Sunday, June 29, 2008

Curious...

thepoetryman has left a new comment on your post "My children and grandchildren will remember my tru...":


A chorus of sucked teeth speaks volumes about our love of big wimmin, round hips, soft, yielding flesh, and high, fat butts. This is something I came to appreciate, but not before my socialized love of scrawny bodies cost me the trust of my first love.

Very nice...

My sisters' clear-eyed view of my dark-skinned self scrapes uncomfortably at the amour I wear. Sovereign boundaries are crossed too often for comfort. The cyclic ebb and flow of our lives -- together then apart, together, apart -- feels too much like abandonment. And I'm not brave enough to risk that again.

Speechless...

Hi man who rocks...
Thanks for coming over. I have to go see if you commented on my posts over at The Peace Tree. Is there some way I can be notified when I get comments to my posts over there? I'm just being lazy, of course. I could just start checking on a regular basis.

And...
I'd like to get inside your head for a sec. Can you tell me more about "speechless"?





if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

When I picture The Goddess...

She looks like a phatter, dreadlocksed version of this...unh...without the capitalist, consumerist product placement, of course.

Come to think of it she sort'a looks like me only drag queenlier...so that masculine and feminine energies are in perfect balance. Of course, she fully behaves like a brilliant, bratty, mouthy, tantruming, fierce diva...who's a radical lefty. :)








if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Oh DARN!...



Today I'm feeling cranky.

The bi-curious hottie is no longer a potential anything. I think he went and threw himself in my deep end figuring he'd be able to keep up. He agreed with me about this. He just couldn't swim. But he tried and then ran away for about a week.

sigh...fuck...that really sucks.

His stated desires were completely aligned with mine...at least in chat land and over the phone.

But from what he said when we talked on Friday he freaked his own self out, completely shocked himself by what he had contemplated doing and then couldn't...couldn't...stay.

He said he wanted to keep chatting, though. I said chatting wasn't enough. I wanted what he had so generously offered...his orifices. He would have been Precious to me...a complete rarity.

That really sucks...pun intended. :)

I thanked him for choosing to communicate with me rather than just making himself scarce and then disappearing. hmmm...maybe he'll be able to work it through, find a way to look his wife in the eye and resurface prepared to meet me where I am. No use holding my breath, though.

Dear Goddess,
Now I'd like to meet a nice gay bwoy who doesn't get put off by my parts. He should be cute, sturdy, willing, more perverse than I am (because I want to learn a whole lot more) and unmarried. Please don't send me anymore flirtatious married men. I think I'm over them. They're so...conflicted. They just give me blue ballz. :)





if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

My children and grandchildren will remember my true name(s) and bury me when I am dead...

This was published in I think two places - in a redbone anthology "does your mama know" and the other I think a sistervision anthology "maka: diasporic juks". I was maybe 25 or 26 when I wrote it. Reading it, I realize even then I knew I couldn't stay...

The Words I know,
The Way I Understand

These are the words I know: lesbian, queer, gay, vagina, cunnilingus, church, Wellesley, Pride Day and IWD. Words I have taken (b)lack: Wicca, buller, sodomite, poum-poum, poonani, pussy suckin', hurricane season, Crop Over, ackee (the bajan kind), fishcake, extended and chosen family, Africa, Middle Passage and Barbados, home. There are things I have woven into my life: eating pussy smelling strong of musk and cinnamon, making sweet bread and black cake on holidays, my right arm stiff and sore from wrestling with a full pot of coo-coo, the feel of the word Bajan as it rolls off my tongue, the sound of the name Wicca when she calls out to my soul.

I am coming out in/to realization of mySELF. I came out lacking knowledge. I was maybe 23 (wrong, wrong, wrong...I was 21...was I drinking when I wrote this or just being forgetful?) years old. There was more history in me than I allowed myself to see. There were more people holding up my insides than I could admit.

Touching, kissing, fucking her, I was gathered up into the arms of our mothers. We licked and finger-fucked, comin' ecstatically into a no-man's land of unspoken desires. I found the spot, the wet fertile place between our clits, our culture and our past. I came home for the first time.

Her fingers filled me up. Filled me with lost pieces of my past. I remember...

The first night we lay in bed, where I had placed myself hoping she would fuck my brains out. For six hours we talked, giggled and shared, not touching, on extreme opposite sides of her futon. Two Black Bajan Wiccas choking on our shyness, unable to cross the chasm between need and passion realized.

Me: "You know my uncle (omit name...I was so naive...so hopeful when I wrote this piece) the barber?"
Her: "Your father is (omit name) the barber's brother? He used to cut my father's hair years ago. Everybody knows (omit name)."
Me: I don't. I remember him from the last time I went to Barbados. I have a picture of him, though.

This was a beginning for us, but especially for me. I was becoming...

She doesn't make me fried flying fish with enough pepper to make my eyes run water anymore. When you're both striving to be the other person's mother-lover-sister-healer-protector, the closeness becomes too much.

I still crave the sight and sound of my sistren gathered in love and struggle, though. in my mind's eye, there's a place where we're all talkin' at once. There's life saving variety here. Differences of fashion, food, taste, and sexual practice are honoured, not reviled. We get more excited. Our eyes brighten.

And the laughter?

Our laughter combined breaks all sound barriers. It does a two-step on top of our pain and the funky chicken on our internalized hatred of ourselves. Our words become a sweet cacophany of creative self-expression. In the fiery glare of our emerging spirits we are continually burnt to a crisp and remade with hope.

We are West Indian lesbians of African descent, and when we come home, culture, joy, and pain seep out through our pores like sweat.

Around them and sometimes in my writing I use my own hybrid chat -- a shaky mixture of Barbadian, Jamaican patois learned from the kids I grew up with, urban Black folk talk, whiter-than-white Canadian speak. One of them says I'm looking maga and asks if I'm loosing weight. A chorus of sucked teeth speaks volumes about our love of big wimmin, round hips, soft, yielding flesh, and high, fat butts. This is something I came to appreciate, but not before my socialized love of scrawny bodies cost me the trust of my first love.

They cradle me in a familiar intensity of emotion. Understanding my words and the untongued spaces, too. There's loudness and exuberance here but none of the accusations I often hear from wimmin of color or in white spaces about violent, Black, West Indian wimmin who are too rude, intimidatingk, and unsubtle to be tolerated. I don't have to hold back. I can breathe deeply, taking in the smell of sweaty armpits, just fucked pussy, and freshly oiled hair. I hold tight onto flesh and feel strong forearms wrapped 'round me. Their soft, thick lips brush my cheeks in greeting. I'm alive as I can only be with them.

i fear this.

