A city of half closed doors turned inside out

I have made a garden of bones, of sinew
Flowers of synapse sparking lightning to the chill night air
Pathways of blood mark the dark ways wending to the heart
Sits beating a slow rhythm of hope
Topiarys of muscle expand and contract
Exposed nerves shiver in the wind
Thoughts and dreams play out across a storm strewn sky
Broken arrow teardrops fall piercing this exposure

Valentine’s day 22

You know, what seems simple as you drift off to sleep is never quite the same as dreams fade. I know I had a great idea that put me at my ease but now I just can’t recall it.

My eyes drift across the softly snoring form of my Sara. I could have Tara wield the whip, but no she’s not ready for that. Leashes and walkies? No, Sara dislikes humiliation and she’s done nothing to deserve a punishment. Simple may be best.

I slip out of bed and pad to the closet. Simple slacks and a buttondown worn untucked. The grey slacks and cream shirt with the herringbone buttons. Clothing is a form of armor but in this case merely a canvas for later ventures.

I walk the five feet back to the bedroom and see Sara watching me. My smile pours out; matched by her grin until, like a candle, it’s snuffed out. I school my face to impassivity. A cool mask belied by wicked eyes.

“First position,” I purr.

Languid, almost boneless, Sara falls graceful as a cat to her knees. She leans back. Sitting on her legs folded underneath, shoulders thrown back, eyes cast down.

“Wait here, in position, until I return.”

“Yes Sir,” her voice a deep pool of acceptance.

I walk to Tara and gently shake her awake. Her eyes slowly open, telling me that her sleep is feigned. Never in the time I’ve known her has she ever woken so easily to a interrupted sleep.

“Put on your collar, my little fox. Let us go for a walk in the garden.”

Walking in the garden is something we do when dear Tara is feeling a bit more animal than human.

Proudly, Tara places her new collar around her neck, pulling the clasp closed but not tightly. I reach down and cinch it down. Close enough to not chafe but not so tight so as to choke. Tara reaches into my pants for her lead and pulling the soft leather leash snaps it into place. Shyly looking at me, she places the lead into my hand. I beam at my dear pet. I know she’s seen Sara do this but I didn’t expect her to be so equally bold.

I lead her to the black oak toy chest and pull the chrome butt plug with fox tail from its position. She shifts and smiles up at me, skipping my heart a beat. With thoroughness, her eyes a heady weight on my motions, I slather the plug in velvety lube.

“Present, please,” my voice soft but full of command and desire.

Tara turns and leans against the hardwood floor, cheek pressed flush, head turned, presenting the soft pink pucker for her present.

I run my fingers around, exploring the edges. Soft, pleasant loam drifting from her. I work the remaining lube over her. Into her, probing with wet fingers, the slight hitch in her breathing my reward. I press the point of the bulb in. Meeting with resistance then relaxation sucks it in as I press, inexorably, in.

And voila, my foxy girl has her tail. And a gentleman has his pet.

Selfish or just human?

I know that I am fundamentally selfish. I see things first through the lens of how it will effect me or of what I want or hope for. I don’t think that is a problem as long as I am aware of it and take steps to compensate for it. But I can’t help but think that, when I see something that might be effecting someone I love, that I hope that’s not why they are interested in me. And on reflection, really only that. The feeling that I might be being used in a way that is beneficial primarily for them while I languish in emotional half states never knowing if a more equitable possibility is on the horizon or if this almost but not quite is all there is.

I think in terms of my self for a slight moment or two before I move that over and think, if they are really going through something, how can I help?

I hope that is the more important part. That despite a reaction of selfish thoughts, I ultimately move to say and act in support.

A familiar dream

I had a dream that I worked for Elon Musk directly. The work was infiltrating and inspecting companies that he owns or has partial stake in. I had parted ways with him amicably to go work for another company but was now bored with that work. I had mastered all of the pieces of a pretty complicated system after a few years and was bored again. I’d stopped working for Musk partially because the work had become too dangerous. But in my current state of boredom it made sense to call him up and see if he had any piece work he needed done. He did. There is a company that was building a underground cargo hauling business. Not underground in the illegal sense but literally underground. They were 200 feet down carving through the bedrock a network of tunnels to haul goods without having to mess about with terrain features, other people, weather issues, speed limits and other problems. It was a huge outlay of time and resources with no immediate or short to mid term profit prospects and it was amazing. He needed me to get into the tunnels and make sure the workers were motivated and that management was not intentionally dragging its feet. I got in and found that the delay was that they had found jade and fossils. They had already routed around the fossils and were looking for a route around the jade. I broke into the office and was going through the paper work when the owner of this company broke through the locked door before I could make good my escape through the side tunnels; He knew me from years before and knew that he was being audited. On the verge of a breakdown he asked what he was doing wrong; what he could fix. I assured him that there was nothing wrong. This was a inspection and they happen at all of Musk’s companies. He doesn’t go in for sending in corporate teams. “Give people time to prepare and even if they don’t mean to, they will end up lying to you,” is what Elon always says. The fossils and the jade are good things. We can route a side tunnel to the fossils and bring in archeologists and that will bring some good publicity should we need it. Plus advancing knowledge is what Elon is all about. The jade is just good business, we mine that and use the profits to offset the costs. Plus with the markets in jade cut off right now due to political unrest we will basically own the market. This venture will see profits for a few quarters which will please the money men that Elon is working with.

