Lost in the stream

Truth shifts and in the shifting,
tilt axis,
reveals the false flame of a love still burning.
Unreasonable and unrequited,
which on surface purity bend,
but on the making reveal revolution.

Bound desire to be desired where hope slinks,
carmadine gaze,
slick surface of dramatic turn.
But in the question we are free.

Free to fall, free to fail
Only cold burn to entropy’s lips
A kiss passionate and yearning
But slanderous tongue in rage

Bit back depredation, drawn blood
The taste of copper course down throat
Made thick with words unsaid
Lies made tangible by omission

The heart loves and the mind has no choice but to follow

What tears and mind do portend
What shallow reckoning
With speed of sorrow do forfend
This essence flickering

As the candle gutters out
Of your guiless sibilance
Do memories of love show rout
False flag fails fair remembrance

Romance dies ere it lived
A tragedy looking back
But heart still loves, still yearns, still bled
So mind must follow though it knows better than to chase it’s lack

Oh, silly heart, with rhyme you seek but Piercing veil with naught to speak
She doesn’t see you, doesn’t want you
It’s time to walk away

Dream

I dreamed that I was living on the fringes of high society. That I was there to some purpose my great grandfather had asked of me. I believe as a spy, to watch the actions of a high society son.

Cut to a scene where a shaman is working with an investment group to buy up the local stores and install there own, like a Native American Walmart. But lawsuits were starting to pile up and the shaman saw the wind and the wind vortexed then shot away, back to his home. In this way he knew it wasn’t going to work and it would be better to keep what they had rather than risk it all on a scheme that was no longer favored.
Then I’m getting invited to a party where the high society son will be, he will likely get into trouble.

Then I and 2 friends prechild, get on a train and go to California but it isn’t cali, it’s the dreamscape that I refer to as little Seattle. There we have a good time and we’re all friends. 

We split off for a time and visit a dreamscape I call the conservatory. It is a near endless series of back corridors but in the front there are movie theatres, opera, plays, Orchestra and all kinds of other acts.

I go to a movie and see a woman who I Last knew generally speaking, in high school by the name of peasblossom, she is watching a movie on the formation of the universe and confides in me during intermission that she can’t leave. I find that I’ve lost my keys, phone and cards. But I’m able to leave and they are at security.

I leave to meet my two friends who are playing a game, A LARP really, but one setup by a company and one that is ongoing and interesting. I get drawn in and am filling out the forms to join. My friends leave, saying that they want to catch dinner before the train ride back.

They seem sad, like me staying is a mistake. But I’m so enraptured by the thought of this new idea that I can’t tear myself away. I tell them I’ll meet them later. The LARP group rejects my application, they say they only accept people that will work towards their goals, not have there own agenda. Dejected and pissed, I tell them that I hope their servers are secure because I’m going to rain down brimstone until their company is aught but charred smoking wreckage.

Then I leave, the elevator is to the arts place, it is more of a conveyance as it travels sideways as well. We eventually arrive near the place I’m to meet my friends but I hear an artist I like and step out. We are in a upscale bar with couches and comfy chairs arranged in concentric semi circles around a group. 3 women, one is smoking, which is a shock, since I haven’t seen anyone smoke in this dream. One is hanging back, knitting and smoking. One is playing the piano, one is singing. I recognize her as a singer by the name of auria, she is singing and bantering with the crowd. She is much older than I remember. The entire crowd is older but I am somehow unchanging. I like the lounge act she has. As they wrap, I get up to meet my friends, then I wake.

This seems disjointed but each scene flowed into the next. The only disconnect was the shaman.  In that I was there as an observer only.  A witness.

Have we fallen so far

A interested party asked me, almost timidly, if BDSM always involved sex. I had to think for a second, not because I did not have the answer, but because it calls to mind the bad information that is out there. Of course it doesn’t always involve sex.

I incorporate sex into play only when I am in a romantic relationship with the person or persons. If the relationship is as Master and Submissive, then no, I don’t incorporate those elements into the play. I think that there is a misconception at work here that play is all about sex.

Admittedly, I have been out of the lifestyle except for friends and the referral from friends for some time now as I struggled to get my problems in hand. But, I can’t imagine it has changed so much. Perhaps, the contamination of 50 shades of grey is to blame.

Or, it could be that the community is not providing adequate training and support or making said information available except in the context of sex. I’ll want to ask where they got the notion to determine where it comes from.

I can’t shake the feeling that it is because male “tops” will use any excuse to get their dick wet. If that is the case, then those people are sexual opportunists and not true masters or tops. It is something to be aware of.

