Dream

I pulled into the parking lot. There were two restaurants. One where I knew I would have a good meal. But it would be empty.

And another where I would feel at home. One with warmth and a long diner counter. One filled with other lost souls with desolate hearts and interesting tales. One I’ve been to many times. Always with the temptation that the meal will be delicious, fresh and unique.

I walk in and people are sitting next to each other near the door, talking. I walk past them going down to an empty seat at the far left hand side. A part of the atmosphere, but alone, lonely. It’s the seat I usually choose. I long for touch and words but here, always, I choose a seat alone, apart.

There is a massive menu, with mouthwatering choices. Blueberry pancakes, country bacon, eggs, coffee for the smell and soda to drink. There is a bakery and pastry shop. It is a place I could be for awhile, just reading. But I never do.

I never order here, sometimes there is an empty plate that I don’t remember eating from. Sometimes I order, and wait and wait, the order never coming. Eventually, I leave. I leave the warmth and the feeling of home. I leave and feel more empty than when I arrived. Another reoccurring stop in my dreamscape.

Poem

Come, all broke and twisted
A vine too sour for wine
Timing missed and misted
A clock that knows no time

A lock not made for turning
A key left to rust
A door bereft and yearning
But still no shape of us

What wonders fade ‘er speaking
What joys to be shared
But all that’s love is tangled

Cut through and jump

9.5

She’s smiling and I’m laughing
She’s sleeping and I’m watching
She’s incandescent and I’m night

It’s all in my rear view
And I can’t fight the fight

Each day that passes and I’m further away from you
I’m losing those moments, those minutes, those days.
Each time I wake, I walk farther away
Each time I sleep, I remember.

It wasn’t the loss that I could not endure
It’s this litany of days and hours without you

She’s dancing and I’m clapping
She’s yelling and I’m screaming
She’s cold and I’m colder

It’s all in my rear view
And I’m another year older

Each day that passes and I’m further away from you
I’m losing those moments, those minutes, those days
Each time I wake, I walk farther away
Each time I sleep, I remember

It wasn’t the loss that I could not endure
It’s this litany of day and hours without you

She’s going and I’m watching
She’s bleeding and I’m not there
She’s dying and I’m at fault.

It’s always here with me

 

Poem

When my partner is weak, I am strong.
When strong, I am weak.
I flow like air, like water, seemingly flighty, changeable.
Hard and unknowable, emotional and over sharing.
My strengths are weakness, weakness strength. The surface is moving, but the deep currents pull strongly.
Come, dance in my wake
Or pull even
Dance together, side by side as the world trembles

Consent: Not actually that complicated

Absolutely. Consent is not just necessary. It’s sexy as hell. They are saying soberly that you are what I want. Coming, as I do, from the BDSM scene, consent has always been vital. And not just consent a single time, but ongoing continual consent. Say Red to me and everything stops, instantly. No hard feelings.

rockstar dinosaur pirate princess

http://kaffysmaffy.tumblr.com/post/780535517 http://kaffysmaffy.tumblr.com/post/780535517

A short one today as my life is currently very complicated and conspiring against my preference to spend all of my days working out what to blog. But do you know what isn’t complicated?

Consent.

It’s been much discussed recently; what with college campuses bringing in Affirmative Consent rules, and with the film of the book that managed to make lack of consent look sexy raking it in at the box office. You may not know this, but in the UK we more or less have something similar to ‘affirmative consent’ already. It’s how Ched Evans was convicted while his co-defendant was not – and is along the lines of whether the defendant had a reasonable belief that the alleged victim consented. From the court documents it appears that while the jury felt that it was reasonable to believe that the victim had consented to intercourse with the co-defendant, it…

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Stand

Don’t ever think that because I’m emotional, I’m not strong. I’m emotional because I’m strong. I’ve stood against the onslaught. I’ve faced down loss and things that would destroy, that I know has destroyed others. You see me crying and think me weak. You see my tears and think I’m failing. Fools. I cry but I stand. I shed my tears and am unafraid of your judgements. I’m falling apart but those pieces fit together into a stronger whole. I’m afraid but I act anyway. I’m tired but I wake. Stand against me and fall.  Stand with me and we will both rise.

Personality

I think of my outward personality like a series of doors. Each door containing an aspect of personality, like openness, rigidity, emotional, etc. In my writing, all the doors are thrown open. When I date, I try to do the same.

Though, my success there is mixed and mostly when I am in one of my harder personas. I’m the same person whatever mask I’m wearing but the face I present can be different. With some, I am dangerous. A wolf shaped like a man. With others, I’m the intellectual. For some, I am the Master, a mix of control, danger, and creative. And so on.

I write this because I try to be all of me when I go out on dates. And they all inevitably, inexorably fail. I wonder if the image of myself, full and complete, is too much. Too, seemingly, scattered to be attractive. I’ve worked hard to be more than a cypher for societal norms. But, I’ve perhaps, deviated too far from the standard.

Nobody wants a nervous, emotional, intellectual, Master, artist, priest, geek, it’ll all end in tears but we should enjoy the ride, guy. Someone who is indecisive when it comes to determining course, but deliberate and good at navigating it.

I could just show a single face, but as the other aspects bleed through as time passes, that presents its own issues.

On the one hand, it seems, if I want a relationship, I’ll need to lie. I know, people will say that it’s just putting a spin or putting your best foot forward. But that is a lie, it’s deception pure and simple.
Did I mention something of a hardliner?

On the other is the hope that someone would see all that I am and want that.

Is the possibility of the hope worth the heartache?

Before you say yes think on the emotional wreckage that each failure leaves behind. It fades, but slowly. How many wounds can a person endure?
I suppose the answer is ‘as many as is necessary’.