July 26th, 2004


Writing helps

Long and Rambly most garbage, but writing always helps.

I write for me, and yet I no longer ever filter. Reading may hurt, so don't. Writing is essential, if reading yields understanding then better.

There is an art made from pigments and water and oil. The oil keeps the pigments separate from the water and from each other, an agent mixes, the media takes an impression of the mixture, saving it in the colors that form from the pigments. As temporary as an easter egg, intermediate as stationery, permanent as the image etched forever in the mind of the artist.

What's inside?

What's on the top?

All swirled together, what to choose, what stands out.


The fear has been building for a lifetime, formed from bits, many thrown out as insignificant.

Yes, there can still be fear when there is trust, if the fear comes from inside.

I touched Flar. Friday night, I went to sleep after shedding tears, tears that I'd tried to hold back from him, tears he didn't cause, tears I thought he had no understanding about the cause. He held me, he whispered to me, kindness and love in his voice. Only care, no judgement. In the morning, I touched him. Stroked his back, scritched, then felt lower. He had said it would be okay that I had only to reach out, and here I was in no condition to complete anything I started, but he touched me.

And woke the fear.

I can't pull, but I can receive. And the energy threatens a door that should stay closed, it keeps in the blackness the darkness. Passion is dark, full of desire that is no mere wanting a need that is all encompassing and unending. Madness.

Fear of madness.

There was, for a long time, control. More and more control learned over time that encased more and more behind the door.

Release should be joy.

In the supposed wisdom of my far off youth, I knew that no one was normal, that to chase after normality is to deny ones self, an escape from reality that leads to madness. To embrace oneself and differences is to feel to live to breathe.

Darkness awaits.

There was an easy, care-free time. Loved by all, any for the taking, the time only for pleasure and joy and ecstasy. But ecstasy is madness.

For a long time now, I've held the madness inside, shaped it, controlled it, shared it with so very few. Intensity too dangerous for such treatment. How to explain that my body is on fire from nerve-tip to nerve-tip, that orgasm is merely some formal expression of release, but that for me the release is from consciousness, from all control. Only safe with someone who can take that control from me, be responsible for us both, keep our minds safe.

Calling myself a switch was a simplistic, convenient label. Thirst for blood, not the taste, but the energy of it, pulsing fresh from arteries, shedding life. The feel of flesh tearing apart under nails, tearing and ripping. Knives a necessity, for skin is much stronger than one would imagine, and teeth such dull tools. Twisting and rending and feeling my muscles strain against power and strength.

I know it hasn't always been like this.

I remember laughter.

Gushing with joyful fluids and sharing feelings of pleasure and unity and wanting it to never end.

The madness is need, and feeding it is an addiction.

One can stop smoking.

One can't stop eating.

I evaluate my health by many measures, some by accomplishment, some by serenity, but is there need for passion?

Passion that lures me, leads, leaves me wanting ever more.

I was afraid of what lay behind the barrier, and I find too many have the key to unlocking that barrier. Tired. Facing the daunting task of self-control.

I've wallowed in the luxury of turning that responsibility over to another for far too long now.
bundled up, walkabout, snow

We now return you to the regular, consious mind of 'kin

Sick yesterday.

The highest temperature reading I got was 100.4. Back down to my sub-normal 97.7 this morning.

Saturday, we went to Kentucky Kingdom to help wolfwitch celebrate her birthday. Besides Flar and the boys, netherwolf and gerhalt were there. The park was not nearly so hot or crowded as I remembered, and there was considerably more shade than the last year that I'd been there. We rode Thunder Run, Twisted Twins, Mile High Falls, T2, Chang and the Roadrunner, as well as watching the Star Gate movie in the unstable seating. A very long day: we woke at 8 and left the house a bit after 10 after a breakfast of steak and eggs.

I had things to give Wolf and Sydb and a package to pick up. I'd expected to send Critter to the door with my package and was steeling myself to do it myself. Instead, Wolf was waiting on the doorstep. His hand was inches from mine when I handed him the bag, and he touched his forehead in farewell to me as he backed away. I realized later that he couldn't see my eyes behind my sunglasses, so maybe the pain was not so aggressive.

We rode some rides before meeting up with Wolfwitch et alia. We had Subways for lunch and a snack later of Funnel Cake. After T2, Flar took a break with the boys in Hurricane Bay so we "ride afficianados" could ride more rides. I'm pretty sure we only rode Chang before we all needed a rather long sit still.

A very long time ago, I used to lose my voice at a day at the park. And burn my nose. Now I keep my face from the sun, only burn itty bits that get inadvertantly exposed. Somewhere around 1992, I think it was, I stopped screaming. At the time, I had no master, but a relationship with a top, who challenged me. He said I wouldn't lose my voice, if I didn't scream. So I agreed not to scream on the coasters.

I went to the park with my first girlfriend. Soft girl skin, jiggly girl flesh, the perky and happy dancing bits that swayed to all the park music. It was a perfect park day. All drizzly, so the lines were short, but no sign of thunder to close any of the rides. We rode the Beast first. I always do. Quiet, as promised, and First would have reported back, it was agreed. The first hill taught me.

Perhaps not that ride, but the time on the Beast, I counted. It is the longest wooden coaster, and tops even Chang for rating. I came six times on that ride, and for years, I closed my eyes, and quietly rated the rides I rode. I believe I have at one time rated Chang a five.

