Month: March 2017

The blade of love

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Love is a blade thrusts slowly through muscle and bone, piercing the heart
The foreigness of the metal draws a gasp. It slowly heats to the temperature around it, slowly pulses out pain that tells us, this is love. They say that love doesn’t hurt, that it makes you feel wonderful, that it elevates you but nothing so wonderous is without a cost. Pain is intrinsic to the human condition. It’s just that some pains drive us to be more, be better people and some drive us to ruin.

No, love is a blade thrust into the heart. If we’re lucky, it stays there and if not, then it is pulled out. Sometimes, another pulls it out and sometimes we look down and find our own hands slick with blood.

But we collapse, because that blade was holding back the maelstrom and out pours every good moment, every word of beauty, everything right and spills it on the ground, drunk greedily by the parched earth.

We hold the darkness with us, we grasp what we can as the blade wrecks us, it’s always easiest to hold onto the dark.

But eventually it all goes, and we’re just shallow husks. Cicada molt, waiting to be crushed or blown away.

Spinning out

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I feel like I’m flying apart. Like I can’t hold the pieces together. Like I’m falling. Like the earth is pulling me under, like drowning but not like any of those things because at least then there would be the hope that the pain might end. There would be a chance that something could help me. Some doctor could save me. Some miracle could fix me.
The air catches in my throat and there is a lump made out of pain. As if my body is trying to help by cutting off my airways. But it’s tried this before and it didn’t help then.

I hope that unresolved questions, that could says but not going to’s will become words and answers. That there are choices yet to be made and one of those choices will lead us back together, if we are apart now because, I don’t know. I’m fracturing and it doesn’t seem to end. I don’t know how to stop it. Some minutes are lost to pain and I can’t recall what I last said or last thought.

I hope I’m crazy and jumping to conclusions. That my brain is up to its usual tricks of reading far more into a situation than is true. Because I was somehow taught to hope, that sometimes they come back.

I’m every inch, being stripped to the bone, ablated, and I’ll somehow be alive at the end. Because heart break doesn’t kill you. You just wish that it did.

Times passage part 1

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The soft wind rolls pulled by gravity and a love for the touch of earth. Swept through mountains whose fingers caress the sky. Reminding the deep blue of times gone by when they were dust and stars together.

I feel lost

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You are important to me. Everything else is peripheral. I’m sorry. You are different from anyone I’ve ever known and I don’t know what I’m doing. 

I’m an idiot 

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I have never been great at not pushing. I always want one step more than I have. One step more than is warranted. One step more. 

I can’t stop it on my own. If you tell me to stop. To slow down. To calm down. I will. I need to be told, verbally, written, whatever. Someone needs to say, “You’re doing it again.” 

And I’ll say, “Oh, I hadn’t realized.”

Not that I won’t see it on my own, but only when it’s too late or almost too late. 

So, that’s one of the ways that I’m an idiot. 

Weird dream

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Had a dream where it was new years at the house locale and for some reason I was setting up a TV and stereo speakers. I was all set but my older sister was moving in with me for some reason and she thought she had a better way. So I said Ok and let her try. She set it all up but the sound was coming out tinny. So, while she was off doing something, I setup the system back to working. The dream shifted and I was in a armies camp on the move. I was with someone I cared about, whose opinion I cared for. And I remember looking at my foot and seeing it discolored and they saw the discoloration and were disgusted. So I began peeling the skin off and removing the nails. It was about a 2 or 3 on my pain scale. Putting it in perspective, a broken elbow is only a 4 and a tweaked can barely move back is a 5 or 6. Pain and I are familiar lovers.

After removing the skin and nails and wiping up the blood, this person was looking on disgusted. And I just gestured and said, see, good as new.

Glass splinters

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He made me feel alive by looking at me
He made me feel sick when he looked away
But he would always come back and my heart would burst to sunshine
But always remember, that black night with the open door
When he kissed me I burned and when he whipped me I woke
And when he left me
I was alone with the quiet and the open doorway bleeding light into the night
In a time before I knew that I was alone
And that all my futures were empty
But there he stood,
Again
Holding my gaze and beating the pain from my bones and replacing them with fire
Until I could take no more
And collapsed against his chest and begged him to Stay
Stay with me and don’t walk away

The quickest way to leave is to want more than they give
This lesson I learned again and again but I cannot be so callous

And I made a habit of lifting them up and granting strength until I had nothing left to give

A spent thing watching them walk away, healed and better. While I break a bit more, a bit further, always hoping

And always left with nothing but a open door, spilling light,

Passing thought of a Sir

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I read many blogs about BDSM. Mostly they are stories written by or in Submissive voice. Because I don’t need to know Master voice. There are a few that I read that are for Dominants but those are mostly theory or techniques. I read those to learn or to see what other Masters think on a subject.

The ones written by Submissives or in the Submissive’s voice almost all seem to focus on the acts or what they feel during them. And a repeated theme is the suddenness of switch from normal to scene. The seeming randomness and, for some, the thrill of fear that this elicits.

Now, I won’t speak for other Dominants. But, those sudden scenes, those seemingly random changes? If I may pull back the curtain? They aren’t.

They are not random. They are constructed. Piece by piece, idea and accouterment. Sometimes they are pulled together on the fly from already used or existing pieces. But the sequence is planned. The beginning to the finish, as much as possible, each possibility and the outcome of each branch.

For the Submissive , it’s a bolt out of the blue or a rollercoaster ride. For the Dominant, it’s nested if/then statement. Done well, the Dominant can let one thing flow to the other naturally, each piece of the orchestra working in concert. And they can be in the moment, but at another level, they are running the scenario.

The Dominant has goals, has points that must be met and, in some cases, a scoreboard of reward vs punishment.

The Submissive dances on the stage. The Dominant is the choreographer, the stage director, and the audience. Done well, they feel like they are a fellow dancer.

Just, there is much thought and planning that gets us to that point

Love and relationships

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Love blossoms for the most absurd reasons. A word, a look, a deed or a need.
But to grow it always takes the same things. Consistency, not boredom, not in a rut but doing the things you say you’re going to do.
Respect, not obedience or abasence but seeing in them your equal, your partner.
Honesty, voicing your concerns and your joys.
Communication, constant communication, not always talking but always trying to get to understanding.
Learning, each piece of them and yourself with them.
Growing together until entwined you are more together than singly.

Those are the ones that I know, that work.
Love is infinity, but a relationship is the bloom that grows from the spark. It must be treated as a growing living thing.