Or more correctly, I fear the temporariness of it. Fear the times when we are together because this inevitably leads me to the times when we are not. Forces me to acknowledge the fact of being on my own, without someone to guard my back when I stand trembling with just the memory of our togetherness to get me through the night.

I live a half life where I feel unwhole, only half a woman, part queer, only a little Caribbean and slighty African when I'm not with them.

The courage of vulnerability is needed for me to form links with them and our herstory. Away from the context they provide, thoughts are hard to form and my mouth has trouble shaping the words we usually share. I feel that loss every time we say goodbye, every time a relationship or friendship ends.

Taking my place among them is about opening up. About letting them flow deep inside me, allowing them to stroke and savour the places where my soul is stored. Long buried, precious memories of my grandmother's house in Barbados rise from that place. So many wimmin -- my grandmother, mother, sister, aunts, and others -- taught me most of what I know. Not since the age of 8, since I left Barbados, left all that behind, have I felt so understood and so exposed.

So often I find myself searching for insubstantial glimmerings of wimmin from my past in the curves of Black lesbians I know now. This one has my sister's big, sad eyes. That one standing tall reminds me of my aunts in their youth. Tears of remembrance and the shrill laughter of childhood mingle and cavort near the surface of my will.

I fear and admire the ways the adult and the child in me are reflected in their gaze. Am I home yet? Can I rest now? I need to. But I struggle with this unfamiliar intimacy. It's been so long. And I don't want to get accustomed to something that may not be in my life tomorrow. I've mourned the loss of family forever. Whether I'm talking about chosen, extended or biological family, grief and loneliness are never far away.

My sisters' clear-eyed view of my dark-skinned self scrapes uncomfortably at the amour I wear. Sovereign boundaries are crossed too often for comfort. The cyclic ebb and flow of our lives -- together then apart, together, apart -- feels too much like abandonment. And I'm not brave enough to risk that again.

The cynic in me can't open herself to love unquestioningly anymore. Instead I seek the consistency and stability of solitude. Caught up in the grip of self-imposed isolation, I wonder, will I continuje to remember who I am? Who will comb my hair and massage out muscles knotted tight with unexpressed emotion? Who will speak my true name and bury me when I am dead?






if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Friday, June 27, 2008

So, he realized there were things related to my views and beliefs that he didn't understand...

thepoetryman has left a new comment on your post "My bi-curious super shy and guilty married man...":

Have fun, my dearest dark daughta. Have your way. It would appear from the emails you posted that he may not yet have a grasp of your background and herstory...In time.
Dearest Poetry Man,
I'm having strange fun as I attempt to have it my way. But its proving harder than I thought it would be. Men are really high maintenance. :)

In any case...
After you pointed out that he might not be fully aware of what exactly it is I'm coming with, my potential started asking more pointed, sticky, hot button questions. I won't publish his end of the conversation here as it isn't necessary in this particular case. But needless to say, he did attempt to engage me in discussion.

From what he wrote I think he was curious about me trying to get all penis and vagina on a queer high holy day. And about me thinking that something is severely off about Pride. Then he wanted to talk about societal advancements as related to sexuality and race.

On my end I fully saw the possibility of my date walking right out the door and I was like: "na-AH! No fucking way am I going to loose what could be potentially a really good romp over a pointless debate about stuff I'm so annoyed and broken hearted over that I can't even get along well with the vast majority of the lefties I encounter. Nope. That's not happening."

This is what I wrote him:

Oh fuck, (his name). :)

I was hoping that we'd at least be able to have one (hopefully hot) date before you realized that there were some questions that you might want to ask that moved beyond my kink. :)

Darn.

You sure you don't just wanna stick with whether we're compatible sexually, pervert to pervert and just leave the political/ social/ historical/ herstorical dynamics out of it? Hee, hee? (chuckle... shiver... wry smile...).
Then he responded with a solution that would work a conversation about my political into our play. He thought it might be hot.

I wrote back:

(Well...I've deleted some of what I wrote him because it feels more vulnerable (not with him) but with...other people...than I'm willing to be right now...yes, even I have tender places I don't always want to expose in full view)

it start here...
sigh...

My difficulty is that when I have political conversations with lovers or potential lovers I don't usually end up being the one who is rankled, discomfitted or confused. I'm a wordsmith. Maybe I should have been a lawyer. When I talk left politics something happens for most people that might be thought of in terms of their worlds cracking open and their tender insides oozing out.

Some people...appreciate the experience.

Some are enraged.

Some are horribly frightened.

Some are visibly rendered uncomfortable in their own skins.

No one ever keeps being turned on. They usually either want to keep having conversation in the hopes that they will be able to rebuild what's left of their world view by debating with me.

It doesn't work.

Or they just want to get away as fast as they can.

(his name),You and I shouldn't talk politics.

It won't lead to hot sex. It will probably lead to you having a severe aversion to me...regardless of how pretty my face is or how well I can suck your cock or how insatiable I am.

I'd prefer to explore sexual attraction with you.
I'd like to see if we can go on some dates and enjoy each other's company. I'd like to see if I would enjoy being skin-to-skin with you.

Discussing politics will not help me get there.

Will you humour me and work with me to get to my intended happy place?
Then he wrote back laughing and we got down to negotiating what we'd like to see happen when we finally meet up.








if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

A bit of beauty in and of itself, enh...?

thepoetryman has left a new comment on your post "Poetry Man, I'm here...":

Well that's, your reply, a bit of beauty in and of itself.

The fact that you are smiling means that my mission, at least that day's
mission, has been (was) accomplished. If there is one thing I enjoy more than anything on this godforsaken orb it is bringing a smile to the faces of those I know, don't know, will know, barely know, or even those that I just pass on the sidewalk. I am not sure why that my main focus, seriously, is to do my best to make people crack a grin, or giggle, or flip their head back and roar with laughter. Not sure what happened to me in my life that causes me to, with nearly every occasion, be it sad or happy or tepid, aim for the down turned lips and raise them up?


In any case you smiled (are smiling) and it wasn't even on my agenda,
per se.


You are glad I'm (t)here in whatever form I feel most comfortable. I am
glad you feel this way, although I am not shy, or insecure, or afraid in any way shape or form about photos of myself, I just feel they are not the nub, the gist, the blood-red core... They are ghosts, essentially. The white sheets tossed over our shells... minus the hoods, the crosses, and the idiocy of certain white-sheet-asses. (Sorry. Just thought I'd clarify, in case there are any lurkers out there looking for a racist welcome-mat:>)


But I digress...

