The greatest lie ever told

How we got here seems obvious now…
We did all the things which we tell ourselves we must not do in order to have a good life
We didn’t take responsibility for our actions
At each step denying the rights of one group while celebrating how great we are. Building a lie while lying to ourselves and fooling the world that the lie was true. All while denying our own history. And with each successive step, teaching the lies as truth which then shocks the adult either awake or into denial. And awareness is terrible. So we have the sleeping and the awake and the people who violently reject what is in front of their eyes.

And those awake try to wake others up, but doing so carries the cost of being difficult. It wears one down. Wears away at the soul and soon enough some parts of us slip back into sleep. In self defense of the tattered mind.

And those strong enough or crazy enough take advantage, promising a return to the “good days”. A lie which only persists because we taught everyone that the past was good and that makes the present feel wrong. Because how could the past be so wonderful and the present so messed up? There must be something wrong with now, so we go back to sleep, to the laws of the past, because we lied.

We lied

We taught the lie. We taught ourselves that in the past things were good. A happy shiny lie. Which made homes easy and let people go about their day until reality comes along like a brick to the head.

Some people get only a piece of the lie, they get the isolation of fear which is not understood by those who still live in the lie.

We have lied to ourselves. Constructed false narratives about who we are. Then compounded the lie, generation after generation, by teaching the lies as truth. We are the architects of this disaster.

I don’t know how to fix this. Waking everyone up will lead to violent rejection of the truth. Which will lead to at least one form of war.

The best course would be to teach the real history of us, starting from the beginning of the nation. To stare unflinching at our past, at least with the children. So that those who are asleep can die away. Safe in their lie. But we are seeing what happens when we try that. This violent rejection of reality and the sleeping led around by the nose by those self-serving enough to damn us all for their short term gain.

(While pretending we didn’t erode safeguards and protections to prosperity which allow this situation to flourish)

I think I could have written this at any time in our history. And I would be sad with that truth. Because the lens of the world is one which we can’t hide from. And they have finally uncovered our fraud.

The USA has not and never was the greatest nation on earth. It is not the most free, the most prosperous, and the most educated. We falsified the numbers. Put our thumb on the scale. We hid the truth. And those lies are coming out. Hopefully it will be to the good. Before the lies destroy us.

Holidays are approaching

I’ve stayed up way too late doing nothing in particular. Watching strange shows from Brazil with great English voice dubbing. Looking at my phone wanting to feel connected…
Then it flashes me the battery warning and I think, “probably time to go to bed.” My cats asleep in the middle of my bed and I’ll displace her so instead I remember I need to write a post for tomorrow.

This week is Thanksgiving in the USA. Another holiday that has its roots in blood. As if all holidays aren’t problematic icons embodied in a yearly ritual to enshrine the victory of one group over another. I mean it’s hypocritical to teach that it’s about some historical togetherness and all but I question whether or not that actually matters. Knowing the truth about history is a good thing and it can help avoid past mistakes in favor of all new atrocities.

But being mad about a holiday seems pointless. Get together and change it if you need to. Change the name and people’s cultural relationship to it. But mostly, it’s an excuse.

That correct. All holidays are an excuse. Mostly it’s to take a day off. For those lucky enough to be able to afford it. And even for those who can’t, its the opportunity to say fuck it, I’m taking this time for myself. For my family, if you’re into that kind straight laced social structure. It’s a way to be irresponsible in a state sanctioned corporate sponsored commercially acceptable way.

And it’s a time to say hi to that cousin you only vaguely remember. To try to restrain yourself, or maybe this is just me, from getting into sociopolitical arguments with people capable of only spouting talking points and appeals to authority. (Headline-If you are making an appeal to authority without data to back it up, you’ve already lost the argument.) And eat food you wouldn’t normally eat.

Some people, mythically to my mind, get to hang out with friends and have fun. I’ve never seen it, except on Single person Christmas, aka Halloween, and even then that a socially awkward sexually charged powder keg. It’s one overly fruity mixed drink away from making a pass at your married boss with his wife right there. Or laughing at someone’s use of fetish gear as costume and demonstrating proper flogger technique in front of people you know are friends of friends who will spread that like wildfire.
Not that this is a bad thing, I just don’t like awkward conversations about what drunk, no filter me, said when I am sober slight filter me.

Maybe I’m just not who these Holidays are aimed at. I know there are people who love this stuff. Love the gossip about nothing and the skirting of taboo topics at least until someone says grace.

Another thing I don’t do. I’m fairly certain my lip service Christian family would neither take a blessing from my faith nor would my faith be likely to bestow blessings. Honestly, if asked for a blessing, I think the proper response would be something like, “The choices we make have consequences. Whether those consequences are good or bad depends on where you are standing when they occur. This means that whether we act or not, either is a choice. Make sure you make your choices wherever possible. Don’t allow your choices to make you.”

But there is no appeal to a higher authority which seems to be the point of prayer.

So maybe I just don’t get it. Or maybe I do. But in any case, Holidays are meant for people to pause and see. To look around in the frenetic drawn out scream, and maybe, for once, listen.

