Author: Pelgris

2:30 AM will not let me be

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Meeting someone is like visiting a new city. Some people want to see the sites. The highlights, so that they can say, “Oh, Pelgris? I’ve met him. Such a fascinating man.” Some people are just passing through.

My preference is to walk the streets. Get to know the neighborhoods. What wonders and mundane glories are to be had. I want to know your thoughts and ideas. Your past and your dreams. I want to share the journey with you. To see you smile. But I’ll fail.

I want these things, these experiences but I can’t leave well enough alone. So I’ll meet someone and I’ll seem fine at first but then I’ll send pictures of sunsets, clouds and storms. I’ll send poetry and music. I’ll give gifts way too soon, little things that I think you’ll like. And ultimately I will be overwhelming.

I am not in love. I’m just trying to share beauty and making a hash of it. I’m trying to make a human connection instead of allowing it to become. I know I’m doing it. And still I take those actions.

seven words

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You are beautiful beyond measure or sanity

You are strength when I am broken

My heart is yours until suns dying

Your mind is the elegance of steel

Your smile is both shy and lovely.

Too early, too late?

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It’s 2:30 AM and I have awoken. I’m warm in a cool room. Surrounded by the comforts of long years. My cat is snuggled up against me, a furnace in fur, she purs her contentment. But I am awake here. There is something missing,though not a comfort seems overlooked. Soft music plays. Then I realize what is absent.. Someone to share this moment with, who will mutter sleepily. Who I will move lightly around to write my poetry. I’ve found some amazing people in my searching. But this dream, I’ve not found an answer to.

Sex

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Sex is pleasurable but in American culture it is obsessed over. If you have many partners you are considered a real man. Due to the inherent misogyny of our culture. Or, if a woman, are considered a slut, for the same reason.

Sex is raised up to be the end goal of social interactions and is shamed when that goal is reached. There are idiotic laws about what sex acts are legal, what commercial transactions are legal. We are a culture that on the one hand is hypersexualized and on the other is fanatical in our suppression of that sexuality.

So as an individual it is difficult to traverse those waters. For myself, I see sex as merely one of a great number of pleasurable activities that can be engaged in with one or more partners. It’s not the goal of any relationship I’m in but an expression of that relationship.

To the society at large that would seem to be unmasculine or in some way lacking. If I’m not constantly seeking sex, I’m seen as odd or less than a man. It’s hard for me to understand how important it is. And I question whether it is really sex that is desired or if it is fact a desire for physical contact with another person. Whatever form that may take.

Sex takes the place of more vulnerable contact. With sex we can play a role in the larger societal hangups that the USA has, and in doing so shield ourselves from the harder desires. We find it easier to assume and ask for sex than to ask to be held. To feel safe, cared for, if only for a night. I’m all for pleasure body and mind. But I think we need to examine if it is pleasure we want or if we are lacking in physical touch of any kind. I seem to have lost the thread of my original point.

Bottom line: Slut shaming is bullshit.  And so is being shamed for not constantly wanting sex.  Sex is pleasure.  And can mean any number of things to anyone at any given time.  But if we are honest with each other I think we’d all be better off. 

Midnight’s poetry

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I let my mind be taken in by lavish fancy
Lured into darkened grottos and fed faerie wine
Drunken on the hearts dreaming
I sabotage reality

A bright tale of how we could be but never are
My heart beats its painful yearning
Fogged mind wakes long ‘fore the morning

Aftermath in disappearance
‘ I just don’t see you in that way’
Hearts blood upon my lips.

Self-aggrandizing

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Romance is a language I’m fluent in, perhaps too fluent. I like the beauty of it. I like flowers and cute gifts, I like listening and the dramatic gesture. I like sitting on the couch, arm around you watching a movie. Or both of us reading books, sharing passages with each other. Even the sharing of chores, the endless minutia makes me smile when I think of the greater implication of what those bits mean. I’m that guy; I’m not just trying to get into your pants(which is a discussion unto itself). I like the broad gesture, partly for the artistry of it, partly for beauty and partly because, in person, I have a hard time getting over my nervousness. The romance provides a framework for me to hide in, until I’m comfortable. Then I’ll just be me.

Poem

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Each crystalline moment
Held glinting in the light of morning
Gives forth it’s truth
That hope is no substitute for real
The casual comradery of couples
Shines a glaring spotlight
Illuminating the shadowed lines of self delusion
Too many words, too little joy, far too soon

Poem

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Sleep is the victim
And I the priest
The barren tree reaches limbs to the sky
Confusing the sun
The world below cast in shadow
Slipping inward
Gasping for air
The maelstrom calms
In the frigid
Between
Breathe cracking
Screams littering the ground
Caught twixt tongue and ear

Origin

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From the seed of dishonor is all honor sown. The one act that betrays all of your principles either breaks you forever or like forge-fire casts you anew. People are not born in the happy times. Not in the happy moments.

We cherish those moments and we think that a lifetime of them is what we want. that may be. But it is not what we need. It is in the chaos, in the heartbreak, in the horror, in the betrayals that we are forged. You heat the metal until it is red hot, you beat it into shape but at then at some point you must quench it. You must be done with all that can be done and it must be quenched in blood.

Sometimes the blade is cracked, flawed and broken . It never recovers. Your only option is to melt it back down and attempt again. Sometimes the flaws are deep in its heart and it just becomes weaker and weaker. Sometimes the blade is serviceable. Most fall into this category. But some, some are stronger than it seemed they could be. From corruption, impurity comes the strongest steel.

Master

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I’ve recently been told that I don’t come off as a Top or Master. Which I find interesting, since I am one. Perhaps because I am gentle or emotional. I’m not really certain why. Perhaps it’s in my method. Outside of an active scene, I want my submissive to feel fully comfortable. To know that I care for them and that I would never harm them beyond their desire or capacity. I don’t take by force what could be had with gentleness. And even in play I prefer a slow escalation at the beginning of the relationship. Take it slow, get to know their capacities, their desires, what they want to explore, what is absolutely off the table. Bringing out the cat o’ nine on first meeting is a recipe for disaster even if the sub is up for it. If there is something I cannot abide it is a top that makes a submissive feel like they are not loved. A submissive is a treasure, outside of scene they should feel like they are. A top is responsible for not just the sexual/sensual well being of their submissive but their emotional needs as well. A top that misrepresents or mistreats a sub pisses me off. So I come off gentle, because I care. A real top is controlled, conscious of their actions, can appear cruel but is focused on the goal. Their pleasure is a piece of it, but they are responsible for their submissive’s pleasure as well. Being a brutal and selfish lover does not make you a top or master, it makes you an asshole.