By the way, you might try sucking on an ice cube to alleviate the
flushed cheeks.


I do not believe I have ever been considered, deemed, or thought of as
anyone's muse before. It doesn't make me uncomfortable in the least. I happily accept the position.


I have never heard of a "monogamous muse". I don't think it matters if
your muse is married, single, monogamous, kinky, etc...


They, muses, are not in the same plane of existence as our wrinkled
flesh. They can morph into anything "they" desire while riding on the hands of poets, writers, painters, musicians, etc. I haven't the faintest idea how to write a "monogamous" poem or play or what have you. I don't believe they exist in that form or at least are not meant to exist monogamously.


"Monogamy' just might be the antithesis of "poetry", "art"...?

thepoetryman

:)
My flushed cheeks are delicious, Poetry Man. They are self replicating in that the more they flood with hot blood, the more I want that feeling and the more I desire the feeling, the more I will do to ensure that it remains part of my life.

My hot cheeks...

They are evidence of me being alive. You can talk about them or even blog about them but I will not be deprived of my hot cheeks. :)

Monogamous muse?
I would have to agree with you there, in that monogamy is so feet firmly planted in the clay that it, in and of itself can't serve art in any form. Art being something that soars and dips and soars again.

And as for photos. I understand that you're not uncomfortable with the idea of showing me a photo. I get what you mean about them being pale ghosts of who a person actually is. I think that photos, no matter how hard we try, still end up being completely self conscious posings that very rarely convey anything of who a person actually is.




if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Stand...all else matters little...

Loving Pecola has left a new comment on your post "Loving Pecola...":


Thank you so much. It's so perfect. I'm digging at my place, working on
part two...
LP

Loving Pecola, I lost what I wrote here. I'm going to try and reconstruct it from memory.

I mistyped your name and put Living Pecola instead of Loving Pecola. That was actually perfect because what I actually wish for you is for you to live unfettered by the constraints that are imposed on Black wimmin by parents, family, community and by the white patriarchal heterocentric evil ass world.

Living Pecola, I won't catch you as you emerge...suspend you upside down by your two feet and smack your butt while you scream and come to full cognicance of this place we inhabit. But I can massage you gently and dream you.
I'm dreaming...you...alive...
I dream unbridled personal power deep and dark for you, Living Pecola.
I dream unsilenced wordings resounding mighty and sure, Living Pecola.
I dream courageous presence that makes the earth under your feet rumble, Living Pecola.

I dream a sentinel with massive brass balls which she will need to use on a regular basis to take on the systems of domination that directly impact the stats she studies and the percentages that leave her in tears mindless with rage.

I dream a guardian who realizes that protecting the path between that place and this one takes fierce stuff. In my dream she protects not just biology and flesh but also a profound hope for change which she fosters against all cost, braving punishment. She does not follow trends that increase silence in her profession. She does not follow those who pen far too many of their own prescriptions, self medicating and offering to medicate her, as well. (big impatient shout out to all my favourite medwives...the ones who decided that they could have a conversation in blogland about racde that eliminated space for this blogging Black conscious radical lefty mama...I understand what y'all did...good on yuh!) The Living onw I'm dreaming one models transformative behaviours and, muscles corded, neck bulging, changes a diseased birthing tide by the power of her intelligent will made manifest.

Living Pecola...
Living Pecola...
Will you share this dream with me? Will you hear my voice as familiar and safe, the voice of a Middle Passage sib who gets where you're coming from even as I don't share, can't share, would shrivel up and just plain die if I shared your conclusions?

I dunno if you can. But the dream is spectacularly vivid and useful, nonetheless. :)

Living Pecola...
I'm like a broken record, I know. Just keep on saying and writing and blogging the same thing:
Stand...speak...write...blog out loud...I can't really say much else. I hope the conversation you're having on your blog is going well and that it is helping you make the kinds of choices you decide you need to. I haven't been by.

For one thing I'm having much fun chit chatting with strange heterosexual men and flirting via my blog. I feel as if I'm peeling back another layer of...me. I keep remembering you asking me about what my desires looked like when I was pregnant. Remember I wrote that you couldn't handle the truth, my truth. LP, have you been following the posts I've been writing where I outline in mercilessly clear detail, what my desires look like? Just take those and amp them up a few degrees to account for the added hormones. :) My pregnant brain was filled with stuff that would unkink your naps. :) Papi know it all. I've only written about the tip of the iceberg, here.

But the other piece is that I know I've made a choice to not participate in the conversation over at your blog. I understand that many wimmin are struggling under various forms of oppression that silence them. They/we are taught to not speak openly. They/we are taught that to do so is unacceptable. They/we are taught to blame ourselves and our tongues if we do not choose to shut up, shut ourselves down, shut our spirits in tiny rooms...caged for the good of the familykl for the good of the community, for the good of the struggle, for the good of the world.

There is no greater good that should demand my silence. I will not give it. I will not do it. Fuck it. Fuck anyone who demands or expects silence from me.

sigh...
And so...
The conversation, your conversation isn't mine as I don't have difficulty speaking or writing or blogging my truths. You're right when you point out that we're at different points in my life. Although Stinkapee does need me to safeguard her right to explore. You are an adult...a young/er adult...but an adult, nonetheless.

There are choices to be made. Perhaps you've already made your choices and need to get comfortable with the difficult nature of what you've chosen which perhaps runs counter to who you believe yourself to be.

We may make very different choices and come from different Middle Passage realities, but please feel free to take whatever you need from here and use it to support yourself as best as you can...just credit me if it's in a professional context. I really hate it when academics, activists, facilitators and other community based professional types chew off bits of what I openly share but don't credit me in the ways they would credit/footnote/index someone constructed as "professional".

And thanks for coming and attempting to engage where you can in the ways you can.






if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

I remember myself and walk with memory of my own name...



Pride is coming.
My potential date is going out of town. So it seems as if I won't be irreverently gazing into the eys of any straight men this weekend...so far. :)

He wrote this morning and invited me out to a long dinner next week, I think it is. He asked why I would be trying to set up a date with a straight man on a queer high holy weekend?

