Author: Pelgris

Streams burst and bloom and fall

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How can I feel as if I know exactly who I am and still feel completely lost
In one moment
Like I stand astride mountains
Seeing with my heart entire
Seeing the wind blow and knowing exactly how it will feel against my skin the split second before contact

And in others
Like hope was a flame that instead of burning out
Was quenched too soon and instead of ashes awaiting rebirth
We have a sodden mess of maybe and might haves

In moments
I unfurl
Like a puzzle box
Panels opening
Revealing concealed truths
Exposed and unabashed

And others
I fall wings clipped
Yearning for the crash that ends it all

What I want
Is not destined for my arms

And tears fall as blood
From the broken places
From the memory of
When I soared
From those moments
When we were possible

Thoughts on the state of Symphonies and their place in classical music

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I have a love/hate relationship with classical music. Or perhaps love/sleep with it. There are pieces of classical music that soar and take me in and hold me up to heights unrealized and other pieces that feel uninspired and tired.

And I wonder, is this just how the notes impact me or is it that these are pieces that were written without need beyond the need for a meal or a drink?

Are these the pieces written for patrons, for commission? For some Duke or Queen, to garner attention in the hopes that it will lead to a steady gig?

And, while I don’t begrudge an artist the means of making a living, should these pieces now be venerated merely because of provinance and age? Or should they be viewed with an eye which turns first inwards then with a heart looking for that precipice from which to leap and grow wings?

Playing it safe pleases donors. Pleases the modern patrons, but should this be the criteria?

Should we not be able to embrace the classical composer without also embracing the mediocre or culturally uninspired efforts that allowed them to put bread on the table?

Maybe that’s hard to do. Hard to see what is emotionally resonant when the pieces themselves are tied to names that echo with greatness. Hard to justify risk when the continued success of the players is dependent on donations.

Perhaps, instead of begging for donations the price of a ticket should reflect the cost of the performance. It’s an oft quoted figure that each performance is only half paid by ticket sales. Making up the rest with donations…makes art hostage to future generosity.

It’s probable that I don’t fully grasp the economics of it. But I’d rather hear a schedule that takes risks and plays with fire than one that is merely safe. Speaking as a lover of classical music, why must I choose to support staid selections to receive the hope of one or two truly moving pieces in a season.

Perhaps it’s too much to hope for. I’m not sure. But I do know that if you play music that makes my heart sing…when I am enraptured… Then you will have a patron for life.

We must all serve the beauty in our hearts.

Or maybe I just hate falling asleep at the Symphony.

The world ends and begins, in hope, in blood, in love

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Every night feels long
Tossing and turning
Waiting for words to come

Today is the Winter Solstice. Today the strength of night surges and fades. Today winter wakes and reaches forth its hand.

Today it all ends and maybe begins again. The spent fury of transition.

Today is a day of relunctance. Wanting one more hour of sleep. Reaching out across dreams. Hoping to give a moment of peace.
Feeling unsettled and anxious.

Today is a day of contemplation. Of enacting last strategies. And setting last pieces on the board.

Today is the winter solstice.
Today night surges and fades.
Today Winter unfurls and spends its fury on the world
Today
I
Am

If words were wings, I would fly

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Every day, several times a day, I walk past my cat Sammy and I say, “I love you buddy, I love you Sammy.” And I mean it and I say it all the time.

But

Until I walk over and pet him. Until I spend time with him it’s not real to him.

I can’t help but feel like this is the same for the people I’ve met and fallen in love with long distance. That my words are nice but are ultimately ephemeral nothings despite how I feel. Despite the emotional impact I’ve been told that they have.

I feel like, until we meet and touch, that the reality of each other will always be at that distant remove of maybe but not real.
I wish I could say that I don’t feel that remove. But I do. As fear that actually meeting me will drive you away. It’s, perhaps irrational but fears are like that.

I’m not entirely sure what I’m trying to say. Maybe just that somewhere distant, where our hearts and minds were captured, perhaps we each wait for the possible

Or maybe I’m just a hopeless dreamer

Nightmares are also dreams Part 16-Pel

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When I proposed this day of play to Sara, I posed it as stretching of pleasure and boundaries. We have taken our play to extremes before so I knew that this proposal would be one she was interested in.

But, when I said it would be an exploration of sensuality, I could see the disappointment hiding in her smile. Sensual play has always been my foreplay and her aftercare. So to her it wasn’t the high she was looking for.

In times past we’d gone fairly deeply down the roads of pain. Whips with leather covered ball bearings is a favorite of hers. Blade play, including cutting is more my comfort level. Even taking it so far as to create a scar through scarification on the canvas of her milky skin.

I’ve gone fairly close to the edge of life and death with her. Even going so far that we would keep a medical team in the wings in case we needed them to pull her back from over that edge.

We’ve employed some psychological components but nothing in the fear area. Nothing that delved deeply into those zones. So today, I wanted to try that.

I started by taking away her physical liberty. Something comfortable that I’ve done before. Then escalated to removing her sight and her speech with blindfolds and gags. Again, something we’ve done, though with less frequency.

Then I isolated her. No talking, no certainty of presence. Sounds of movement, of leather on hardwood. But allowing the time to stretch out. Until, at last the tension was broken by sensation. But not welcome sensation. Using a Wartenberg pinwheel with carefully removed spokes, I took her down the road of bugs crawling on her. It is an unpleasantness we’ve talked about that I know unnerves her. And once I had her truly frightened, I reminded her of my presence but in the darkness of the room and the harshness of my voice pitch low and the brevity of the exposure to sight, I knew that her mind would start to manufacture and question.

Then electricity play, hard and harsh. Pain like she’s never known, throwing her out of comfort and into panic. (Administered by a friend of ours, one we’ve played with before. I don’t feel comfortable with my ability in this area yet, so I am observing.)

When he called her a slut, I knew it hit home. She flinched as if struck and thrashed. And the scent of her fear filled the room.

This is the edge we will ride in this scene. Abject fear, coupled with pain and pleasure and the unknown.

We’ve been together for a long while. You have to try new things to keep it fresh.

Twin well springs join into a stream

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The wind blows and the clatter sound of leaves fades to the soft shush but if I listen closely I hear the
Snap
Snap
Of leaf against leaf
Close in it must sound like a war
But in this distance
It’s only beauty

The rain falls and the pound of drops fades to the white noise which lulls so many to sleep but if I listen closely the
Pop
Pop
Of drops slamming into the ground at 9.8 meters per second per second
Close in sounds like a battle
But safe in my bed
It’s only dreams

Her voice sings and the tones that, in unfamiliarity say other, fades into the honeyed tones which tug me out of my reverie but if I listen closely the
Twang
Twang
Of tones bouncing in register
Close in sounds like the other
But in my heart
I hear only love

How do I explain that I hear both at the same time, see the sides and choose which piece to speak on?
But never forgetting that I’ve seen both, I just choose
Beauty