Convictions of a warrior poet

I would never keep you from being who you are
Who you are is why I love you
In my worldview, you either back the play of the person you love or you have their back if you can’t help them
I realize that is not a normal position. But only because friends tell me it’s not.
I feel it to be the correct course. One I may fail at, but one I will never fail to attempt to follow.

Comments on wordpress 

I sometimes wish that I could see when someone has started but not completed a comment. And that others could see when I have too. Sometimes there are things to say but the words won’t come or are the wrong words. Sometimes I want to say or ask something but just can’t find the phrasing or the courage to hit send. 

Dream underground

Yesterday I was eating lunch on a terrace garden with people who felt like they were from work but I didn’t recognize them. My friend Reese came by for some reason and I escorted him under my workplace to some kind of underground labyrinth. There was a sand pit filled with tiny snakes, a room that didn’t look like anything that had a spiral staircase leading down. My friend remarked that this place seemed normal. I looked over my shoulder to a guy I know from work, RJ, and say that’s because RJ has the master key to turn the traps off.
In this room you normally have to weave past poison darts shooting out of the walls.
I felt uneasy like it was the presence of RJ and not a key that kept us safe. Like he was the key. We wandered down into a underground gallery with columns and flying buttress’. It was all empty but like the walls were holding something back.

I haven’t been able to shake that dream for 2 days

Too soon for love?

I see the spark of you
The hidden piece shining brightly
Pulsing with energetic light
This piece of life
It casts itself over all that you are

How can I see this and not fall a bit in love?

Am I to hide my feelings because they emerge before you are ready to hear them?

Am I to cringe back and deny what I see because I cry out to the heavens and this makes you uncomfortable?

I love the you that you are, as you are.
Am I to hide that behind like and lust?

It’s too soon they say.
But they don’t see what I see.

You are right, it’s too soon to know the totality of you.

But too soon to see enough to love?
To embrace discovery and beauty?
Why live that way?

Hiding, hoping not to get hurt.

I’d be lying if I said that my love has not destroyed me, crippled me.

But through destruction, we grow.
Through pain we are forged.
And at the end of it all, better to break for love than it’s lack.

Morgan

I have mentioned Morgan in several posts. And prior to 2016, I used the name Sara for her. Because I was not ready to say her name publicly. Because if I said her name publicly it would all be real. You may understand at the end of this.

I met Morgan in November of 2001. It’s odd to think about because I always say that I was with her for 3 years but really it was almost 4.

I was at a Goth night at The Nile Theater. Sometimes the Nile had Rave music and if I was feeling social I would drive out and see what was happening there. This night it was Goth. I listened to The Cure, Depeche Mode, Bauhaus, Black Tape For a Blue Girl, etc. But I listen to Everything. And I wanted to lose myself in Trance or House. But this night it was Goth and I decided fuck it. I paid my cover and went in.

The Nile was always Dark which is a good thing because with the lights on it was kinda depressing. I’d been here for the after party of The Rocky Horror Picture show many times in high school and this is the type of music playing so I guess I’d been here before. You may notice I’m giving a bunch of superfluous details. This is hard. Bear with me.

I was dancing. Now when I say dancing, I mean moving my body to the beat while using my arms and hands to show the counterpoint. Nothing formal or likely cool looking. Passionate but not attractive. So I’m dancing and I get thirsty and I get a 3$ water, because if you are not overcharging for drinks then you are not running a venue. I’m leaning against a wall and a girl, a woman really comes up to me. She smiles and says, “Wanna Dance?” I say “Sure.”

This is out of character for me. I generally keep to myself even in a crowd. I’d like to say that there was something about her that I noticed right away but it was dark and I was going back out to dance anyway. We danced for an hour or so and then she said she had to go. I was going to shrug and say goodbye. Yes, I have always been dense in this regard. Then she asked if I wanted to get some breakfast. It was about Midnight. I said sure, I had been Dancing for hours and was sweaty and why not. We head out together.

