I dreamed that I was at a club as the sun was falling Sunday night. I was invited there by the owners. One of whom sat the door and another was behind the bar. There was a full kitchen serving small dishes and a upper floor where people could rest and sit and have food. It was a gay club and this is important. I’m sitting at the door talking to my friend and people are walking in, hesitant, young. Some afraid to step in, some afraid they will be turned away, rejected here as they are rejected elsewhere. Snubbed here as they are snubbed elsewhere. But my friend smiles and nods and they are welcomed in. The club night is called Church. In walks a big burly guy, not bad looking but rough. And he turns to my friend and says “it’s a bit blasphemous to have a club called Church on Sunday.” My friend just shrugs and waves him in. But I can’t let it go. I say “We call it church because this is the place we are loved and accepted. Here we aren’t judged for who we love. Here we aren’t told we are monsters or unworthy. Here we are free. THIS is our church where we are free to worship as we please with those that please us.” My friend looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Because I don’t generally confront people about their bullshit. Then he turns to the guy and says, “Yeah, what he said.” After sitting the door for awhile we go in and we have fun and dance. We are not the stereotype. We are not good dancers, but we are happy, enthusiastic and free. A young gentleman whom I am acquainted with slips his hand across my shoulder, his hand resting on my chest. I place my hand on his and say, “Hello, my love.” I say it impishly, playfully. But he pulls his hand back like I burned him. I turn around to see his shocked expression and I can’t help but laugh. My friend gives me a look and we smile and laugh as the young man disappears, fleeing. Whether from our laughter or the shock, I don’t know. My friend has the DJ put on a record and tells the room with a shake of the head and a the back of the hand to his forehead that He’s sorry but he had to. Then the beat of Gloria Gaynor, I will survive comes up and we groan and laugh and people get up from their seats and dance like silly happy fools. And then I wake.
Thoughts
A heart leads
I have never been a man who could not follow his heart. When I was younger that meant looking for the cracks in the world. It meant exploiting my talents and the talents of others for fun and profit. When I met Morgan, that started to change. I began to mold myself into a man she would be proud of. When she was ripped from me, my heart led me into darkness. Into silence. Because in the hushed darkness it was easier to heal. And, while externally, I became more harsh, more abrasive, more cutting; internally I became introspective. As I poured over and over the events of that night searching for any way, any possibility that this was a dream, a nightmare. And despite myself, I healed. And I met a man who led my heart out of that darkness. Who showed me it was OK to love again. OK to still be alive. He eventually left but I was awake and could not close myself again.
So I followed my heart. Again and again each time I was hurt. Each time I learned what humanity was. In my long absence, I had grown cold and distant. Until a year ago, when I finally forgave myself for not saving her. I forgave myself. But I must acknowledge that I failed My Morgan. And I will never fail a love again, if I can help it. If I know what is happening.
And I opened myself up, and I, in my naivety perhaps, thought I had found. But no, again and again, my heart leads me to people who are hurt and I try to help them. Because that is who I am now. Not the only thing, but it is one of the pillars. But I pay a price each time. I can love and love forever. And each person I love leaves or will only give so much before they pull back to safety. And so I am stripped bare. Cast adrift, seeing the bright lights of the people I love, twinkling from the shoreline. While I drift at sea, forever unable, seemingly, to make landfall.
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A response to an ill mannered jest
If someone ever harmed the person I pledged myself to they would burn. I would tear down the world and reap a hurricane of death and pain. I would call armies and madmen to my banner. I would bath the world in blood until they were returned to me. No impedement, not even death would stop me. No creature, man, or god would dare stand against me. Everything I am or ever will be, I would sacrifice for their safety.
I would tear down reality. Nothing would bar my way. Not for long.
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Slow motion fall
There is a euphoria to posting something that is both personal and fundamentally true. It carries you for a time. Like walking after setting down a great weight you’ve been holding on to. And just like that, it wears off. Pretty soon, you feel like yourself again.
It may be this time of year. I just can’t seem to reach back beyond that night. I try to think of the night we met or any of the hundreds of other moments that we were happy in. But it all just morphs into me holding her. Waiting for the doctor to arrive. Her shallow breathing.
