of a black swan that day and will take that experience with me as I transcend any physical shell hopefully many years from now. Touch wood. And I touch mine so habitually.

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Let us not forget production duties. The moment I heard cut and ducked in case baby Sister took it a little too literally; she was already on the next scene in her mind. Each look into those windows revealed that refurbishment had already been facilitated and she was ready to spark fuses with her director and contemplate the best route forth. Consummate professional. So, you see, that’s one almighty juggling act and all but the most adept would likely drop a hacky sack or two along the way but not in the case of Diane Foster. I could have tossed a couple of china plates into play and she would have kept those suckers topside. For as long as Bound X Blood has been gestating and, most recently, transmogrifying, she has been biding her time. However, that time has not been spent being lackadaisical. She has been carrying Audrey’s burden about for three years and now it is time for her to embrace her opposite number’s dark gift. When the words “quiet on the set” are spoken; it becomes effortless as you will be stunned that way watching Baby Sister come home to roost.

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I have been scribing adoring love letters to our queen for over eighteen months now and words still fail me on ocassion. There’s nothing unscrupulous about my feelings towards our fair lady; she is and will always be my sister. It’s just that the family we are unified by considers it acceptable to fixate on one’s sibling, so long as you just hold your hands up from the offset. I make no qualm that she stokes the fires deeply but there isn’t a man alive impervious to the allure of such majesty. We all lust; whether openly or surreptitiously, every one of us masquerades with fantasy. Her turn as Audrey Miller is ultimately a love letter returned to sender with a bloody kiss as sign-off. It’s one humongous thank you for all the belief that has been shown as she has stood naked before us. I’m not speaking of lacking linen; I’m speaking of offering all of yourself and holding nothing whatsoever back. It’s one thing going all-in before the flop if clad in a floppy stetson and ray bans. It’s entirely another if you do so without ever once falling back on your poker face. Turns out she was clutching a royal flush all along.

Some… Not She

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Some have dollies maisonettes and the like
Some court folly unprepared when it strikes
Some cry out when they fall to their knees
Some die out as their lifeforce is seized


Some are mere ducklings not destined to fly
Some have knees buckling as they watch life pass by
Some hang in wire as he ponders their fate
Some just expire as the pain is too great


She has a mask and it fits rather well
She will not ask as she drags you to hell
She laughs aloud as she slices her prey
She sits there proud as your life slips away


She is a swan with the same poise and grace
She couldn’t go wrong from our very first taste
She is advancing cruel huntress indeed
And she’s spent too long fasting now she wants you to bleed


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To sins still to be committed…raise a chalice,

Sponsored by @TheOrphanKiller
Performances by @MattFarnsworth @DieannFoster
Cruel Art by @MattFarnsworth
Prose and scribing by @RiversofGrue
Copyright Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC. All Rights Reserved.



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