What I see

I want to make love to you in a room full of strangers. I want to show these people that your sensuality cannot be quenched. That you are sex itself and my desire for you burns like plasma. I want you to feel their eyes on you as you orgasm again and again. I want you to see the envy of your pleasure, their eyes flashing as my tongue and hands and cock bring you to climax again and again and again. I want you to see that you are a queen. I want you to see in their eyes, in their lust what I say about you. That my words are all true. That you are sex and lust itself. I ache to burn in your fire.


I found myself Internet Stalking an ex this morning.  I have no idea why we broke up.  We hadn’t been seeing each other that long.  Then one morning I get a text like lightning from the sky that she’s breaking it off.  Ok…, no reason. Says something to the effect that she still wants to talk about books with me and that she was sorry she hurt me? Except, she hadn’t done anything TO hurt me. I responded, in my typical fashion, that I wasn’t hurt but if I was then it wasn’t her responsibility. My emotions are my responsibility. I did want to talk about why we were breaking apart, and said as much but that was the last I heard from her.  I think about her every once in a while.  We were doing OK, not a house on fire.  But there was potential there.  It’s just puzzling to me. 


I dreamt that I met a beautiful woman, she was thin, slightly shorter than me, small, almost flat chest, elegant hands perfect for holding or kissing. She was smart and we talked about music. I kissed her and she was gentle at first, then more forceful. Her hair was soft and I ran my hands over her. Trailing the edge of fingernails over the lingerie, black lace she wore. So damn sexy. I moved to go down on her and found a surprise. A five inch cock. Thin and perfectly groomed. I looked up at her and could see the fear and trepidation in her eyes. Holding her eyes with mine I ran my tongue up the length of her surprise. I took her in my mouth, running my tongue against the softness, sucking and swirling. Replacing my mouth with my hand, I trailed kisses up her abdomen, paused to suck a tit, then kissed the small of her throat. I whispered to her, your beautiful. I remember having sex but not the rest of the specifics. I woke beside her, her ass snuggled down against me. I reach over an pinch a nipple. She turns to me and murmurs good morning and looking into her hazel eyes I am turned on. We have sex again. I ask her out to a real date. We go eat Italian. Then we are leaving the restaurant and as we exit, her in the crook of my arm, snuggled against me. I hear someone say something behind us, something like Faggots. Maybe they saw her lovely little Adam’s apple. A woman is who she is, a dick is what she has. Anyway, I’m enraged. I turn and ask, threateningly, did you say something? He swaggers over and says, I said Faggot. I say, Oh, I thought you said please stab me multiple times and leave me to bleed out in an alley. I pull a blade. He backs away, fear in his eyes. I turn back to my beautiful. She has fear in her eyes too. I put the blade away. I walk up to her and holding her hands, I say You are mine. I will protect you from every hurt as best I can. We walk off to the movie. That’s all I remember.

Stepping into Friday night

I know what I am, who I am.
I am certain of my place in the world and know what I am capable of. Despite that, I cannot find the people I look for or finding them, get them to stay. Do I ask too much? Are they the wrong people? Or am I so far from those who are looking for me as I look for them that we are all lost?

Thoughts on The Art

Its real. I am keenly aware that this sounds insane. However, I have seen ghosts. Real spirits. I have dreamwalked and met people who I would later meet in the waking world. I have seen the branching future, and knowing a sequence would lead to ruin, a sequence I could not anticipate that existed outside normal patterns, averted that disaster by making a different choice. And as a test case making the same choice to disastrous results. I have spoken with elemental forces. Made friends with some, allies of others. The enemies I had already.

When I work a spell, I can feel the world shifting and when it is complete, feel it take hold. I can feel the world change. I know this sounds delusional, like madness. The problem is duplication, with science you input something and can test for a reaction. Magic is not science. Magic is art. In the same way that you can play notes in the same sequence that Charlie Parker did but lack the same quality of Charlie.

Magic is a system, just like musical notes are a system but no two mages will work in the exact same way as no two musicians will sound exactly the same. You can get close, same teachers, same styles, same outlook. But there is always differences and those differences make it hard to prove. I don’t feel the need to justify myself, but I am an adult and know to whom and when I can speak without being locked up by the largest secular religion, psychology. I say all of this to make this point, Magic is real. Do not dismiss what you cannot explain. But don’t slavishly follow it either. This world contains more than you can know.