Just because you are bound does not mean you give up consent. Sex is not implicit unless such as been made explicit. I know, I could be accused of being too safe. Believe me, there is no such thing. I won’t even touch a partner sensually unless it has been agreed to. I may want to, need to, burn to, but failure to obtain consent for ANY act, is abhorrent. It is betrayal, it is rape.

My day

My average day:
I get up about 5:30 so groggy I have to just sit on my bed for about 10 minutes before I remember how to stand.
Then I gather a towel and head to the shower.
I take care of the standard post wake up necessities, then stand looking in the mirror.
No reason for this other than to feel vaguely other, and wonder about this universe of the guy in the mirror; If I am particularly awake, I’ll make faces.
Then I take a shower under the hottest setting my water heater will allow for, which is about 130 degrees F;
The pain wakes me right the fuck up, and feels really good to my jaded senses. This goes on for 10 minutes. I know, I’m a horrible person. water conservation and all that.

I get out of the shower then realize I forgot to shave my face and then just say, fuck it. My hair doesn’t grow that quickly anyway and it’s not worth the discomfort. I’m allergic to the metal so if I don’t immediately take a shower afterward there will be skin irritation.

This whole time I am desperately trying not to have ideas. I have found I will have amazing life changing rock the foundation of my relationships ideas and then when I go to retrieve them, gone like poof; so If I get an idea I don’t play it out, I just keep repeating the first 2 lines then sprint out to my phone to write them down;

If I didn’t have an idea, I do standing pushups in the mini sauna of my bathroom; 2-3 sets; or until my muscles give out whichever I have time for; Then its to my closest to pick clothes; aka which black shirt am I going to wear, the long sleeve? the one from when I was significantly bigger and has a collar that opens so wide you can see my breastbone?
Then I run my hand held tangleeze brush through my hair to my mid back; I flirt with going to work with my hair down as it is outside of work but end up pulling it back but with a black leather clasp, cause I’m so punk rock. I gather my phone and book that I say I’m going to read but never do, then collect a diet coke from the fridge for a caffeine jolt. I would do coffee but that takes time and planning and shit; diet coke takes putting it in the fridge and forgetting about it.

Then I’m out the door to my decade old no frills pickup truck. I pull up a playlist on my phone and start blasting it at warning inducing levels from my phone; and I’m driving to work; Honestly, I like driving, even in traffic I like it. And it gives me the opportunity to put my don’t be a jackass philosophy and my if you want it take it philosophy to work. I can’t tell you how pleased I am when I see someone seize an opportunity, even if it is just to merge lanes and see that they commit and take it. I know, that’s weird.

I drive up to the roof of the parking garage where i can see the whole city and the bowl of sky stretched out around me. Then I get out and walk in to my desk. I’m still listening to whatever playlist I have , and I sit down to work, I do this for a couple hours then take a break to get a muffin and more caffeine, another diet coke; then work some more, then lunch where I go to my car and think about reading my book but generally end up sleeping for 45 minutes then going over the fragments I’m working on to see if I have inspiration hit, usually I’ll write something more then go back to work; Work for 4 more hours then technically I’m free but I generally hang out with my friends, lamenting that their working while trying to distract myself from the fact I having nothing but a cat to go home to.

Now, she is a very nice cat and though she makes no bones about her waiting to eat my corpse she is still my Delightful Carnivore, but still human companionship is something I crave. But I dislike strangers so there I am. Then, I drive home. I generally watch some scripted tv; shows that I buy, not steal, thank you. make some dinner or not depending on how tired I am; then go to bed; at this point I’ll maybe read or write some more; though writing occurs all the time; bits and pieces; and that in general is my day. Was this interesting, I don’t know but it was an interesting exercise.

Thoughts on beauty and introspection

Beauty is not about your body. If I meant it to be about your body I would have said pretty. Or used the phrase aesthetically pleasing.

When I comment that a person is beautiful, I always mean that I have caught a glimpse of something indefinable, some piece of your self that calls to my humanity. A piece that makes me fall in love, just a little bit, with that person.

Needless to say, I fall in love all the time. I think it’s a poets job to look inside to see and more importantly to write and speak.
To let people know that they are not faceless, not invisible. That beauty lurks in the heart of us all.

I’m not the best vehicle for telling people of their beauty. I’m not great at the whole charisma thing, I don’t think anyway. But I’ll write it, and hopefully they’ll see themselves the way I see them.

Off topic a bit, I’m in pain all the time. Loving individuals is who I am, it let’s me write, let’s me see and I wouldn’t change that. But so few people, see me. And I don’t mean in my writing, I mean me, the totality of me. And it is so very painful to love and not be loved.