Time has passed however, and since then, I have learned unbelievable control from Wolf. What was once triggered by outside stimulus I can now simply do, as I will. Or withhold. Yesterday was a lesson in re-learning to let go off control. Twice on T2, and particularly enhance by the nature of the restraint device, I must say. But it was on Chang that I let go so thoroughly as to scare myself.

My period started on Friday night, but it was still in that spotting stage, with no indication when heavier flow would start. This context lent a discomfort to what would in other setting be pure joy. The warm gushing would make me laugh. Instead, I was merely extraordinarily unstable walking away from the ride, and in need of a bathroom stop for reasons of reassurance.

It's been quite some time since I let go in circumstances that were purely sexual, in a setting that didn't allow for quiet recovery. The physical release was welcome. The mental effects more complicated. All in all, I welcomed the chance to sit. We "ride aficianados" all seemed to welcome the chance to merely sit.

The line for the road runner and the SG movie were surprisingly long, and we left an hour and half later than we'd expected. Conveniently, I had programmed my cell phone with the calling card number to speed up calling Flar while he was in Brazil and I was in Texas. This meant that Flar could call Gaucha while we were on the road.

We ate dinner at Fazolis. Ending a day that began with gentle pain, on another note of gentle pain. Wanting leave to call for such a trivial reason, to ask Wolf where the most convenient location would be. Not wanting to hear his voice, so fresh from that simple salute. Finding a Fazoli's all on our own, in a parking lot with a Valu-Mart, wondering if it's the one where they pick up groceries. Wondering if they've discovered this Fazoli's, so much fancier than any other in which I've eaten...

Flar and the boys kept me occupied. The youth who served the garlic bread was entertaining. A Marcel du Pain, as it were. Interesting conjunction of language.

Waited until I reached home to open the box. Deliberately chose to open it Saturday, rather waiting. Surprised by the light, I'd thought it a gift, now a loan. Hurt by the key chain - it was a gift, and I had asked only for the key, but I think I understand.

But the toothbrush.

A simple, disposable nothing.

It's often the small things that send us over the edge, I guess.

I threw it away, and ran for bed, blinded by the tears already flooding my eyes.

How many more times will the end be thrust in my face? How long with it take to accept that which I didn't want, didn't choose, don't want to accept? I think I'm understanding one meaning of always that I never suspected.

Flar followed me, held me. I don't know if he pulled me together or if I did. But I don't want to cry anymore, and the tears didn't last long. I was hot and sweaty, but exhausted, so I bathed, since I didn't think I could stand in the shower.

I woke in the middle of the night. Incredibly sick. I can count on the fingers of one hand, no need for thumb, the number of times I've had honest to goodness, true liquid diarrhea. Since it's not my specialty sickness (I do respiratory, thank you) it always scares me. Being as how it struck in the middle of the night, it didn't occur to me to medicate. Dreams mixed with reality - Flar fed me a Pepcid, which served merely to fill my mouth with an unpleasant minty flavor. In my dream, I knew I should take Immodium, and in the morning, I did.

I spent Sunday in pain. Stomach pain from cramping. Back pain from other cramping - spotting is now officially over. And muscle and joint pain from exercise and fever.

Flar took care of me. He brought me my favorite cereal (Golden Crisp) to eat dry, and water. He brought me my computer, and I sprawled over the whole bed before I could find a position in which I could type (one handed) and get signal from the router. I read email. I read email. I chatted with Mikey, who offered phone call. But, Flar was having trouble understanding me unless he was right next to me, so phone call seemed unwise. A week ago, longer now, I stopped talking to Sydb. I took her and Wolf off my friends list, off my AOL buddies list, asked her to email through Flar or Knight. I thought this is what I needed to do, to stop thinking about them. It didn't work. I still think about them.

Friday, I think it was, I added them both back to my AOL buddies list. Maybe it's wrong, but I guess I want to know if they're there, be able to say hi. Yesterday, I said "hi" to Wolf and he answered. Talked to me. About safe stuff, not us. I asked about Sydb and he questioned whether I wanted contact with her. I really don't know.


He told me that he's been reading this.

I thought when he took me off his friends list, that he had stopped reading.

I thought it wouldn't hurt to write about my pain, that I wouldn't be hurting him.

Now I'm just confused.


I have to write.

For me.

I didn't think to take my temperature until Flar commented on how hot I was - and when I realized how cold he felt to me. I got out of bed and showered and dressed to go see The Bourne Supremacy, but even sitting in the theatre took a lot out of me. He put me straight to bed with a couple of Extra Strength Tylenol (not an NSAID) and a plate of scrambled eggs when we got home, and Critter put DS-9 on to distract me. I slept through most of it, waking occasionally to take my temperature. By the time I took my Lexapro and shut my eyes for the night, it was down to "normal". This morning, it way my usual "sub-normal."

And now it's time to get serious and do all the quicken updating that I should have started on Wednesday. Work tonight. Knight's here. He woke me this morning and pulled out of me what sparked that last post. Napping now. Keeping me safe.
bundled up, walkabout, snow

Film Noir!

Double Imdemnity is playing at the Kentucky on Wednesday in their summer classic film series.

Since I work Wednesday nights (sometimes), I'd like to go to the 1:30pm showing. I've got a tentative yes from Ladonna_Rena. Who else is up for a day trip to a comfy dark theater?

According to the Herald-Leader, the charge is $2.50; I can treat for the first three that want to join me.

Comment, or email me, or give me a call on my cell phone.