I feel empty. For the last few years I’ve been, at least, talking to someone romantically. That takes the edge off. Like there is hope. But this year, it’s all just ashes.
I find myself crying. And have for months now. I can’t seem to get out of this. Mostly, in the day, I’m OK. But night brings the silence and I can’t handle it.
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New goal
New goal: Stop falling deeply in love with people who can’t, won’t, or don’t want to be in a relationship with me.
Of course that does nothing for those I’m already in love with…
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15 days, dwindling
I miss caring for someone and being cared for in return. I miss giving an order and having carried it out. I miss the joy on my their face when I say, “Good Girl.” I miss the life. The life as I learned it. The submission and compliance. Punishment and reward. Rules made to show care, to demonstrate love, to make each moment better. Never to hold back, always to foster growth. I miss these things, but mostly I miss being loved. I miss loving someone full bore with my slightly crazy heart and being loved in return by theirs.
I miss the lifestyle because it’s the only world I’ve known where love is the most important thing. Where communication rises to the level of my need. Where such is internally enforced by the cultural norms of the lifestyle. Maybe this is my experience because I’m the common denominator, I know that others have experienced abuse, that this lifestyle draws abusers and takers.
I’m not that. I have no way to convince you. You would need to trust me. I have no real point here. I’m 15 days out and I guess I just miss my Morgan. We weren’t perfect, but we had love. I miss her. I miss who I was with her. I miss…
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Just a thought
Not being able to fall out of love is a hell I’d not wish on anyone. It’s the state I find myself in. It fades but the smallest hint or hope brings it flooding back. The truth is, once I fall, I fall forever. Is it lucky or horrible that I can love multiple people completely? To live torn apart like this, when I am single and to fall again when not. Life is a cruelty.
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Held lightly and with consent
I hate when my people are hurting
I know they aren’t mine mine, despite my desire, but I can’t help how I feel. I want them happy or at least content and I wish I could help other than by just being there. I wish I was allowed to. I wish I could sweep them into my arms and at least hold them. And make sure they know that they are loved. I’m not much for jokes so I can’t give laughter most days, but I can give safety and words of beauty. And actions of care, if I am allowed, though I rarely am.
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Freedom of speech
Freedom of Speech protects you from the government or the law of the land. It means that your speech cannot be restricted by the government. The government cannot imprison, silence, or kill you for speaking.
It does not mean that speaking is without consequences. An employer, especially in a right to work state, can fire you for saying things. This is especially prevalent when your speech runs counter to what they think or if the opinion has a impact on their ability to do business.
Further, while you are exercising your free speech you should expect that others will be exercising theirs as well. Often in counterpoint to your own. Further, if your speech incites strong emotions in your heart, you can expect people to react in the same manner to you.
Freedom of speech does not protect you from your fellow citizens. It only means that if you say that the king or president or ceo or whatever is a fucking idiot, you cannot be subject to imprisonment or worse by the mechanistic cogs of the justice system. You will still be met with resistance from your fellow citizens.
You cannot hide behind freedom of speech and hope that people won’t Judge you or move against you. Speak all you want to but you will be opposed. And if any side chooses to escalate to violence then all involved parties are subject to the justice system. Just because you got clocked while you were exercising your right to speak does not mean that you get to retaliate. All are equally subject to the law. (in theory, in practice we see something else but that doesn’t make it right.)
That is all the logical and legalistic parts of me trying to reason with people.
The other parts are saying, if you stand with, condone, take the side of, or otherwise sympathize, for any reason, with fucking Nazis then you should be fucking clocked. You should lose business. You should be put on the horns of public scrutiny and your whole life turned upside down. You cast your lot in with them and you are accepting the consequences of your choice.
Welcome to what Freedom of speech really means.
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A dream from Sunday
I had a dream of a woman sitting straddling my knee and resting her head against my chest. It was the most at peace I’ve felt in weeks. I consider it a true dream walk as where my dream was prior to that moment was completely in a dreamscape. I hope, whoever she is, she felt as I did. At peace, at home.
Pelgris 