I said because I'm an orthodox queer who hates the gentrification and sanitization of what was once a powerful expression of political and social change. Can't just show up and pretend that it hasn't become an abomination.

sigh...
I don't live in this city. Don't occupy space in that community...anymore.
Clearly...
I inhabit myself fully.
Clearly...
I live with spirit and walk with a consciousness of who I am.

The roar of gathered crowds means little in the face of my ability to validate mySELF.
I am finding and experiencing pleasures that cannot be found in the bottom of a plastic cup in a beer garden as ex-friends, ex-lovers, ex-allies circle.

I am developing an understanding of who I have been that bids me remember all the warrior/thinker/lyricsmith/lover/ally/wimmin I have ever been even as I trek onwards and outwards...inexorably away...


if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Monday, June 23, 2008

My bi-curious super shy and guilty married man...

I've been away for a bit. My weekend started with another frantic, kinetic series of chatting with the bi-curious hottie who, it seemed, finally wanted to come in from out of the cold...he wanted to meet.
I was like - "Kewl." I made arrangements with Papi who was really excited for me that I was going to have another date.
But then negotiations with the date himself became heated.
See...
I wouldn't come out of my 'hood and he seemed attached to his.
Finally he agreed to drive across town to somewhere nearer to me, more familiar to me.
He wanted to have a float.
I was like - "You mean a soda with ice cream on top?" He was like - "No. Like a massive tub filled with room temperature water and hundreds of pounds of epsom salts."
I advocated for meeting WITH OUR CLOTHES ON and talking before we got naked and floaty. He insisted that we meet, get naked and get in the tub.
Curious, I agreed.
So we met and filled out paper work at this new agey place downtown. We went through an orientation with this woman who had the most massive (and fascinating) canines I've ever seen. When she finally left I stepped close to him right up in his energy...He...energetically withdrew completely...shy, guilty, uncertain, fearful...sad...sigh...I was disappointed...but still...
We played a little...or I should say I played with the part of his anatomy that seemed most happy to see me. :)
I asked him whether he had run any simulations...of what could possibly happen, of how he could end up feeling. He said no, that he preferred to be spontaneous. I said that I run multiple simulations for everything I even think about doing. That way I can look from all possible angles and make my choices based on what I see. I find this allows me to step fully into whatever it is I want to do and not have any regrets or ugly emotional meltdown/surprises. He reiterated that he preferred to be spontaneous...while he emitted completely uncomfortable, slightly frightened energy, seeming as if he would scream or cry if I went too far. That was...difficult to experience.
Most of the time he was visibly and energetically uncomfortable. I felt frustrated and horny. We talked about guilt and floated...
By the time we parted...him to go get in his car and me to walk and think and shake the wierdness out, the disconnect was complete.
This morning I messaged him to check in and to see if he was feeling any better and at all able to describe and discuss what happened. He wrote a lot and showed more of himself...his thoughts and feelings about his breaking his contract with his wife.
Papi read over my shoulder and the two of us talked real time.
Now instead of chatting nastiness and making plans to violate parts of each other's bodies Mr. Bi-curious and me are processing his guilt laden non-presence...
Seems he wants to try again. But I'm not interested in a replay of our first date. It wasn't fun. Too wierd. But I told Ophelia and Papi about the tub. I think Papi wants to go with me. I wouldn't go alone. I'm scared of the dark. :)
In any case, I've taken the reigns of the engagement with Mr. Bi-curious and we're talking about guilt and building trust and dealing openly with fear and developing communication...about who we are and what happened for him and what happened for me...
We're gonna talk over the phone tomorrow and...well, I've got a date in the works with this one...

In the beginning...he stroked my ego. I checked out his profile and took the bait...

=====he wrote=====

I confess that I was browsing and, shallow-me, I checked you out because I liked your picAnd then I saw about deviancy and wondered what deviations divert you.And then I saw the bit about fucking long and hard and thought... wow... it would be awesome to see that pretty face all lost in a long, extreme orgasm.So... what's your kink?

=====darkdaughta wrote=====

Thanks for the greeting. Not quite sure how to respond. I've been interested in kink (my own and other people's) for quite some time now. My field of interests are always expanding. I'll try pretty much anything at least once. But, right now I'm acclimatizing myself to the world of internet dating and hook-ups. Strange beastie fer sure. ;). Hmmm...I'm not sure I wrote about fucking long and hard. My pretty face lost in a long extreme orgasm? I look forward to sharing that in the very near future, too. :)

=====he wrote=====

You certainly are beautiful - no matter what expression is currently showing on your face. I am curious what kinks you've enjoyed so far and what you are really interested in exploring.

=====darkdaughta wrote=====

Hmmm...It seems that according to our stats, you're my best match so far. What to make of that? My kinks are numerous. But under it all I am still flesh, human, emotion, spirit. Could you tell me a bit about yourself...and your kinks?

=====he wrote=====

I guess one of us has to start.Up front - I'm very happily single, I've never been married and I don't plan on getting married. That's mostly because I enjoy living an honest life and marriage is founded on monogamy and I'm enamored with variety. That matters to some people and I wouldn't want anyone to say I tricked them or something.Let's start with attitudes as opposed to pure kinkiness. I like to be in control, with a submissive partner. That doesn't mean severe pain (I don't get off on using tools to cause pain but a bare-hand spanking might be appropriate). It does mean that I want to control how my partner's excitement builds, I want to set the pace, and that I get off on bringing her right to the edge of a heart-stopping cum - and then holding her there until *I* am ready to let her finish.Physically, I like someone who can handle a little roughness when that's appropriate. Nothing to leave marks, scars or emotional trauma but there might be some use of lips, fingers, teeth, etc.I'll spare you the physical details for the moment, until I hear back on how you think of this. And, since I started, I'd also like to know if you enjoy a little roleplay and: 1) what's your favourite role; and 2) what would you like to try - or maybe not even really try but you'd like to fantasize about it?

=====darkdaughta wrote=====

Hmmm...I've never submitted to a man...a white man. I've played with wimmin and with a (Black) queer man.I'm married and polyamorous.I've never done what you've described in terms of being suspended in a particular moment and not allowed to continue on to full fruition. Sounds...fascinating.Roughness is something I understand and appreciate...roughness of course different than abuse, emotional torment or trauma.I haven't done much role play. It's not a comfort place with me...I'll have to think about how my mind works in terms of fantasy and play...processing...

=====he wrote=====
Processing is a good start :)I've often been told that I'm poly without really paying much mind to what that implies. I certainly love the freedom to be with whatever partner I am interested in appreciating, but I'm not sure that it's exactly what people mean by poly.So... would skin colour change the "flavour" of the game? You say you've never submitted, but have you fucked? Being your first has some interesting appealOne last question - how do you feel about being tied up?

