Struggles with an open heart

Some grow wild
Untamed by neither wind nor rain
Roots sinking deeply

Some grow by roadside ways
Hardy and beautiful
Pulled up from the ground
Given and discarded
Seeds of self grow anew

Some are plucked by hands uncaring
Trammeled underfoot
Hurting they grow in ways unimagined
But still they grow

Some are replanted
In soil unsuited for their growth
But still they reach and strive

Sometimes they are replanted
By hands soft and hard
Allowed to grow as they will
Beauty remarked on
But wild and free

Sometimes they adapt
And become what they were meant to be
Despite all circumstances

In the solitude ache
Of a quiet stroll
The urge to find fertile soil
For those which struggle
Wars in the heart

Perhaps to fall
And become soil

Just thinking about consent

When I am with someone there are things I am ok with nonverbal consent. A hug is ok. Touching hands is ok. Touching me in any way is ok. But I say that upfront. I give consent upfront. Anything beyond that and I need your consent. Not a nod of the head or an ok. I need explicit specific consent. If this is BDSM, then I need you to consent to the scene. If lifestyle BDSM, then I need you to tell me that you want me to act as a master does. (I will as pertains to my self and my actions, but as those actions pertain to you, I will obtain consent each time unless you consent to the larger thing. Eg, you want me as your master). I require it. It isn’t something I can take or leave. Or allow the moment to take away control. I am control. I don’t waver. Much as I may want to. I will constrain my self to what you have verbally consented to.

I understand that many don’t understand this. And it’s made relationships in the past extremely difficult. Those pauses where they would wait to be asked into my bed…ending in a kiss and a goodnight. Maybe that feels extreme to you, my readers.

Let me assure you that it isn’t. It should be the rule of the day. Consent should be understood and made to be as social law. Think of how safe you would feel if you knew that things would never be taken farther than you consent to. What would that world feel like?

I can’t make it so everywhere.
But I can make it so around me. So I do. Would that a critical mass of others did as well.

Shadows of the gaslight

Normal is a false front
A dream held out as tangible
Flaring to smoke when we touch it
Dreams make the world go round
But make sure its your dream of a better life
Not their dreams of another yacht
Which you buy into
Voting with your dollar
An American terminology
Even now I here it whispering
Not just products but politicians
Corruption at a level so fundamental
That it’s systematic
We two party system and vote with our team
Rather than with our conscience
And all the while they whisper
Normal is a new car
A new drink
A nostalgia trip designed to make you feel comfortable
Normal like it ever was
Normal like that is what you want
We normalize exceptionalism
As if yacht dreams were true
It used to be a chicken in every pot was prosperity
Now its a Tesla and smart watch
One feeds the body and keeps the mind ready for a new day
The other says more is the way to go
It’s that siren song of new and better
That dream of the future
We mortgage our present for the intangible
All while we are assaulted that this is normal
That the consequences of our reality are not what’s real
It’s all fake news
The mantra of the child
Sitting in the corner
Ears covered
Eyes squeezed shut
Screaming over and over
‘Fake News’
Who are you gonna believe
The man trying to give you a normal life
Or your lying eyes
Nostalgia is a lie
Normal is a lie

What was is never again
And the only way forward is with
Eyes wide
Ears open
Hearts heavy but accepting
Don’t allow yourself the cozy warm blanket of normal
It’s made of asbestos
The past was never the place we remember
Try not to forget
This time

Too tired for laughter

Waiting for the hammer fall
Anxiety cripples
Stress piled on stress makes mistakes
And each mistake feeds the certainty that job loss is around the corner
In a economy not hiring
Isolation becomes depression
Sleeping all the time
Uncomfortable in my own skin
Wanting extended conversations about nothing
About everything
White noise
Heavy heart

Slowly building rant

I want to say that we’re all in this together and that we’ll get through it together
But I find my faith in humanity has faded
As my contact with those people who make existence worth living has also faded
As the pure loneliness caves in my walls
I find myself seeing the self delusion for the bare knuckle fear it is
I see the desire to categorize people as other
To separate and in separation create the cult atmosphere of us vs them
I see the herd mentality breaking systems which were never envisioned to sustain assault by the herd
I see greed eat philosophy so much that the philosophers give up on philosophy
Instead calling out the hypocrisy of cloaks of gold draped over “common man”
I see rebellion fomenting but leaderless and rudderless
Just a stampede waiting to break
I see people living for a past that never existed
Yearning for a truth that was always built on a lie
Prosperity begins at the bottom not the peak
You ask me to drink from some stream you dammed
Calling it trickle down
While you swim in your lake
Too much for you to ever use
Too much even for you to invest in people and ideas
So much that even if spend every waking moment finding worthy causes, you still accrue more wealth than you spend
How then am I to ever get my fill?
If all I get is your scraps
This delusion that you will someday be rich so you safeguard the wealthy is directly making us poor
Burning our infrastructure for profits
Voting for less say in our own prosperity in the hope that those greedy enough to take more than they will ever need will share that prosperity with us
Delusion upon delusion
I once thought that in humanity there was hope
That the craven depths were outweighed by the glorious heights
That the predominance went to beauty
Sold to whomever promises magic beans to be delivered at some vague future date
And not today’s magic beans but from when magic beans were great
We’re making magic beans great again
Don’t you believe me?
I’ve got hats

The portrayal of BDSM is broken

Why is BDSM presented as a thing of violence?
I don’t understand that. It has never been my experience that I felt violent. I’ve felt control. Like a violin string stretched taught and vibrating with tension. But it’s a tension not waiting for violence, but for action. Yes, sometimes that action is one of force. Of the infliction of pain. But never against the desire of my partner. My treasure. My submissive.

Submission is an act of trust and love. Dominance is an act of trust and love. That it presents as violence is gross misrepresentation. The feeling I have when my submissive says Yes Sir. Or just uses my name, if in public. That feeling has nothing to do with violence. Yes, it’s ownership. But they own me equally. They give me their submission. A greater gift cannot be made. I give them my control and bend my every action to make them safe and joyous. Whatever form that joy and desire takes.

BDSM is NOT violence. If it ever is, then it is abuse.

I cannot emphasize that enough. It makes me feel sick to think that people are hurting others in the guise of BDSM. Even when it’s just play and not lifestyle, it is still based on trust and pleasure and consent.

It drives me crazy.