Thoughts

Weird dream

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Had a dream where it was new years at the house locale and for some reason I was setting up a TV and stereo speakers. I was all set but my older sister was moving in with me for some reason and she thought she had a better way. So I said Ok and let her try. She set it all up but the sound was coming out tinny. So, while she was off doing something, I setup the system back to working. The dream shifted and I was in a armies camp on the move. I was with someone I cared about, whose opinion I cared for. And I remember looking at my foot and seeing it discolored and they saw the discoloration and were disgusted. So I began peeling the skin off and removing the nails. It was about a 2 or 3 on my pain scale. Putting it in perspective, a broken elbow is only a 4 and a tweaked can barely move back is a 5 or 6. Pain and I are familiar lovers.

After removing the skin and nails and wiping up the blood, this person was looking on disgusted. And I just gestured and said, see, good as new.

Passing thought of a Sir

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I read many blogs about BDSM. Mostly they are stories written by or in Submissive voice. Because I don’t need to know Master voice. There are a few that I read that are for Dominants but those are mostly theory or techniques. I read those to learn or to see what other Masters think on a subject.

The ones written by Submissives or in the Submissive’s voice almost all seem to focus on the acts or what they feel during them. And a repeated theme is the suddenness of switch from normal to scene. The seeming randomness and, for some, the thrill of fear that this elicits.

Now, I won’t speak for other Dominants. But, those sudden scenes, those seemingly random changes? If I may pull back the curtain? They aren’t.

They are not random. They are constructed. Piece by piece, idea and accouterment. Sometimes they are pulled together on the fly from already used or existing pieces. But the sequence is planned. The beginning to the finish, as much as possible, each possibility and the outcome of each branch.

For the Submissive , it’s a bolt out of the blue or a rollercoaster ride. For the Dominant, it’s nested if/then statement. Done well, the Dominant can let one thing flow to the other naturally, each piece of the orchestra working in concert. And they can be in the moment, but at another level, they are running the scenario.

The Dominant has goals, has points that must be met and, in some cases, a scoreboard of reward vs punishment.

The Submissive dances on the stage. The Dominant is the choreographer, the stage director, and the audience. Done well, they feel like they are a fellow dancer.

Just, there is much thought and planning that gets us to that point

Love and relationships

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Love blossoms for the most absurd reasons. A word, a look, a deed or a need.
But to grow it always takes the same things. Consistency, not boredom, not in a rut but doing the things you say you’re going to do.
Respect, not obedience or abasence but seeing in them your equal, your partner.
Honesty, voicing your concerns and your joys.
Communication, constant communication, not always talking but always trying to get to understanding.
Learning, each piece of them and yourself with them.
Growing together until entwined you are more together than singly.

Those are the ones that I know, that work.
Love is infinity, but a relationship is the bloom that grows from the spark. It must be treated as a growing living thing.

Do I make missteps in my ardor for you?

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 I feel that I must. Like I am making mistakes but that, perhaps, you forgive them silently. Do I say ‘I love you’ too often? I feel like, at once, I say it too much and that it can never be enough.

I wonder if I send you too many missives? I do send several a day, most days. I don’t want to wait to write it all and send it all at once, but rather send when my thoughts are freshest. But I know, maybe, it is exasperating.

I think I must be tiresome to deal with. Am I? To have someone constantly sending you little notes and posting things and just all of it.

I dislike feeling like I am being burdensome. And even writing this, I can’t tell if I need reassuring or if I want information. But either way, it feels like…I don’t think weakness is the right word. But something close. Like I can’t hold my own or something. Which I know isn’t true, but feelings care so little for knowings, sometimes.

Dream house

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If I am but a journey, travel my roads knowing my care and comfort. Knowledge and joy hard fought and won.

But if I am more, then know that I have many rooms and halls to traverse. However, you will never be lost for you are home.

Welcome always in arms made for you. A love of songs and silences waiting to be filled. Or left empty, to become a place for us both.

Long distance

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I’ve never held you in my arms but I know your touch. We are souls long parted and now have found one another. And still, somehow, cannot make it to each other.

I feel a fool for not coming to you. To hold you close, our breathe mingling in the spring air. Would I be welcome? Or is it like most things and my heart is leaping past logic, knowing only that we are connected and needing the electric spark of our touch to be made whole.

That I love you is indisputable. Are you calling me on to Avalon or are we sirens calling to each other. I will not harm you, I swear it. But how can you take my word?
I could send you to people who know me. Who can say that my Alar is strong. That my word can only be broken if I am broken.

I suppose I just keep on and hope.
Though some days, some hours, some minutes, I am wracked with pain from a distinct lack of you.