In the full light of the city lights I see her for the first time. She was beautiful. About 5’10 tall enough to kiss easily , but she still had to look up at me when we were close. There is something amazing to have someone attractive looking up at you. She had long black hair but you could see the dark brown roots just at the base of her scalp. Her eyes were green. But not always, they changed with her mood. Darker when passionate, flashing when angry, light when calm. Amazing. Her skin was the color of milk. Not ash white but creamy almost rich.

She grabbed my hand and skipped to her car. Something sporty, I can’t remember the make and yes that’s going to bother me. She unlocked and opened my door which I thought was sweet. Later, not then. Then I was still oblivious. We went to the 5 and Diner on 16th Street. It’s a 50s themed Diner that serves breakfast and is open 24 hours a day. I had pancakes and she had a waffle. She was funny and had this cute throaty laugh you just wanted to swim in. I have no idea what she saw in me. We talked about books we’d read and movies we liked. We talked philosophy and she had an opinion about blades. She liked Big Trouble in Little China. We went back to her place. She had a really nice apartment decorated very modern Goth. We ended up talking some more and on her black leather couch, yes I remember the couch, she kissed me. Looking back its like duh but I’ve said before I’m kinda oblivious.

She seduced me and we had sex the first night we met. But we liked each other before we ever made it to the bedroom.
After that, I spent as much time as her schedule would allow. And mine too.

This part is sketchy. I was running a group that ran tiger teams and less white hat stuff. Mostly legal but some gray area stuff that wasn’t illegal because there were no laws concerning it. I’d been doing this for about 3 years. It was risky but fun and profitable. Morgan worked for a Financial group. And was pretty successful.

My life up to that point had been one of secrets. One truth for family, one for friends.
I know, sketchy. I told Morgan the truth and she hated me risking life and freedom for money. And I had a offer for a entry level corporate gig through family.

So I shuttered the group and took the gig. Being around for Morgan was more important than this thing I had been building.

Segue:
Morgan was a Submissive and a Pain Slut(not derogatory, a phrase of art). She wasn’t in her life but in her play she was and I had some tendencies in Control that she Fostered. I was taught to be a Master by a Submissive. Not the normal path.

I loved her and I enjoyed what we did. We got deeper and deeper into the life but they were her friends and her people. I think they saw me as her latest conquest but I lasted.

I planned on being with her forever. She was my brightest day, I was her Darkest night. I called her my Morrigan and she called me Sir. But I was still learning.

One day in September we had plans to work with a Top who was going to teach me to use the single tail long whip. Think Indiana Jones and you wouldn’t be far wrong. I was being pissy and reluctant to go. I did not want to risk Morgan like that but I didn’t say that. I forbid her to go. Morgan was pissed. We had picked this guy, vetted this guy through friends and she wanted to be whipped. We had a fight. It lasted for hours. If anyone ever tells you that Submissives just accept Masters orders don’t believe them. Run. They have no idea what they are talking about.

Finally, I said, if you want to go then go. She went. I cranked the music up in the apartment and stewed.

It got late. She missed her check in. Yes, we had safety protocol for stuff. I got worried and drove over to the guys house, which I now know was rented under a false identity.

It was dark and the front door was open. Golden light spilled out into the night.
I ran in.

Morgan was dangling from a makeshift pillory. Bound at the wrist. Unconscious. Her back was a eruption of blood. I ran to her and cut her down. I was scared and filled with RAGE. I couldn’t think beyond the next step. I called a private doctor with his own ambulance service, I knew him from before. I had his number drilled into me so that’s who I called.

While we were waiting I cleaned Morgan up and held her. At some point she stopped breathing. I fumbled through the CPR that I had taken and she started breathing. I don’t know if it was actually like this but she started breathing and the doc and emt arrived. We got her onto the stretcher and into the ambulance. I was riding with her. Somewhere on the ride to the doctors operating suite she stopped breathing. They couldn’t get her to start breathing. She died at 3am on September 19th. She died inches from me. I should have been there. I should have gone. She never woke up.

