Thoughts

The hats we wear

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So, it’s February 14th. Valentine’s day. A made up holiday to start the year of commerce off. But I’m not here to talk about that. Because it’s origin, in this case is irrelevant.

What it is to a symbolist, like myself, is a focal point. A point where love, frustration, longing, and despair all coalesce into a palpable energy.

It is in the jacked up prices at restaurants. The desperate buy and sell of the roadside last minute gift seller. It is in the first kiss of a couple newly found. It is in the soft expression and the held hands. The hope of a little holiday sex and the crushing weight of public happiness in the dark despair of a lonely heart.

So much emotion and motion moving about this day. Easy to use a bit of it for a storm.

And to add a little bit to it.
I’m yours forever, my schmoopy. You are mine.
Life is complicated. But we’ll keep working on making it simpler. Together.

Honor vs self interest

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The difference between honor and enlightened self interest is simply this: If placed in a scenario where you had to choose between your wellbeing and following your honor code, enlightened self interest says to act to preserve your wellbeing. Many people who consider themselves honorable, honest people merely have codes that almost strictly adhere to enlightened self interest. But there is always some thing they espouse that varies. Mainly to prove that they are not selfish, contradictorily. And when that point is reached, what decision they make is the one that defines them. Anyone can be good, can be honorable when it is easy, when their code is not tested, when they are not impacted. But to act against your self interest to adhere to a larger ideal, that is the definitive action that echoes forward.

Internal speculation/Bdsm thoughts

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I find it interesting that there is a dichotomy of perception about me. Those who know me at a surface level get someone forceful, sardonic, and cynical. Go a bit deeper and they see wisdom and darkness. Deeper still and they see care. But that’s all they will ever see. All I’ll let them see.

Now, at the opposite spectrum, those who know me deeply get someone kind, loving, and romantic. Go a bit deeper and they see damage and darkness. Go deeper still and they might see hope and wisdom.

But there are a third category of people who get all of me. My true friends and those I consider mine. You get all of me. For good or for ill. I can be any part of my personality at need or all of it depending. But what really intrigues me is the person who can get me to switch from the normal day to day into her Sir.

Her need is like flicking a switch and whatever crap is in my head goes away so that I can take care of her needs. Orders. Ideas. Even just seeing herself through my eyes. All of it in service to her elevation. She obeys. And when she does, when she trusts me to make her better, I become better. Everyone wants to make D/s about sex. There is some of that. But it’s like saying that music is only major chords. It’s ridiculous and eventually, boring.

I know that the physical aspects are exciting in concept. Sometimes in execution. But I’ve never enacted a physical interaction with the intention that it just be physical. There is Always a point, a goal, a lesson. And physical punishment is not really the point. Negative reinforcement is less useful than positive. Pain is more about the expiation of guilt and negative emotions, paying a physical consequence for a mental action or lapse.

Punishment is not about the pain itself. It’s a tool. And like all tools it must be applied only in the circumstances that it is most useful in. And I will often use tasks as punishment rather than the physical. Or in tandem with a physical but only as reinforcement, not as the primary point. Which isn’t to say that there are no floggings, spankings, or other such activities, just that those are mostly for pleasure not as a part of 24/7 D/s.

Melancholic musings

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I feel old. Like time and chance have passed me by and now I am just marking time. That I’m just waiting for my last hopes and dreams to die. I think about the things I’ve done and the fortune I pissed away by living way higher than I should. I think about the double lives and lies of my youth and the requisite silence that surround those years. About how there are none now alive who I can talk with about those times. I think about the memories that haunt me. The failures most of all. My failure to protect those in my care before I even formed the philosophy that makes their care a mandate. My failure to see the wrecking ball coming and the last remnants of a life wiped away when the soft beep of the heart monitor drones out the long flat noise off all days fled.
My failure to fly to your side when you needed me. My failure to anticipate the need to take things a little further.

I’ve had triumphs. But they only serve to highlight what I could do if I were on top of my problems. That’s probably too harsh but it’s what I feel right now. I often think that if you dare to love me, that is the worst mistake you could make. Because all who’ve loved me either die or see their lives thrown into chaos. Not by my hand but still, it always seems to happen.

And I find myself deeply, hopelessly in love and loved and I watch as, helpless, things continue to contrive to keep us apart. Is the universe that much of a bastard? All I know is that I won’t walk away from you and that I will do all that I can to get to you.

For the first time in a long time, I am bending all I have to a task. Let’s hope that it works out.