=====darkdaughta wrote=====

Yeah...I think for me poly has been about having the freedom to choose with responsibility and accountability built in...with basic needs/requirements clearly stated, agreements mutually built. I haven't always gotten that. I think I let other people who may not have been as stringent as me define the rules of the road. At this point I'm fairly clear about what I'm seeking and not afraid to ask for it or expect it. Communication is so key...as it is in any sort of play people engage in.Have I ever fucked a white man. Yeah. So you won't be the first. :) I just haven't submitted. Tied up? That's a trust thing. Not something I'd okay without either playing in an event setting where people would see what was going on or where the restraint happened after us knowing each other for quite some time.And yes race changes everything...sadly usually not for the better...just different sets of challenges...different issues...

=====he wrote=====

Lots of differences but lots of those are good ones. Different pacing, different flavour, etc.Tying is always about trust. I'd run from anyone who asks me to tie them on a first date - I've actually walked away but you know what I mean :) Never roleplay with a dom who doesn't insist on safewords and quick-release anythings. Even ropes can be worked out if you know what you're doing.Don't get me wrong - I'm not a lifestyle dom or some super-intense freak. I don't think I'm super intense about anything in life - I want to enjoy myself and that changes from time to timeCan I ask about your own fantasies, kinks, preferences, etc.?

=====darkdaughta wrote=====

Yes, trust is key...has always been for me. It grows in importance as I grow in understanding of the world around me.Hmmmm...Differences are wonderful. I'm developing quite a taste for them...sampling here and there...tasting and testing...I had a top when I was much younger who wasn't really...sane or safe. (wry smile) I learned a lot from her but I also walked away deeply wounded. That was ten years ago. Yet there's a disconnect between what I desire and what I will do. I am not a shrinking violet. I'm not someone who requests particular scenes or acts and then cries foul afterwards. I am forthright and stand by what I request....it's just that part of what I really would like at this particular point is a top who listens, who has boundaries, who respects boundaries, who respects my power and my clarity, but who also respects the spaces where I am uncertain, don't know or am scared.The person would need to be a nurturer, understand how to take care in moments when I am completely vulnerable and torn open in a scene, they would have to know me well enough to know when to push harder and when to just back off and let things rest. They would have to be emotionally intelligent, but also just plain intelligent. They would need to be brave.You asked about my kinks. But the reality is my internal road map is rewriting itself as I type. There is so much I'm not sure about having just come out of a really intense childbearing and rearing period.Did I mention I have two children, one of whom is still breastfeeding, both of whom still sleep with me?My body is different than it was before I birthed children. I'm not sure where my pain tolerance is. Before it was pretty high. I've been spanked, flogged, fucked really, really roughly vaginally and anally. :)My breasts are different. They've been used by children. They haven't been used, really punished by a lover in quite some time. I'm not sure what that will be like.So, you ask questions about my kink and all I can really offer is that I'm fucking kinky as all hell. I'm completely perverse. Pretty much nothing makes me balk. I like the smell of leather and sweat combined. I like to have my breath restrained while fucking. I like to have my flesh marked...have a fascination for knives, scarification...haven't played with either...I like tattoos and have two. I like piercing but I don't have enough of those by any means...I've attended fetish nights, play parties, orgies, hosted orgies. I hope to do all of this again.If I was to consider playing with someone I'd like it to be someone who I was developing an ongoing connection with who I could say I trusted because I had spent time getting to know them.I'd like to get to know fellow kinks and develop ties with them that will allow me space to play, but also to make friends, form loverships...Thanks for being so persistent. Your questions helped me get clearer.

=====he wrote=====

I guess I'm just happy to help :)I didn't know you had children. It's hard to do much in the lifestyle, particularly if you're sensitive to different touch. You clearly have the experience to understand that.As for being a top, I don't really fit the model most people have. I don't get off on pain - it's control for me.

=====darkdaughta wrote=====

Hmmm...You wrote very little. Curious.sigh...I get off on exploring my limits...or trying to find out if I still have any, in any case...I have both children and an extremely supportive primary partner(husband).I have been much more immersed in the lifestyle at different points. But as I wrote earlier, it was in wimmin's community and more generally in queer community.I think having getting pregnant was a real eye opener in that it got me really clear really fast about the extent the state could involve itself in my life if I so chose.But being deviant sexually has always brought the spector of possible punishment and usually not from the government, but instead from everyday people who have nothing better to do with their time than to try and fuck up my play plans.In any case, one of the reasons I set up shop here on (name of dating site) is because I wanted to reconnect with more of who I am as a deviant.Control is of massive importance to me. Bottoming is about mindfully, intentionally, safely, sanely giving that up in a situation where there is a beginning, middle and end.But all of this may be a moot point really. Is it?

=====he wrote =====

If you're open to advice, I'd start by being very careful of the word "deviant". It's perjorative, whether you think of it that way or not. Sadly, people judge other people.I'm very happy to be single. I've never been married and I don't expect I'll ever get married. To me, marriage revolves around the notion of monogamy and I don't think I can even imagine being happy without having some variety in my life.And, finally, as to the mootness of the point ... that's as much up to you as it is to me. You have a pretty face. You've shown a very attractive personality. And you are clearly open minded and interested in things I enjoy or would like to explore for myself. Hopefully, there's some of the same in the other direction and then it's just a matter of your bonds to your nuclear family, and your own journey.