Of course, I’m highlighting here, the dream included things like the feel of the tunnels; the steam and the heat, and the infiltration was more harrowing than I am writing but in the dream it was something I had done many times before. Including a backdoor escape route that involved a hidden egress point that the miners did not know about that led to a natural cave system that allowed retreat. But that all felt like old hat. Something that I had done before and not really worth mentioning.

I counseled the owner and calmed him down then left in the normal way. On getting back to my car I find Mr. Musk’s general troubleshooter waiting at the car with a job offer. I was to infiltrate and gain access to something. I say something because I don’t recall what it was. Just that it was important and that I had a plan to get in. I invited some friends in the business. Quasilegal inspection teams being something that does occur at the levels we were playing in. Part infiltration expert, part forensic accountant, part engineer, we were rare but not unknown and the work was always interesting. I was setting up the job and infiltrating a secondary target with the team to find out how we worked together. Then I woke up.

I wonder

I wonder if it would be better to accept that my love is dead. That there won’t be another. Much as it physically pains me to think it.

Later:  I suppose I just can’t. And I know Morgan would kick my ass for thinking that I should. She was the practical one. I miss her. 

Rambling thoughts on healing

The thought that we must save ourselves is the bitterest, most hurtful lie. We must be willing to work towards our own bright future this is true. But that we must do it alone, that we must depend on no one, that others must not act on our behalf, must not shoulder part of the burden, must not love. That is base falseness. It is a lie we embrace because our pain tells us it is true. And like all good lies, it has the ring of truth to one who’s hearing is distorted.

We believe it because we are wounded animals, bitten by those who came all false caring before. Who hurt and took and broke and wrought. So when another comes, and wears the face we think we know, we tell ourselves “not now. Not yet. I need to heal before I can try, I can’t let others close, I must heal on my own.” But is this prudence or fear? A little fear is wise, a bit of caution warranted. But hide away and wait as if some point will make you less broken.

I tell you a truth now. Perhaps it is merely my truth, perhaps it is more. The truth is, you will never fully heal on your own. You don’t see all of the places you are broken. You can’t know all of the pieces that are missing and you cannot build without materials that are not found within.
Someone must help. Don’t follow fears council for too long; don’t allow yourself the luxury of building walls. Do not trap yourself. Healing is ever so much harder than we think.

And alone? It’s a long, impossible road. One you may never see the end of. Nor beginning of a new one.

The unclenched fist

Think me tumultuous youth
Squandered on the fractious knowing
Light obscured by the slowly melting wind
Grain by grain
Moved on
Left in a cage of grief
Woke
Too old too young too knowing
Jagged and removed
Exposed
Jangle of nervousness
Anger and disappointment
What could have been
What choices led to this
Giving up
Tension runs out
Cut strings
Where to go
When there’s nothing left
And no reason to act
Forgotten
In the deep muffled echoes
Waiting for a word
Of warning

Love is door and lock and key

I have a theory that I have seen played out over and over again in my life and in the lives of others. Maybe it’s me seeing patterns where none exist.
Maybe it is a glimpse between the seams.

In every relationship which results in love, there is a test. A moment where everything goes wrong. Some health issue, some natural disaster, some conflict that places enormous stress. How that test is weathered tests the strength of the love.

Some it shatters and the relationship falls apart.

Some it breaks and though unknown the relationship begins to dissolve. It may be mended bit most often it dies under its own weight. Or is buoyed along by complacency and comfortable.

Some it draws closer together. It creates from pain and destruction something new and strong. As it should be, the strongest creation is born from destruction.

This will happen within the first six months. The soft strains of music will begin to play behind the scenes. Each note bending around until the snap and catastrophe. In the silence, the people involved either build their own symphony or off key plucking or yield.

Maybe life is full of such moments. Maybe I’m just attuned to this type and so I see it. Maybe I’m mad.

Just a thought. A possibility.