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Who owns the copyright to my fucking Life? Or my life in Fucking?
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Nov 10, 2007 7:52 pm
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Though it has been a while for me, a conversation today triggered a memory of a scene from a while back that I never wrote about, but would make in interesting scène report.
Then the larger question of BDSM reportage came to mind.
Usually, one does ask the person about whom you are writing if they are OK with you writing about them. Usually, they are OK.
I have had several situations where people were NOT OK with my writing about our encunters.
Part of me is miffed by this, and not because I am a blabbermouth. Because, strangely enough, I am very capable of shutting the fuck up.
But as a writer, when I feel inspired to write, I loathe the idea of being squelched.
I have had several variations of external censorship. I had one person nonplussed about my writing about and in fact using our scene in my curriculum when I taught classes about Taboo Play and another class I have taught on Extreme Edge Play. This may well have been because this was a textbook example of how to not manage a scene that has detailed. To be fair, missteps occurred on everyones part, and I did not undercut my part in the situation. But they weren't too thrilled, especially as a public Leather Community figure, to have that less-than-optimal situation live on.
After some discussion, I made it clear my intent was not to damage, but to help other folks learn from those that have gone before and paved the Way Of Whoops! Plus, the versions that were circulation only made the situation even grimmer than the reality, so getting it from the horse's mouth is only going to serve to put the period on the end of those speculations.
I had a profound moment of Zen when, years after the fact, a former lover asked me to remove references to him from my online writings because he was upset that such explicit materials referenced him online. Though I had received permission, in the past, to tell that story in the course of my solo show, a change in his level of notoriety prompted him to become indignant that such intimate details of his sexual appetites were searchable online.
On the one hand, I understand, and can empathize. Certainly, someone gushing over your sexual prowess, the magnificence of your penis, the thoroughness of your hotness and how generally amazing and brilliant you are, in explicit terms, is a dangerous thing.  I tried to explain that, frankly, the djinni is out of the flask and, thanks to Google and the WayBack, nothing can ever be erased.
I also gently pointed out that he never asked me if it was OK to write half an album about me, and furthermore to actually use my fucking name for one of his songs
and if he was concerned about people making the connection, he well should have considered that first. 
I have also had a preemptive strike levied, where someone with whom I was very briefly involved specifically insisted I not write about our encounter, as it might muddy the waters with someone he was in the process of wooing, and that wasnt OK. THAT situation was cunningly crafted by the very Gods to take me out at the knees, and sucked in several ways. I wish Id had the ovaries at the time to hash that one out, but instead my submissive reflex kicked in, to my detriment, and I just caved to the command.
SO, today, I found myself in a room full of perverts, smiling and laughing and the whole nine yards. Among the people there were several with whom I had played and had various levels of emotional attachment. I thought, wouldn't it be funny to have a scene report recalling .... [insert reference I don't feel like digging up right now] and then fast forward to so many years later, looking around and seeing how all of these interactions, that heat, that fire, that lust and energy are naught but fugitive ghostly memories and ash in my heart...
... it is a very odd sensation to feel like your own life and the means by which you express that to the world is possibly offensive, probably unacceptable, certainly cumbersome, often unwelcome,
whatever
.
Really, the main intent I have, in my life and in my writings, is to illuminate.
To use my own voice, my own light, to refract the gloom of the quotidian into a kaleidoscope of fresh perspective.
I am not sure when speaking my piece, in my way, became such a minefield.
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Cows of Doom
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Nov 10, 2007 7:12 pm
387 Views
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Holy bovine pulchritudinousness, Batman!
Leave it to the fucking Belgians to yet again mess with the natural order of things.
(And don't go hating on me: they know what they did.)
From a Daily Mail story:
"Belgian Blue Beef are famous for their "double muscling" due to a gene that suppresses the production of Myostatin.
Myostatin is a protein that normally inhibits muscle growth after a certain point of development. Pure Belgian Blue
carry two copies of the gene. Scientists have already inhibited the Myostatin Gene in mice and are working on blocking the gene in humans in order to treat muscle wasting diseases."
Bessie's got back.
Er, well. This is obviously a boy cow, or bull...but you get the drift.
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A shout out...
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Nov 10, 2007 6:47 pm
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Much respect and a hearty three cheers for  She Whose Haircolor Shall Not Be Named, for dragging my sorry ass out of the house and feeding me and generally fulfilling Übermensch status today.
There's nothing like a dining room full of assorted perverts to fuel nostalgia, vague sadness and a frisson of "Maybe today is the day the dominant of my daydreams is at the next table, just waiting to sweep me off of my feets!
Well, not today...
But I did have a very very wonderful conversation with a scene person who is also in recovery, and that was inspirational.