But what do I know? I’m just a man who needs to move his cat, so he can go to sleep.

13 day spiral

My head is a wasps nest
breaking apart and flying out terror
little reminders of times gone by
there are obvious things I’d say/have said/will say
but the other truths are the hardest
the ones that say I’ve failed her by not being the man who could be loved again
by not being the man she knew
I can’t get back to that person
he died with her
but now I can’t get to someone who can hold a lover
because I just don’t fit
not right
not now
a dull chant
No one wants to hear

State of the Union

In my bright eyed youth, I was a less than good person. I did things. Profitable morally questionable things. But I’ve never been one for morals. Ethics and honor, sure, but common morality never held my interest.

But even that ended and when my interest in the lifestyle if not the money began to wane, Morgan found me drinking a rum and coke at a club. She took me back to her place and we fucked. It wasn’t making love or anything controlled. It was pure animal need. But for some reason I felt drawn to her. So it wasn’t just sex, it was something else.

But I didn’t think that at the time. I kept going back to her and I always told myself it was just sex. Until it became evident it wasn’t. You can only spend so many nights holding each other and talking before you are forced to acknowledge that you just want to be with them. Morgan had an interest in Dominance and Submission, and in pain. In BDSM parlance she was a pain slut. It is not an insult. She gloried in it.

I became her top and over the course of a year or so, her Sir. It had gotten to the point where I could see spending my life with her. Until that September morning that took her from me. You can read about that elsewhere.

So I had become a Dominant. And in controlling others in that context had found a measure of peace. But with Morgan’s death came a bleak sadness that would persist for years. The anger and sadness made me a dangerous top and I came right to the edge of control a few times. In those years, I hooked up with an old friend from my life pre-Morgan.

Eric began pulling me out of the darkness. And through his love, I found the strength to keep going. I also found that being a top was not all that I was. With Eric, I felt safe. I didn’t want to be in control all the time and with him I learned Submission. We were happy for a time but he was unwilling to stay in one place and wanted a 24/7 Sub. Which I am not. I finally asked if he would stay with me. He wasn’t and we parted.

So I wasn’t a full time Dominant and I wasn’t a full time Submissive, so what was I? Was it just play to me? No, I enjoy the psychological aspects too much for it to be just play. So after some research and searching my heart, I find myself a Switch. And that fits comfortably. But I also found that play relationships and even long-term sub or dom relationships were not wholly what I wanted.

So what did I want. What was missing? That’s right. The thing I denied with Morgan, and that which I wanted but never fully realized with Eric. Love. And all that entails. So began my search and I thought I found it several times and each time I was wrong. Then all unaware, writing my poetry and stories, a heart was reading and opening. Scattered comments and likes and this person was always on my mind. I am and was disappointed when they wouldn’t comment but would like what I wrote. I always want to know why, why something is liked.

And when she would comment it was like a sunburst. And I knew, I was falling in love. I started really paying attention and at the last confessed the state of my emotions and very much to my surprise found my affection returned. So after years of searching, she found me. Like lightning from a clear blue sky. I don’t know what the future holds, can’t know it.

But Goddess of my heart, I love you. It has been a long journey and now that we’ve found each other I am profoundly grateful to whatever gods or spirits intervened, if any did. Or just the spinning chance of the cosmic wheel. In any case, my Cha’trez, you have me. All that I was, all that I am, until the stars burn out in the sky. Until the universe collapses, and even then my love for you will exist.

The past and the long road out of it

I used to wallow in sadness. The least pretense to be unhappy and I took it. I know now that that was an emotional and physiological response to the overwhelming guilt. Overwhelming guilt I felt because I had a fight with Morgan the night that she died. Not because of the fight but because without it, I would have been with her and it is unlikely she would have died. But, and this is crucial, she was with a seemingly accomplished top. References and all. I imagine it played something like this, he started light. She wanted/demanded a heavier hand. He complied. She lost herself to the float. He didn’t properly gauge the damage. She passed out and was breathing shallow. He panicked. He fled.

I got worried when she didn’t come home. I went to the house they were supposed to be at. Found the door ajar. Found Morgan still bound to the pillory. I untied her. Checked her breathing, checked her pulse. Shallow and thready respectively. I called a private ambulance service. I cleaned the blood from the whipping away and saw that he had hit the kidney area several times. This likely caused shock to set in. I held her while we waited. She stopped breathing. I resuscitated her. She started breathing. The doctor and paramedics came in. Remember, this was a private ambulance service. They checked her and got her in the ambulance. On the way, she stopped breathing. Her heart stopped. They tried everything. CPR, paddles, they tried for ten minutes or so. She died on the way. She never woke up. She was the first great love of my life and she died inches from me. And I, her lover, her Sir, was powerless to do anything.

I took the blame. I took it all. Her family never liked me, they blamed me. They never told me when the funeral was. I don’t even know where or if she was buried. I’ve done cemetery searches but haven’t found her. I wouldn’t put anything past them. She was estranged from them with good reason. With the blame came the guilt. For ten years, I never looked back over the events of that night. I just took it as given that had we not fought, she would have been alive. So it was all on me.