Presentation vs self

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There is nothing so insidious, so violently wrong, as a person who acts in negative polar opposition to the persona they show in public.

The gregarious kindly man who in private is cold and manipulative. The polite and sincere person who beats their spouse. The person who presents piety and faith but privately builds power and influence to the furtherance of individual goals.

I’m not a perfect man. I have a hidden side. We all do. But if the facade is a conscious manipulation to conceal ones true self, because that true self is destruction, then that is incorrect action.

Concealment of the core self is a coping mechanism for a cruel world. But this is turned on its head, concealment of the core self because the core self is cruel and at a level of selfish cruelty that society would not accept.

Our society describes this as a narcissist or a psychopath. As if labeling it makes it controllable. As if labeling it, makes it treatable. On some level, yes, if caught early enough, systems of thought can be implemented that set up what is and is not allowed by the person in such a way that their mask becomes integral to who they are. But doing so is precarious and not without risk. The risk being the backlash should the mask be ripped away.

At the end of the day, such people are corruption. They subvert people, systems, societies. All to aggrandize their self. They pull you in with beautiful lies then twist until you are slipping away.

A pagan amidst the sheep

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I have been raised in a society that is Christian. But, I’m not Christian. When I was younger I celebrated Christmas. I thought it was great that everyone was happy and loving and giving. And I loved presents. As I grew older I started to see the cracks. Spoiler: Santa Claus isn’t real. I started to see the stress and the mechanics of the economic drive that fuels a huge consumer economy.

However, I still felt that the season could draw out the best in people. That given a excuse, people could be genuine and loving and selfless. I disliked that it required an excuse. And once wrote a whole treatise on extending our hands past the holidays and embracing love as way of life. And I kinda wish that this stopped there. But life is no children’s story.

I grew up. And started buying gifts on my own. I love buying gifts. The perfect gift given at the perfect time can change the course of a life. I believe that. I love seeing a person’s face light up in surprise and delight. To see some of the glee poke out of their shell and watch as they glory in the moment. Now, me, I shop all year for my gifts so I don’t feel the pinch at the end of the year that others do.

But, I see. I see people spending entire paychecks on gifts. I see people who are scrambling for purchase in life spending money they don’t have for people they barely like and I wondered why that was. And it hit me. It’s the social contract.

The society I live in is predominantly Christian of the American persuasion. Which mainly means more protestant and more secular at the same time. More lip service is paid rather than deep genuine faith. And we see how that effects the expression of Christmas in this society.

It becomes a vicious game of giving gifts to ‘prove’ how happy Christmas makes you. Maybe that’s cynical. And if you hold that view, I challenge you to look beyond your immediate family group to the larger society and really see what people are doing. And more importantly, why. Because, this time of year has bled meaning. And I won’t delve into the origins of Christmas and the Hubris of building a major holiday on the bones of older, conquered traditions, except to say that conceptual momentum can infect and change anything that you build atop something that doesn’t want to be changed. That’s probably a different discussion.

We are left as adults to sift through this gift giving frenzy. For myself, I buy gifts for the same reason that I do most things. Because I desire to and because the result brings me joy. I see the season and I find it has changed for me. I no longer see the generosity and hope of the season.

And that’s a good thing. Because this is not my holiday. Because I’m not Christian. I am pagan but in my tradition this is not a time of celebration. We are not joyously leaping for the hope of the daylight and the coming of spring. This is a time of somber reflection. To look back over the course of time and see what change has wrought and decide what course we want to travel into the future. We call the time leading up to the winter solstice The Harrowing. It is a time of testing. Of physical, emotional, and societal strength. A time of decisions. A time to plant the seeds of self now, while the rest of the world sleeps.

For years I observed my paths tradition and my society’s. But as I’ve grown older my patience for the frenzy of good wishes veneer has worn thin. I think that if this season of generosity was truly important that people would act in its spirit every day of their lives and not just pay lip service for a couple of months.

And finally, this year, I find that it’s lost whatever grip it had. I’ll observe the form of gift giving because I enjoy it. But this time and this day have lost its grip.

I am secure and safe in my heart and head with my faith. And the burden of a societal fervor I no longer have the patience for has bled away.
This is just a day. It is your day if that is your belief. I begrudge none their faith if it is deep and true.

But I, am finally free of it.

It all starts with a story

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“You are not a monster. The world is monstrous at times, and there are those who would have you believe that you are terrible by association.