I also was invited to a friend's performance on Monday, where they are stretching their own limits by doing solo stage work.
So many people are expanding in so many ways.
I thought about going to tonight's open play party. Several folks I know will be in attendance, and it was fleetingly tempting.
But i am still feeling somewhat emotionally squishly post-trip, and, dammit, I just don't feel like casually playing these days.
Which kind of sucks, because the desire to just have the physicality of playing seems quite capable of surviving my healthier impulses to NOT engage in non-committed play.
Whee!
ANd dammit, the filling on one of my teeth has chipped.
*&^%$!!!
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"As un-american as British Apple Pie" (or) "Back in the US of A"
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Nov 9, 2007 11:19 am
428 Views
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San Francisco had a very misty, foggy, earthy lilt in the air as I got back last night. It had been a long, long day of traveling. While I don't really mind all that much, there is something about airports that truly makes you feel as though you aren't anywhere. Eternity's waiting room.
It seems incredible that it just over 3 weeks ago yesterday that I decided to take a trip to the UK, that 2 weeks ago today, I landed in Gatwick and spent my first day in Lewes. A very lovely town, really.
I am very relieved that my travels, though initially marred by a surreally grueling trip to England, did not continue in that vein.
I have found an excellent collaborator in my friend, and it is a colossal relief to have someone I can trust enough to go with through this writing process. As it turns out, (gasp) is IS OK to want to have someone to write with!
Being emotionally vulnerable is still pretty new to me, and that aspect of spending time in close proximity with someone about whom you cave very much can be a bit of an uncertain game. Thankfully, it is made less of a dangerous issue when communication is as open as it needs to be, yet emotional privacy is lent when needed.
It is a remarkable thing to know that someone can think you are still an OK person even when you are being strange. Or that they don't really think that you are that strange at all, really.
It is also a little disheartening to realize how much you have missed something from your life....simple affection, for example, and how even something as sweet and soothing as curling under a blanket, sipping tea and watching a documentary can make you feel like a whole new person.
I got to go into London a couple of times: once to see a production of Carmen at the Opera, and once to hang out with a friend recently transplanted to London for school.
But oh my holy GODS is it expensive to just go about daily business there! It hardly helped that the exchange rate keeps slipping against the pitiful USD.
I will say that I am now severely addicted to the Mark's & Spencer Shortcrust Bramley Apple Pie.
HOLY FUCK THAT IS A FUCKING ASSKICKING PIE.
I went through quite a bit to bring several of these home with me. One went to my friend who looked in on my cats.
The others are whispering evilly in my fridge.
One just went into the freezer, for later.
I also was totes p0wned by...a biscuit. While down in Brighton having tea with my friend's Mum and stepdad, she broke out the seriously big guns, in the form of a shortbread square covered in caramel and topped with chocolate. This fancy-ass treat was, of all places, from Tesco and was so good I had to maintain my composure from eating them all right there in front of everyone.
But that was OK, because I got a shitload of them to bring back with me. Aha!
SO, here I am.
....now what.....
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Lemon curd is really good on toast.
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Oct 29, 2007 2:48 am
601 Views
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Well, it is morning in Lewes.
Pronounced LEW-IS, like Emmanuel, not LOO-SE, like the Colorado Rockies.
My gods, what was the score of the first game, like 13- ?!?!
Yay Socks!
Anyway!
The trip here was a fucking MESS! Delayed plane, switched gates, crazy connections, drunk whiskey stinking asshole on a packed flight with crying babies....then a sprint and not one but TWO wild electric cart rides across Pittsburgh airport... to just barely make my connection ... TO THE WRONG PLANE.
Yep.
I almost wound up flying to Dublin.
No fucking shit.
Whew.
But I am here now in Lewes, which is a sweet little town. What I have seen if it, which is not much, because most of the past 2 days have been spent in long meandering esoteric and historical discussions of many and varied topics. And lots of cuddling, and even some naughty adult type behaviours.
WHO knew.
I did walk, in the gloaming, drizzlish rainy evening up to this...um ..... ancient chalk pit.
Do not get me wrong, it was fucking lovely.
But woods at night always Blair Witch Project my ass, which is pretty pathetic. Tim was very sweet about it though.
Today we are supposed to go into Brighton, and this evening is Writer's Salon. Um, which consists of me being made to write, which is great! 
I'd had one potential social engagement that did not pan out as I was so massively fucking jet-lagged (a result of not sleeping for about a day and a half AND the time assault) and we did NoT quite fir into my friend's schedule. That and, because of some mysterious issue on their end, they felt comfortable only inviting me over for tea. Which felt kind of weird to me, as I really did;'t want to turn to my host and be all "Right. Bye!" because it just felt odd to me.