But that’s not the truth. I played a part. Yes, she should not have been alone. But, she was an accomplished, experienced masochistic submissive. She knew her limits. He was supposedly a accomplished, experienced top. Turns out later that people that vouched for him didn’t really know him that well.

It was a accumulation of circumstances and events. Had he called the ambulance instead of running. Once I was on scene, I did everything possible. Do I desire it otherwise? Yes. I would give nearly anything to undo that night, but did I cause it, was I responsible for it all? No. I was not.

After ten plus years, I was finally able to unpack the sequence of events.(80 percent recall where touch is a factor and the ability to compartmentalize to a severe degree). Once I had done that it was clear, I share some of the blame. But I didn’t cause the damage; I didn’t ignore the signs and I didn’t abandon her. Once I accepted that, the guilt disappated.

So, my experience is that sadness goes on and on. But it doesn’t now. Without that guilt feeding me self doubt and loathing, the sadness trickles away. It’s the oddest thing to not feel depression when I become sad. It’s like trying to dance to music half remembered from the distant past. I’m not even sure I ever knew the steps. But I like dancing, though I look like I’m crazy probably. So, I’ll dance, I’ll write, I’ll sing, I’ll love. And we’ll see.

The journey

After Sara was taken, I became a nearly bottomless well of anger and sadness. I tried to fill that hole with sex and control. When that didn’t work, I tried to fill it with anger and blood. That alleviated the constant ache. But did nothing to heal me.

Eric changed all that. He picked me up, healed my wounds. Taught me to love again. But sometimes relationships don’t work out, he left and eventually found M. Eric died in early November. I know M still grieves, still rages, still weeps. I miss Eric, but he was not my ‘the one’.

The ‘one’. Not really a concept I believe in. What I do believe is that there are people whose magnetic polarization is the opposite of yours and when you find them, there is a instant connection. Why do I mention this? I found someone who flipped me, someone who felt right.

But after several months, It’s been brought to my attention that what I thought was true, may not be. More, likely isn’t. Effectively they called yellow. And while that could mean that it may work out, somehow I’m not thinking it will.

But I’m hopeful. Because, I have loved. I have been loved. I know who I am. They are worthy of love. So while it hurts, until they call it, I will be there. I’ve known pain. I know I can survive this. It’s difficult, but any chance at love is worth the price.

I hope to always feel that way.

Sunday night dream

I dreamed I was a warrior. A spec ops type. Retired and taking care of security for a vast mansion filled with antiquities. The mansion was inherited. It was mine. I was cataloging it’s contents and came across a piece that a old friend, a lover, would like to see.

It gave credence to a piece of her family’s history. It was about a man who once led a group of villages, a fighting force of ten thousand, unprecedented in the time during the rise of Carthage. He was returning from a battle to the east when he learned that Carthage had sent the majority of its forces to his home village. If they raced they may reach home and save it. But there are other cities/villages he is responsible for.

If they move now, they could occupy Carthage, then turn their sights home and remove a threat forever while expanding their might and becoming a full fledged nation state. This man chose to save the village gaining him the eternal love of his people and losing the war. In the aftermath, they save the village but between them and their aggressors is a series of ambushes and pickets.

Had they chosen to hit Carthage, they would have done so from a area not well defended because they were already out of pocket. It was designed to remove him and the force he could muster. And once Carthage had fallen they would have been able to roll up the ambushes from a direction they weren’t expecting. A defeat in detail.

Instead of that he lost three quarters of his men after saving his town. And by the time he stood outside Carthage, years later he no longer had enough men to take the city. Because Carthage won, they tell the tale of a petty king and tyrant who forced this conflict. But these artifacts and papers prove that he was a good man and simultaneously remembered as the worst general of his age and the best. He held that force together for years, and though they were ill from dysentery and flux they still followed him.

A single choice and the history of the world would have been very different. This man is supposed to be her ancestor. Her family has done well down the years and she inherited the title of Duchess. She is French. In this world the French Revolution was peaceful guided by her family.

I want to rekindle the affair, I still love her. We sit in an atrium filled with light from skylights and the sound of birds outside. We are drinking a light wine and lounging on soft leather couches across from each other. We are making small talk and it comes up that she is married. I ask was she married two years ago when we were having the affair. She says no, the marriage was recent and already she grows bored with it. The person doesn’t share her passion for history, for music, opera, and life. But it was a appropriate suitor as defined by her family.

I sense that she will divorce him. What she just described are my passions. I won’t interfere in the marriage, but I will be here for her when she chooses to make the same choice of her ancestor. Love over logic. I will research her husband and render any move he can make against her a shiny tempting poisoned apple.

I bid her farewell with the scans of the pieces and copies and translation. Kiss her on the cheek and tell her, she still has my heart, and she should come to me when she has cleaned out her house. Dream ends watching her drive away.