=====darkdaughta wrote=====

Hmmm...We're still in the "getting to know you" phase of interaction. I'm glad for it, but also frustrated in that there is much about me you won't be clear about in part because your answers have centered around the nature of my kink rather than who I am as a whole person. As a result, there is much about me that you may see and attempt to read that you will be really off base about. I am a difficult one even for those who know me and love me to read and understand. This defines most of my life, how I present, how I fuck, how I rear children, the kind of partner I am to my primary...all of it.The reasons for my having chosen to sign the business documents also known as marriage papers are numerous and link directly to who I've chosen to be in the world. I get what you're saying about your reasons for not having married. I, sadly, have not always had that much space to manouver. So, my choices have been...creative to say the least.I don't live in a nuclear family unless you count my (I'll leave this bit of info off the blog as it involves something really supportive that Ophelia did for us a while back which completely illustrates how out Papi and I are about doing Poly, but which might cause Ophelia some anxiety...)...not if you would count having lived with four other queer wimmin and my primary in a beach house and us having all contributed to the raising of my daughter while numerous and I mean numerous loverships that included my primary and I happened among all of us.We seem fairly nuclear on the surface. But, I digress...sigh...I come out of a community, queer community where I happily called myself "dyke", where men referred to themselves proudly as "fags", where people whose sexualness cut against the oppressive, vanilla sexing, monogamous, heterocentric grain of the society consciously referred to themselves as "bent", "perverse" and/or "deviant". I communicate with you from that place which is where I lived for many years.I understand that you engage with me from deep within your own experience. Granted.Rather than continuing with emails (which I've heartily appreciated because they have made me clear about more than a couple of things related to my sexualness and to my journey as a human being...) I would like to propose that we actually consider meeting over a coffee or a drink to see where engaging in person will take us...(shrug) Maybe we'll meet up and it will be a definite "No" on both sides. Maybe we'll meet up and make each other laugh and realize we might be able to make friends. Maybe we'll set eyes on each other and there will be enough heat for a few hours or a night. Maybe we'll set eyes on each other and decide on something that might unfold/work/deepen into enough trust to fully play in the ways we'd both like...over time.I'm not sure. I never am. Never have been about how this is supposed to work.I'm up for at least a look-see. Are you?

=====he wrote=====

The writer in me is always happy to exchange email but meeting face to face is even better. I can even promise that I'd behave :)I'm off on business next week (*leaving Saturday*) so maybe the last week of the month?And I know I am only seeing one tiny core-sample of your total being. My nature is to go into things deeply which means that I miss out on breadth initially. You have the most complex background and history of anyone I know, and more life experience than most.

There have been more emails since. But, I still don't think he realizes how complex my background and herstory is...yet. But in any case the emailings have continued from there. It seems that we'll be doing something this weekend.





if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Poetry Man, I'm here...

thepoetryman has left a new comment on your post "Fuck! Shit! Damn! Pissy! Rattid! Hell!...":

Oh my...

Dear Dark Sista/Daughta,

I understood your question. I understand your question(s). I will
continue to understand your questions.


I have a tendency to imagine everyone I speak with, in situations such
as this, to be of the same mindset as myself.


I love words. I love the emotions they can elicit. I love the way they
roll off the tongue, mine and others. I love the way they fall face down or face up on the page.


I find your voice to be one of powerful nuance and at the same time one
of smack-dab in the face. You hold nothing back. That is a trait that should be cherished and one that we could all use a bit more of. Many say they do not hold anything back, but they are not being honest with themselves or those around them. You are not one of those, and that is as refreshing as it is alarming.


Alarming in the sense that you are unpredictable, which is the very same
thing that I find so refreshing. A lethal mix, an IED of emotions, a nuclear reaction, a spring-loaded razor.


Yes. We, my wife and I, are monogamous.

I am flirtatious and I work with words to bring my intent to its most
raw form. I do not use words to manipulate, at least not intentionally. I do not manipulate words to destroy or gain advantage. I simply use them with the understanding that they are words, nothing more. Yes. They can easily become more, but only through “not knowing” do they become such.


I say that “words are just words, nothing more”, but that relies on the
reader’s understanding of such.


“Only words”…Well, that is very limiting when it comes to the web, for
besides pictures, moving or otherwise, words are the form of communication that hold the most sway, carry the most weight, bear the burden, tether the limbs, hone the blade of meaning. We have libraries full of them!


I am full-bore, absolute when it comes to this kind of truth. I do not
hold back clarification. I lay it out for all to see.


I may be monogamous, but I am still human, flesh, heart, mind, thinking. I am happy, in most respects. I am bi-polar due to a head injury among other things.

I am fun-loving, dreaming, nightmarish, squandering, living, laughing,
crying, giggling, coy, audacious, free, enslaved, mindful, spontaneous, rage filled, peaceful, married, father, dad, uncle, grandfather, fighter, pacifist, cynic, open-minded, foot loose, fancy free, poet, hack, writer, hack, hopeful, drained, full, sporadic, up, down, in between, strange, normal, masculine, feminine, animal, running, walking, shrieking, wailing, hushed, percolating, tepid, steamy, watery, heavy, light, thief, murderer, rapist, liar, lover, giver, taker, wanting, needy, satisfied, crazed, lazy, hard-working, deliberate, sexual, deviant, mysterious, open, naked, clothed, small, large, little, big, squeamish, brave, cowardly, rueful, rosy, rambunctious, tired, desolate, thoughtful, meat eater, vegetarian, winner, loser, right, left, center, green, pink, purple, ungodly, spiritual, angelic, devilish, rude, kind, humanist, animalistic, child-like, ancient, cuddly, stand-offish, classy, classless, rich, poor, dead, alive…free, enslaved, free...and I love peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches.


If anyone needs to know anything more about me they should reread, and perhaps rethink, the above.

Dark Daughta/Sista,Although you will not be receiving a picture of me,
Naked or otherwise, and we will not engage in grand sexually explicit exchanges with one another, I can say without one scraggly nth of a fly’s leg of hesitation that you are one of a kind and a breath of fresh air and a person that I am absolutely glad that I have had the chance to get to know. I rarely, if ever, reply to anyone on the web with anything more than a few tidbits of info regarding myself. I feel safe with you, and knowing that you will post this, hopeful that you will, is perhaps my thinking. You are my conduit, safe passage…isn’t it strange that an audacious, crazed, intense person such as yourself has been able to elicit more from me than all the other bloggers combined? No. Not strange- you and I are very much alike. You and I may well have been cleaved from the same genetic-soul.


Now sidle your sexy self next to peace and weave your magic,

thepoetryman

Oh Poetry Man...
When I first read this it felt like a big bear hug. It still does. Peanut butter fanatic that I am, I'm been rolling your sticky, weighty, thick, flavourful words around in my mouth for a few days now. I've talked to Papi about them and to Ophelia, too. I told her that you called me a "thing of audacious beauty". I'm still liking that. ;)

hmmm...

I don't think I've ever been let down so gently by someone, even in a moment where a simple "No" would suffice, is still willing and able to bring intelligence, emotion, knowledge, heart to bear. I feel very well nurtured and taken care of. :)

hmmm...

I've been trying to find a way to categorize who you are in relation to me, who I'd like you to be, who you can be....

Then I struggle with the fact that "you" are not actually t/here...

You are actually words on my screen...not flesh/man...more words/man...poetry/man...
All what you described up above which I read with much interest, happy to read human contradiction you could not just claim but also name...
I understand that you are probably this and much more, too...