The wonderful thing about staying in a home when you travel is that you can feel the deeper rhythms of the place while staying.
The deeper vibrations also include sticker shock when shopping at Tesco.
OH my fucking GODS I am having withdrawal from Pepsi!!!!!
Shit is, I shit you not, over two bucks a can.....WHEN YOU BUY IT AT THE STORE.
I might be exaggerating, but only by a few fucking p.
Man, everything is reeeeeely expensive here. Even if you follow the sage advice: "Avoid the hurt: don't convert!" while making your purchases, it still is like "Hm...that is a bit much ..." then your brain goes "Psst....the exchange rate is
2/1" then you scream in your head, but then it isn't in your head and your friend is gazing bemusedly at you as you rant about the price of soda.
Or something like that.
The sun was out briefly this morning, which is nice, because it has been generally overcast. That which I have been awake to see has been, anyway.
OK! Time to get this day rolling, I suppose.
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Oooo,,,,,the ALT spell-check is topping from the bottom!!
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Oct 23, 2007 5:47 pm
667 Views
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It was giving me a squiggly red line under "submissives"
I thought "GODS! It CANNOT be that word is not in their dictionary!"
But it IS.
However! As a title, it is Capitalized.
*cough*
Let the games begin.
...and don't you dare...DARE...post with any of that stuttery "W/we must agree to disagree!" kind of thing either.
Makes me crazy.
Sheeeeit.
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Passport ... Master Lock ... hot hot October heatness.
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Oct 23, 2007 5:21 pm
635 Views
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Wow is it warm here today! What on earth is going on!
SO, today was the day my passport was to be ready. Fingers crossed, ad not a few people pointed out that it "might not be ready" and "what was I gonna do if it just wasn't there??"
Naysayers, beware.
Today I picked up my passport!!!
IN your FACE, 6-month passport backlog!
Unlike my initial trip to the SF Passport Agency on Friday, where i was faced with...oh perhaps 12-15 other people in the place, today it was jampackcrowded SRO and the guards were turning people away WHO HAD APPOINTMENTS telling them to come back later.
I walked up to window #2, waited about 90 seconds, picked up my passport, and strolled out.
Lewes & London, here I come.
My friend who will be taking care of Biggs and Wedge in my absence is all lined up, and swinging by this evening to get the lowdown 
Tomorrow I have a couple of errands to run, getting things for the cats, exchanging a bit of american cash for pounds sterling, for incidentals while I am there.
I don't have much, but I think it will do fine.
I spent almost 4 hours last night / this morning talking to my Friend on the phone....
Which is silly, as I pointed out, because I'll BE there in less than 3 days. But we are both looking forward to seeing one another. Is it normal to have conversational lulls on the phone and not feel strange about that?
Have you ever noticed that, when you are gearing up to see someone, suddenly you are even MORE communicative than when you have had time apart?
Ah, well.
On the way home I passed an Ace Hardware that had all sorts of funny ideas for costumes you could make with random assorted hardware items.
I was ticked to see the latest Master lock technology is something called the "Street Cuff"
Useful, no doubt, for leaving valuables such as scooters, Submissives or bicycles safe on the sidewalk while you go about your business.
Man....are they TRYING to mess with my head?!?
They already are called "Master" locks.
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Fuck the Berlin wall, Fuck the WTC, fuck that model train too.....
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Oct 22, 2007 8:47 pm
664 Views
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Falling in Love with Things
By Frank Thadeusz
Some people love their laptops more than anything else in the world. Others are sexually aroused by musical instruments or buildings. Experts are trying to understand a bizarre sexual obsession known as objectophilia.
Nov. 9, 1989 was a terrible day for Eija-Riita Eklöf-Mauer. A rampant horde stomped on her husband in Berlin, mauling him with hammers and tearing entire chunks out of his body. "With the emotional bonds, deep love, good memories together with him ... the only way to survive is to 'block' this terrible event," the traumatized Swedish woman wrote on her Web site years later.
On Sept. 11, 2001, Berlin resident Sandy K.'s beloved was publicaly executed on the streets of New York. The scenes and dates of the two crimes may be far apart, but what unites the two women is a strange and obscure obsession.
Back in 1979, Eklöf tied the knot with the Berlin Wall and legally changed her name to mark the occasion ("Mauer" means "Wall" in German). Ever since she was eight years old, Sandy K. was hopelessly in love with New York's Twin Towers. Neither of these two monumental lovers were known for being particularly talkative. Nor did they seem to be blessed with qualities of seduction. But to their admirers, the buildings were male, sexy and extremely desirable.