You are are not Worse for your association with the world, but it is better for its association with You.”
Paraphrase from Oathbringer by Brandon Sanderson

This made me cry. Made me howl in pain. Because, is this not what people who really know me have been saying. And I’ve been saying sure, yes, you’re right. But I didn’t see it. Couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see that I was not, in fact, a monster. Until I read this. Until it broke me.

I can see how I may have been wrong now. That I may not be a monster. Or not the bad kind of monster anyway.

We are all thin veneers of lies and pain and truths we’ve woven into who we think we are. And if we crack the surface, the darkness can spill out or in depending on our internal equilibrium. But the darkness is not evil, just as the light is not good. Rather a balance of forces. And choices. We can choose to be honorable. We can choose to take care of ourselves and our friends and family. To show kindness to strangers. To see those who are unseen. We can choose to hide. We can choose.

But only if we accept that our impact on the world is tangible. And if it is tangible, would we not prefer it to be a thing of beauty?

It’s odd, really. My family sees the boy I was. And, rightfully, they see the darkness that consumed him.
But I am not that boy any longer. And still they cannot see the man. But I know… I know others do. And now, I think I see him a bit too.

Innerspace soldiers (gross, illness)

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I do this thing where I anthropomorphise my immune system. It started a few of years ago and I’ll need to explain the circumstances.

So 2 years ago, at about this time, I was dying. I didn’t know that I was dying. I thought I had the flu. And to be fair, I did have the flu. And because of my weakened immune system sometime in the midst of the flu, I think on Sunday, so about 2 days into hardcore symptoms. In that time frame, a old wound that my body had sealed with a hard lump, probably around a object, grew swollen and popped. It was oozing a mix of pus and blood. It was whatever, I have a number of wounds on my legs that will do the same thing from time to time. I wash the wound site and it scabs over, no big deal.

Not this time. I’m so deep in fever that I just wipe the site clear then stumble to my bed and collapse. I feel I should point out that I rarely get sick and when I do it is rarely for more than a couple of days. And it will be something that is harvesting people at work like wheat in a field. They’ll be sick for weeks. Me a handful of days with only 2 or so being rough.

So I have the flu and this wound on my leg. The fever from the flu gets worse. And I start getting fluid buildup in my leg. I call out sick on Monday. It gets worse. While I can walk the 10 feet to the bathroom, I don’t want to. It hurts and takes time because I’m lying down. And when I go vertical I can feel the fluid sloshing down my leg internally and it is about a 7 on my pain scale. Note: I can completely ignore a 4-5 and a 6 I can push down to 2. And if the pain is persistent instead of sharp, I can convince my mind it’s pleasure.

So a 7 on my scale is rough. I once broke my ankle in a fall. I got up, walked into work, worked my shift and went home, using it to drive. I walked on that ankle(I thought it was a sprain) and 6 weeks later rebroke it. I continued to walk on it and it healed and I have the ability to bend my right ankle so that it touches the ground. So, I have a weird scale.

So I’m at a 7. And I don’t want to walk to the bathroom because it will be blinding pain for several minutes cause of my leg and the flu. Now clearly I’m not thinking straight cause who associates fluid in the leg with the flu but I had a high fever so problems. I piss in my trash can. Cause it’s big and right there and fuck it. And now it hurts to pee

Then Tuesday and my flu is better but I still have this fever and leg thing and I think, one more day and I’ll be fine. I stay home. I feel like shit. Repeat of the last night, it still hurts to pee, leg is even harder to stand on and is swollen enough and hot enough that I have trouble putting on pants. Which I do because shorts are for children and the gym.

Wednesday rolls around. I’m not better.
My work has a new policy that if you are sick for a third day, you need a doctor’s note. I call my mom and ask if she’ll take me to urgent care because they can sign off on this. She says OK and after taking 10 minutes to walk from my front door to the curb, we’re off. Yes I can walk on it, yes it hurts but remember pain is something I’m good at. Waiting in urgent care, 2 hours. People who are clearly less sick than I keep going back. They finally see me. Take one look at my leg which is about 2 times it’s normal size, muscular about 20 inches in diameter. So it’s ballooned to 40 inches and sloshing. They take one look and say uh uh, you need the emergency room. So away we go to the emergency room with their initial prognosis.

I choose a hospital based on the emergency room reviews. Because, duh. And we end up at Thunderbird Hospital. I check in and things start to go quickly. They look at the diagnosis and put me in the little area next to doors going back while they set up my area. They weigh me and do the rigamarole and then I walk back to my partition. The doctor takes a look, draws blood and I’m polite and smiling and joking. I point a couple of the nurses to my blog cause I do that all the time. They send me off to pee in a cup and it sucks and takes forever and is really far to the bathroom, it has to be 20 feet.
I take off my clothes and have put on the gown and tied it, and I find I’m not self conscious and I’m joking with the nurses, half hinting at my private life. Nothing crude. Just very comfortable.