I’ll see you in your dreams.
I love you, Goddess of my Heart

In my ire

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I am not a creature of lightness. I merely know the dark well enough to see the gradients of gray. There are rules and lines that should not, must not be crossed. I am a creature Caged by rules. I am passionate and caring but make not the mistake that this makes me soft, weak, or unwilling.

I say all this to make this point: My friends and loves enjoy my protection. I’m not suited to bodyguard work, but it would be a mistake to think them not protected.

I don’t say this to be intimidating or to act the big man. I say it to be honest and to make my friends and people know that I am here. I say this because, if a truth is to be a deterrent to bad actors, it must be known.

My love does not need my help. She’s amazingly capable on her own. This is more for my people. The ones I say Friend to.

I probably should not post this. But my rage is only controlled by action. And I need to be rid of this cold calculation.

Laying in bed, unable to sleep, alone

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I sometimes think, “I’m just this mad thing. Bound up in desires impossible to realize. Trying to get others to see, to accept, impossible beauty, impossible desires, so that at some point I won’t be alone.”

Its weird to think this way, I think. Weird to hope this way. To jump then question the decision. To fall in love, then hope they are in love as well. All of these thoughts bouncing around in my brain and mostly I want a few minutes of silence. Or, if not silence, then to speak with my love. The person I love. About anything, everything.

That last is the most normal.
Which brings us to why do I care what seems normal. It’s simple. Confirmation bias. Artists and open minded types surround ourselves with similar people. So much so that mainstream ideas seem foreign. And because they do, we are less likely to engage in those areas. And as we pull away, we, ourselves, become foreign to people in the mainstream. This leads to a problem. Our audience for our art should be able to reach as many people as possible. Not because as many people as possible enjoying the work is the goal but because reach means that the people who need to read the piece or hear the poem are more likely to do so.

These are the places my mind goes when all I really want is to be with you. To hold you. To learn you. All the things we need to be successful in a relationship. See? Overthinking even in the face of my desire to simply be with the person I love

Sitting on the sidelines

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You self identify as the thing that you hate because by embracing it you can make it a little bit yours even though it’s what is destroying you. You keep running on that treadmill needing to control something, anything, drowning in socially acceptable positive self image when what really needs to change is this situation where neglect of your needs and desires is the best you can hope for. But I can’t make the choice for you, I can only sit here telling you that you are valued for the things other than what you do for other people. That you are valued for your self and hope that some day you will listen and that this thought will work it’s way into you past your defenses that say you are not worth enough, not doing enough, not human enough to get the things you need without destroying yourself, that you must fit into the mold that they impress upon you to have value.

I’ve read your art and seen it and that glimmer in your eye is passion and unshed tears for this future you give up to fit. It’s never the right time, enough time, always busy, always in motion but never for the pieces of you that can break you free.

You’re fighting so hard to be this perfect thing that you are hurting who you are and it’s terrifying to watch and I’d make it all stop but you won’t let me. I’m happy you say with a smile that never reaches your eyes. I love him you say like a talisman you hold out in front of you. While his expectations and silence chip away at the pieces you try to slip past your walls.

Love does not destroy like that. To be sure it is destructive but it’s passage is marked by rebirth, by growth, by joy and waking. But you love him, you say. And I can’t keep pushing because each time I do you pull back a little more. I just want you to see what I see. To wake up. To see what everyone but you sees in your tone and words. Your discontent. Not wanting to be here but when you are there you aren’t comfortable either.

Watching your pain. But I am not allowed to act.

One true love

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There are 2 types of people. People who have lost some they romantically loved and those that haven’t. Let me be explicit. A person who died, either by violence or not.

The people without this get to have the luxurious illusion of the one true love. That somehow they have the secret. That they have their forever, their true, love.

On the one hand I am envious of their illusion. It is a warm place. A safe place. On the other, I fear for them. What happens when the glass bubble shatters. What happens when they know loss. Do they, then begin to wither? For one thing to be true for so long has the danger of becoming truth. And Truth is hard to recover from.

Those of us who knew loss early, know that each love is different. Each love has its own existence, its own feel. And, sadly, there is no one true love. Each love is flawed and each love is perfection.

Tragedy wakes us to this. We know that the one true love thing is a myth. We know because it can’t possibly be true. And, for myself, why I hate anything that speaks of predestination or everything happening for a reason. Things happen because of chance or because someone took a course of action. Often, several someone’s. But there is no grand design moving us all to some predestined ideal. This is another illusion.

I’m not saying that there is not powerful, strong love. I’m saying that the one true love is a trap. A lie that comforts. Treat each person with dignity, respect, and affection. Treat them with desire, if you desire them. Act courageously. Love completely.

But don’t fall into the logical fallacy of ‘one true love’. It not only isn’t true. It must not be true.