The guy? We didn’t report it. I was all over the scene. The guy was long gone. I called a private ambulance rather than Emergency services. There was no way that didn’t blow back on me. And I wanted to handle it on my own. So we cleaned up the scene. We got Morgan’s parents involved. They were scandal averse let’s say. They cleaned it up with the authorities and shut me out. I guess I can’t really blame them.

The guy didn’t get away. It took years and all of the money I had squirreled away but they found him.

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.

I wouldn’t bother looking for evidence of all of this. We were good at what we did. Believe me, don’t believe me. I’ve told this often enough to one degree or another to know that I’ll be met with incredulity. But whatever it’s my life.

I’m not that man anymore. I hope I’m better and I watch over my people better. I hope I don’t lose the people important to me over this. But I understand if I do.

It’s springtime again

Yup, I hate spring. It is the low point of my year. The lowest point of any year. Winter solstice is bad enough. At least there winter is at the height of its powers. Spring equinox and its all downhill. 3 months of low ebb. I quote the great man when I say “Buggerit, millennium hand and shrimp!”

The blade of love

Love is a blade thrusts slowly through muscle and bone, piercing the heart
The foreigness of the metal draws a gasp. It slowly heats to the temperature around it, slowly pulses out pain that tells us, this is love. They say that love doesn’t hurt, that it makes you feel wonderful, that it elevates you but nothing so wonderous is without a cost. Pain is intrinsic to the human condition. It’s just that some pains drive us to be more, be better people and some drive us to ruin.

No, love is a blade thrust into the heart. If we’re lucky, it stays there and if not, then it is pulled out. Sometimes, another pulls it out and sometimes we look down and find our own hands slick with blood.

But we collapse, because that blade was holding back the maelstrom and out pours every good moment, every word of beauty, everything right and spills it on the ground, drunk greedily by the parched earth.

We hold the darkness with us, we grasp what we can as the blade wrecks us, it’s always easiest to hold onto the dark.

But eventually it all goes, and we’re just shallow husks. Cicada molt, waiting to be crushed or blown away.

Spinning out

I feel like I’m flying apart. Like I can’t hold the pieces together. Like I’m falling. Like the earth is pulling me under, like drowning but not like any of those things because at least then there would be the hope that the pain might end. There would be a chance that something could help me. Some doctor could save me. Some miracle could fix me.
The air catches in my throat and there is a lump made out of pain. As if my body is trying to help by cutting off my airways. But it’s tried this before and it didn’t help then.

I hope that unresolved questions, that could says but not going to’s will become words and answers. That there are choices yet to be made and one of those choices will lead us back together, if we are apart now because, I don’t know. I’m fracturing and it doesn’t seem to end. I don’t know how to stop it. Some minutes are lost to pain and I can’t recall what I last said or last thought.

I hope I’m crazy and jumping to conclusions. That my brain is up to its usual tricks of reading far more into a situation than is true. Because I was somehow taught to hope, that sometimes they come back.

I’m every inch, being stripped to the bone, ablated, and I’ll somehow be alive at the end. Because heart break doesn’t kill you. You just wish that it did.

I feel lost

You are important to me. Everything else is peripheral. I’m sorry. You are different from anyone I’ve ever known and I don’t know what I’m doing. 

I’m an idiot 

I have never been great at not pushing. I always want one step more than I have. One step more than is warranted. One step more. 

I can’t stop it on my own. If you tell me to stop. To slow down. To calm down. I will. I need to be told, verbally, written, whatever. Someone needs to say, “You’re doing it again.” 

And I’ll say, “Oh, I hadn’t realized.”

Not that I won’t see it on my own, but only when it’s too late or almost too late. 

So, that’s one of the ways that I’m an idiot.