I roamed with what you wrote...
Around the city
In and out of bed
Cooking...cooking...cooking...
Spicing my food...
Turning the heat up under it..
Stirring it and watching it boil...

I thought finally about where this particular conversation started...
With me describing some of the less appealing or downright boring interactions I'd had with men I'd been meeting. I blogged about dispatching a few...not with a razor...but as kindly as I could given that they were wasting my precious time. :)

You stepped into my fray, Poetry Man. :)
And I was like: "Hunh? Is he stepping to me? What does that mean? Why is he doing that? Is he fer real? Or is he just passing some time playing on a rainy afternoon?"

And so...
I asked myself questions about how I was feeling about this seeming development. Then when I realized that I was open to seeing what it all meant, I started asking you questions.

:)
Oh, I completely understood what you meant when you described yourself as "happy". Hee, hee, hee!

It's just that I don't like ambiguity. Much more prefer to have shaded bits teased out into the light. The flirt was wonderful. My cheeks are still hot. My grin is still large. But because I have so much leeway to act, react and respond as I see fit, I knew that I had to make sure that I was clear about what you were actually doing...and that you were clear about it, too. I wanted you to be able to articulate what your space to manouver looked like in blogland and/or in real time, for that matter. I also wanted you to be literal, forthright and open about your intentions.

I think this is really what I've been requesting from the men I've been coming into contact with who actually are interested in sending me smutty mail, cute photos and dirty little videos of themselves. :) I don't send nude pictures to them. But I have directed a few of them here to my blog where I guess if they were/are interested in digging, they'd find some nude photos that might be considered titillating...by someone somewhere. :)

I prefer words to nudity in any case. This is part of what has consistently warmed me about our interactions, Poetry Man. I appreciate the interplay, the mingling, the passionate literariness of what you bring when you draw close.

All this to say...
I am glad you're here in whatever form you feel most comfortable.

Reading you still makes my cheeks hot. :)

Does being one of my Muses (okay, that's a lie...you'd be my only one, right now...) make you uncomfortable?

Is serving as Muse okay in the context where the Muse is monogamously married?

Awaiting more words committed to screen and blogverse, as usual,

darkdaughta














if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Loving Pecola...

Loving Pecola has left a new comment on your post "La Partera, I think we're gonna get along...":
Ok, back to continue where I left off. I was saying that I'm always
trying to figure out what I can take with me and what I will have to leave
behind...maybe even for just another time. Even when things I read here make sense to me for who you are, there's always something that says "ok, but that's darkdaughta, and this is you, so how does it apply for you?" That's what always comes up in times like these.


In these weeks, maybe since the "Transition" post - and I've been
thinking more about it since I read a post you wrote about letting Stinkapee enjoy her younger childhood more as it goes by so fast - I'm trying to let myself be 28, and learn and live as though I've got time to grow and figure it out. This is hard for me - I am someone who wants to know everything *now* and I don't have much patience with myself. I think really, really hard about a problem for a minimal amount of time, and then I make a decision. I think that is how I usually operate. I don't think I sit with the feelings of whatever it is that is happening...I make a move to get *out* of that uncomfortable place as quickly as possible. It makes sense for things like abusive relationships and dangerous life threatening situations, but not so much for things like grief and anger. I don't know if this is making sense, but mainly I'm giving myself time
to make a decision. Time to sit with everything I'm feeling. Time to think about reasons why I might feel the way I feel that are irrelevant of the very basic fear of other people's actions. I'm looking for the deeper reasons for why I'm struggling with voice in this moment when I don't recall too many times that I've struggled with it the past.


I'm stopping here because my word document rant is turning somewhere else...and that new place might even turn out to be a different truth than what I just said...I'll continue at my place...

Love...







if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

CJ, congratulations on your new blog and addy...

CJ has left a new comment on your post "Breathe into the bag, darkdaughta...just breathe i...":

Darkdaughta -

You will never lose my respect. Never. In fact, it will only
ever increase.

You are beautiful, intelligent, loving, braver than the bravest, and the free-est and most human person I've ever seen or heard of.

There is nothing about you, nothing you say or do, that is not worthy of the absolute highest level of respect.

Fuck the haters. Not in the fun way. :) Fuck them straight to hell, you keep on with your bad, beautiful, lustful, sexy self. You are rocking my world, the world of many, every day. You are doing more good than I think you realize sometimes.

Much love, always,

CJ.

Oh CJ...
I'm so glad I can still read you both here and on your new blog. It's beautiful...like a new start...fresh...reminiscent, but not completely mired in the old stuff. I'm so happy for you. Nice red hair photo, too.

And thanks for the supportive words. I did have an actual anxiety attack while thinking about being sexual with men who are under legally binding contract to one woman and through that union to the government and the society.

It felt weighty. I felt weighed down...like I would shortly become the hunted.

Then I remembered I've been hunted before and probably will be hunted for less significant "offenses". :)

I appreciate your words, nonetheless.

Love you,
darkdaughta






if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Fuck! Shit! Damn! Pissy! Rattid! Hell!...

thepoetryman has left a new comment on your post "Oh Poetry Man...I think you've stolen my blogland ...":

I don't do much of the photo,
my own, thing.
I have done many photomontages,
viewable, all 300+ of them, on my site,
of others
and pics
I've discovered
and meshed
and mashed
and painted
and imagined
and cropped
and undressed
and laid down
for the world
to see,
But the only "pic" of me, conjured artfully from a photo I sent my good friend and partner in peace, Ben Heine, of Ben Heine - Cartoons, is the one I use as my blogging icon and displayed on each of my different pages within A Poetic Justice.

I find that personal pictures of people are less tantalizing than their rhetoric, the give and take, the game and their pics are certainly less real.

Happily married? Yes. Most of the time. Like most, if not all married couples, there are times of righteous difficulty, personality conflict, etc, but I am certainly happy.

Our daughter, the 23 year old, I did not get to know until she was 14. My biggest regret... yet my greatest joy of which I had the most humbling pleasure and honor and volcanic joy to have met and become a part of her life 9 years ago. I was shamefully vacant, absent for her first 14 years.

I am not one to walk with my head hung low and I have been through too much pain, misery, sorrow and unbridled joy to allow my once out of control ego or lust filled player rep (and reality) to keep me from any further and full as possible contact with the things that had been missing in my life, unbeknownst to me, yet known to me. Unbeknownst to me, but not by a precious child and her soulful mother.