They say that they are going to need to get antibiotics into me. And I know that means I’m going to lose a bunch of my immune system because it’s going to kill the good bacteria too. And I set up in my mind shelters in my intestines for the bacteria to retreat to before this happens. I talk to them and appoint one of the ones who has been fighting the infection as leader and general.

They have me on 3 different bagged IV antibiotics. One of which they have to monitor because it is strong enough to potentially collapse my veins.

I’m diagnosed with cellulitis which has not reached the lymph nodes in my thigh, (my immune system rocks) flu, and a urinary track infection. Basically, it took 3 major infections all at once to sideline me.
They tell me once the cellulitis reached the lymph nodes it would have begun reproducing in my bones and that would have been it. Probably a day or two if they hadn’t caught it.

I spend a couple of nights in the hospital. I’m bored out of my skull. Nothing to read, phones dead that first night. Sucks. Plus they are checking on me every 3 hours or so and changing IV bags. They switch arms because after 2 changes with the major one its either switch veins or collapse.
I’m still on antibiotics the next day.

I have to say that my ER doctor was amazing. She was calm, cool, collected. She marshaled that place like a 3 star general. She got me a room in hours while I was waiting for tests. The nurses were in awe of that. She was great. And because I’m me and I like strong women, I noticed a wedding ring. Damn.

Anyway, I anthropomorphise my immune system and it seems to work. After the antibiotics I were done, I let the army and families out of the shelters and they were mostly OK. My immune system is led by the hand picked chosen of the initial General. All honors to him for fighting in the Great cellulitis war of 2015. And I view my immune system as honored soldiers and friends.

You can say it. That’s odd.

Answers to questions

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Naughty Nora asked some questions on her blog so I decided to answer them. All congratulations to her on the award!

https://ourmarriageanddomesticdiscipline.wordpress.com/2017/12/09/and-the-liebster-award-goes-to/

My answers
What are the top five on your bucket list?
This isn’t something I really have. I don’t define by a place or an action. I guess I define by a situation.
So top five in the order I think of them
1. A woman, man, or combination in my arms night after night
2. Someone who reads something I write and tells me, thank you, I needed that.
3. I would like to look at the world and think “This is good. I think humanity has turned a corner. I think we have a chance.”
4. I’d like to sing my songs in front of a audience. And have the confidence to do so.
5. I’d like to read a story to someone I love. When I had someone to do that with, I wasn’t the same man I am now and I never thought would be something I would want.

What is your favorite sexual fantasy?
Watching my lover have sex with others. Encouraging them, watching them move to full abandon, to see them take more and more and at the end I make slow passionate love after the rough. And I hold them and comfort and tell them how proud and happy I am. That they are mine and safe and respected.

What does blogging do for you?
Blogging gives me an outlet for my emotional outbursts. It gives me a place to voice my thoughts. It let’s me write poetry that I need to write. And it let’s me write fiction that I genuinely enjoy sharing.
It gives me connections to people who I would never meet. It makes me a part of a wider world.

Who has been the most influential person in your adulthood?
This is a hard question. I think it’s a group of people. It’s all the people I’ve loved who I entered into a relationship with and that relationship failed. I’ve learned so much from what worked and what didn’t. About what I’m willing to do and allow in my life and what I want. About what I need. And who I am.

If you could choose one movie star to sleep with, who would it be?
I wouldn’t. I need a strong personal relationship with someone if I’m going to fuck them. Otherwise, it’s empty and since I’d carry the memory forever, I’d just not.

What is your favorite non-sexual activity?
Listening to people tell me about their lives. That’s my favorite thing. I like reading for the same reason but it’s also that connection. That connection is paramount.

What is your favorite body part?
Tongue. To talk, to kiss. To explore.

What is one dream that you have made come true?
I am a better writer today than I was yesterday.

What is your favorite song and why?
Impossible question. I don’t have a favorite song. I have entire playlists for different reasons.

What is the funniest or grossest thing that has ever happened to you during sexual activity?
I was standing at the edge of a bed and I’m tall so I had to bend over and she was at the edge. I’m fucking her and I start to feel my feet sliding on the carpet I try to maintain my footing but I just can’t. The floor was so slippery. And slip and I fall down. And she looks at me like what happened.

You just have to laugh