For 25-year-old Sandy, the attraction to things is so overpowering, she confesses: "When it comes to love, I am only attracted to objects. I couldn't imagine a love affair with a human being."
Her radical renunciation of love between two people didn't turn the young woman into a loner. She gained admission long ago to a circle of like-minded people, all of whom have devoted themselves to the love of things. They call themselves objectophiles or objectum-sexuals. Experts are now faced with the task of interpreting the phenomenon.
The retired professor and former director of Frankfurt University's Institute for Sexual Science, Volkmar Sigusch, is one person who believes he has unraveled the mysteries of objectophilia. He has extensively probed this attraction to objects as part of his research into various forms of modern "neo-sexuality." The sexologist views this inclination as proof of his hypothesis that society is increasingly drifting into asexuality: "More and more people either openly declare or can be seen to live without any intimate or trusting relationship with another person," Sigusch says, adding that cities are populated by an entire army of socially isolated individuals: "Singles, isolated people, cultural sodomites, many perverts and sex addicts."
Not Just Fetishists
"We're by no means just straightforward fetishists," Joachim A. insists, and he immediately explains the difference: "For some people, their car becomes a fetish which they use to put themselves in the limelight. For the objectum-sexual, on the other hand, the car itself -- and nothing else -- is the desired sexual partner, and all sexual fantasies and emotions are focused on it."
Joachim A. has been pretty faithful to his steam locomotive recently.
The 41-year-old recognized and accepted his inclination when he was just 12 years old. It was then that he fell head over heels "into an emotionally and physically very complex and deep relationship, which lasted for years." His partner back then was a Hammond organ -- he has now been in a steady relationship with a steam locomotive for several years. Since he is particularly aroused by the inner workings of technical objects, repair jobs have often led to infidelity in the past. "A love affair could very well begin with a broken radiator," the now monogamous lover says, remembering how his earlier affairs began.
Joachim gradually realized that "you can reveal yourself to an object partner in an intimate way, in a way that you would never reveal yourself to any other person." That includes the desire to "experience sexuality together," he adds.
No Limits to Erotic Experience
True, the outward shape of the lover can pose problems for the consummation of the partnership. But those problems are solved in a highly pragmatic way by most objectum-sexuals: Sandy K. had a model of the Twin Towers manufactured on a scale of 1:1,000. The façade consists of anodized aluminium, just like that of the original -- "so that the model feels true to life." The metal miniature has another tangible advantage: It doesn't rust when Sandy K. takes "a pleasant bath with it."
Apparently there are hardly any limits to the human capacity for erotic experience: "You snuggle together in bed," she explains, "which can be very exciting."
Psychology student Bill Rifka -- who is 35 and in a relationship with an iBook -- admits he has "often flirted with many a sweet laptop on eBay and felt true desire." Like all objectum-sexuals, Rifka also attributes a clear gender to his partner: "To me, my Mac is male. I'm living in a homosexual relationship, so to speak."
Bill Rifka shares his homoerotic inclination for objects with 41-year-old Doro B., who fell for a metal processing machine while at work and "immediately sensed a female presence." The machine has been enticing her with its "sweet hum" ever since. But sometimes it also makes Doro worry: "My sweetie had one of her tantrums and junked her measuring appliance," she noted fearfully in her online journal.
In everyday life, Doro has to limit her displays of affection "to pecking and caresses -- then it's not so bad if someone sees." When she's home and wants "more," she takes out a component or a model of her playmate. But, she adds, "that's not a substitute; it's more like a supplement. That's why it doesn't count as cheating. The model serves as a kind of fax machine that conveys my feelings to my beloved."
Sexologist Sigusch doesn't want to classify such odd behavior as pathological. "The objectophiles aren't hurting anyone. They're not abusing or traumatizing other people," he judges. And then he asks mildly: "Who else can you say that about?"
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Thanks to a Furrie and to ALT.....
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Oct 22, 2007 2:58 pm
625 Views
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....I will have something to slide up the old DMZ!! Such as the e-glass triple pleaser. Shown to your left, ladies, gentlemen and everyone else.
Which, of course, I found for $11.10 LESS on Amazon.
Because I am a fucking bargain hunter.
But hey, it is free! For me
ooo, and I also ordered a Pyrex buttplug.
This ain't yo Mamma's glassware!
Or, perhaps, if your Mamma is supahcool, it IS your Mamma's glassware!!
Overpriced or not, I'd never have bought the damned things myself.
Now, if they'll only explain to me what will happen to the other 6 months of Silver membership that was gobbled away by my upgrade to "Gold"
*swatting at the shiny, shiny gold ball*
Whee!
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To link to this blog (Mollena) use [blog Mollena] in your messages.
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