Thoughts

Just thinking about consent

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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.

The portrayal of BDSM is broken

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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.

Missing from the page

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Working from home and staying inside fucked with my head. I thought yesterday was Thursday all day. Which resulted in me not posting.

Everything is stressful and those things which used to be recreational are now mandatory. I’m isolated and it’s killing me. Emotionally and mentally. Not physically. I spend most of my time working or sleeping. I’m only eating 2 times a day if that and not even snacking.

The stress I thought I had handled ratcheted up last week when my employer fired not furloughed people like it promised. Now I and everyone are just waiting for the blade to drop.

There nothing I can do that I’m not already doing and being helpless is not my strong suit.

Musings of the Mind

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I get the privilege of being wired differently. Each experience I have is encapsulated as it’s own individual thing. Each interaction exists independent of other interactions.

This is a result of both how my mind works and how I have constructed my memory. I say constructed because while my memory semi does this already, I have consciously created a subconscious memory palace. It’s not as efficient as a conscious memory palace where one can place a memory and retrieve it with ease. It does, however, have advantages. Instead of distinct edges which separate, my method allows for a fuzziness. This fuzziness allows connection points to other data as well as non-physical datum. In other words it allows me to include emotions. It also allow me to, in conjunction with my creative ability, Take the data point and set it spinning.

By which I mean, I can extrapolate possibilities and probabilities. However, unlike some Patrick Jane or Sherlock Holmsian connection puzzle, my method takes time. Specifically, it takes sleep or quite meditation.

Now, how is this an advantage? Simply put, each interaction, can be isolated and while it is an integrated part of my whole, it is also distinct. Which means that instead of feeling anxiety during Teleconference because of it’s association with work or with meetings, I can feel the moment without the baggage of similar moments. I can enjoy a meal or a conversation without the burden of past meals or conversations and only in hindsight can I compare it.

I wish I could teach others how to do something similar. I can only think that it may be useful. But I have been unable to. I can give the tools I use. But that is not the spark of it. I can tell you what I do, what it feels like to me, but until that moment of epiphany which occurs again and again to become a method…it cannot take hold. How does one give the experience of joy exactly as you feel it?

You cannot, you can only give them the path. And allow them the space of their journey. And fight the inclination to tell them of blind alleys. Of what is possible and not. Because what was possible for you, what was dangerous to you, may not be to them. May indeed be the spark needed to ignite their journey.

A hug may be required, but not yet

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All relationships are hard. They require a personal commitment to another person to be available to that person. To talk, not just when it’s convenient. To think of others who are important to you even if circumstances change and you aren’t able to be by their side.

And that’s difficult. It requires making the conscious choice to take time out and use it to maintain your relationship. I’m not always great about that. I’m aware of it and I try to work against my impulse to isolate and hurt instead of addressing the problem.

And in these times where isolation is literal life and death, it behooves us to use the technology we have to reach out and maintain those relationships. What are we fighting for if not each other?

WFH Day 1

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I only did about 90 Minutes;  50 minutes of which was just me typing; so; I cut it down;

New thing I’m doing

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I am recording my day and narrating it as I work from home during this epidemic. I am thinking of posting the raw file which will include periods of silence or just typing

Or

I can edit that stuff out.  Please say your preference in the comments section.  I know this probably doesn’t appeal to everyone,  but I’ve been told that my voice has a soporific effect so merely for the companionship or ASMR value it might be good.

Think but this….

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Living in a tragedy gets old. Dystopian elections of battered hopes where men fall prey to honest ignorance and are pulled to pieces drowning out the message. Each rally set outside of an election year calls to mind another authoritarian in black and white; a dead mans message of terror spread out to the stars propagating at light speed. Years pass and life continues with battles and fights to hold on. With love and a renewed hopefulness and the crush of long distances. To hear her voice, to watch her dance in joy. Then a waking from a dream and a virus wreaks havoc, exposing the flaws in logic more boldly than a hundred hours of documentary and late night talk shows. But still conspiracy conspiracy conspiracy they whisper and while I speak only in shadows and darkness still my heart remains because of she’s there. Hair wet symphonies and silence. Driving to work for a company who has tenuous grasp on reality but the commute is short. Trying to convince aging parents to take this seriously but hearing Fox news reach up their spine and spout false talking points. Despair but with rapid eye twitches from lack of sleep. Still…I’m not dead yet. Time enough for love and joy. Death is coming and that’s no lie. But he is my brother. I know him well. And I am not afraid.

You may call me what you wish but what I am remains

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Pain is a harmonic language. It’s not enough to master its phrasing and grammar. One must also hear its call, must dive in and feel its terror in the small heartbeat pulsing against your tongue. How else to learn? How else to walk shaded pathways with few travelers?

Love is a deliberate song. First begun in synapse and hormonal euphoria. Easy to discard without attachment. But love beyond simple physical reaction is the choice of the moment and day. The choice to listen with fresh ears. To see with fresh eyes. To fall in love again and again. To see a movement they’ve made a hundred thousand times and smile. And fall in love again.

These two things seem like different pieces of the puzzle which is BDSM. But they are bound together. Can you love someone so deeply that you are willing to give them their desire to feel the heights of pleasure so insidious that the longer it lasts the more it feels like pain? Can you inflict pain and control and lead with both glee and icey calm? Can you allow yourself to trust so completely in another that you give away your freedom? Can you safeword despite not wanting to disappoint? Can you know when they won’t safeword and do it for them?

It is only with the binding of knowledge and love that these things can be accomplished.

All else is just fuck boy greed. The desire to take without being worthy of it. The blind ambition to act on those desires. And the complete lack of either emotional intelligence or compassion.