I am now more grounded than at any other point in my life. I am more humbled as well. And am now humbly a grandfather to a baby boy! I dote, O do I dote on him!

Speaking of humbled, there are many that would say, "Humbled? Ha! Ain't nothing humble about him!" And to those people I can only say, "I'm sorry." and then go about the business of living fully and brightly and bringing as much joy and laughter(and tears) to the lives that have blessed mine in the past nine years.

Laugh! Goddamnit! Laugh wildly! Howl and spit for tomorrow may not bring laughter...

Kahlil Gibran said it best in his masterpiece- The Prophet-

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.


Dearest Poetry Man,
Thanks for coming back again and again.

I wrote a big ass, really involved, layered, tearful, happy, jumbled response to your comment yesterday. Then this little man came tap, tap, tapping on my shoulder just as the rattid library computer was going to kick me off.

I was in the middle of coaxing it into letting me save a draft in my yahoo mail...I was also chatting with the bi-curious hottie who likes the idea of being spread eagled face down in my brass bed. (He's taller than me, too. I'm really gonna enjoy throwing him down onto my bed...I've thrown taller...)

Instead of being able to split my attentions in the ways I wanted to I ended up having to explain to the man how the computer system works while he tried to peer at my smut filled chat box as I put my hands across it to try and obscure his vision while giving him a
lecture about invading my space while he spouted some shite about his not being a spy.

Did I fucking care?

Or did I just want to throttle him until he fainted and slid to the floor? :)

sigh...

The rattid computer shut me down and didn't let me save. I could have cried.

Well, actually I did cry when I finished reading what you wrote and the poem you cut and pasted in the first time.

The tears were delicious....necessary...I needed them.

I needed the thoughts that came, too.

Layers. definitely joy heaped on pain heaped on memory heaped on need heaped on...much more...mingled together.

That's how they come for me most days, these days. I realize I don't smile pure. The smiles are mostly slightly upturned sad mouths...more like slightly down turned happy faces. I know why this is...what I've seen...what I've felt that tempers the joy...

"volcanic joy" beautiful phrase...I'd like to see that...experience it....allow myself to full feel it...again...that much pleasure scares me...contemplating it I feel my heart break in anticipation of deprivation...being cut off from that feeling...

My heart hurts most days. The joy and pain of it is fiercely felt by me even as I walk the streets with my face set just so. The word mask doesn't quite describe what I do to my face as I walk among people who revile pleasure, who are scared of it.

A pox on them and the interlocking systems of oppression that gave rise to them.

A while back Second Waver wrote asking me something to the effect of how could I let a white woman flog me? When I read the words you had pasted in about pleasure and suffering as intimate companions who cannot be fully felt one without the other...

When I felt the accompanying rush of emotions...

I remembered who I am and what I struggle with on the daily.

There is ages old pain trapped beneath this skin...

There are cellular memories so horrific...

Well let's just say it's brave of me to actually look in the mirror...

Brave of me to try and make contact with my own spirit...

I believe in my ancestors...

I choke on their pain mingled with my own...

I attempt to exorcise not the memory of them...

But more the intimate experience of suffering they have bequeathed to me...

I can't...

I can't live with the memories...

I can't survive without them...

They remain...

Building knotted, confused fleshy furrows between my eyes...

They make laughter a too-dear commodity to be longed for yet fearfully avoided...

This carapace...

My flesh...

My being...

Something I hesitantly invite others to touch...

To taste...

Flesh of this flesh...

Blood of this blood...

Abomination of this abomination...

I was not meant to survive...

Itching...

Writhing...

Psycho...

Drama...

Do you want to see me naked...

Eyes half closed...

Bucking...

Playing instrument of their final awful salvation...

Can I invite you...

One and all to witness...

Bitterness curled inside here with me...

HELP...

Help me...

Help me play it...

OUT...

Play it OUT

Safely...sanely...

As possible given the fact that I am not sane...

You don't have to dig a hole for my pregnant belly...

You don't have to sign a waver authorizing my sale to yet another masturbating massa...

Just tongue kiss me deep and breathless...

Just...

Pinch...

Pull...

Strangle...

Slap, slap, slap...

Violate...

Humiliate...

Scream...

Watch me scream...

Hear me scream...

Rebellious cries...

Knives slicing past fear...

Past hesitation...

Past this prison...

Soaring up...

Up from under...

Endorphins reeling...

Healing...

Freeing...

My mind...

And a limping, craving, hardened, old eyed made new spirit...

Terrified to lose...

This ancient home...

Hmmm...Poetry Man...have you ever been someone's muse? I seem to have drafted you. I hope you enjoy the ride.

sigh...

I was talking to Papi about your latest comment saying that there must be a story behind your relationship with your 23 year old daughter...your absence from her life...your re-emergence...your marriage to your wife/her mother (?). Have you written it? Is it something you'd share?

I see you and read you as very grounded. I want to be in a place like that more fully. The work you do from that place, the amount of work you turn out, the energy of it...so lovely, so, so...passionate.

I'm attracted to that in you. I'm excited and riveted by the comments you leave for me. I'm struggling with feeling attracted to a blogland icon without picture...again. Crushes are so invigorating. :)

Reading you leaves me feeling expectant, happy, surprised, hopeful, unsure...titillated...silly... :)

Poetry Man...

Are/were you flirting with me?

What made you decide to flirt with me?

Why did you choose to meet me there?

I like(d) it. I appreciate(d) the word/play.

I have to tell you, though that it's strange for me as someone who doesn't flirt for flirtation's sake to possibly be engaged in a bit of recreational flirting...

You should realize I get hard easily these days. :) With you I have to keep pulling myself back from actually being fully juicily present in the flirt, blood pumping, mind racing.

"It's play, darkdaughta. Not fully frontal nude play like what you crave...just play as in good...clean...respectable...fun."

Hmmm...meow... :)

Happily married. :)

I understood you to be just that - happily married. I read it, heard it in your words. This is me saying: "I see that you are very content and in love with your female partner/wife. There is obvious joy and deep emotional presence there. I'll say it again - Beauty."

But I suspect that you have misunderstood me. :)

My question wasn't whether you were happy, Poetry Man. It was more like:

"Is your dyad completely closed?"

or

"Are you and your wife a completely monogamous coupling?"

or perhaps...

"How far do you play, Poetry Man?"

or more specifically...

"I play hard and don't like to pull out. Do you really want to play with me? And if you do...what are your limits?"

hee, hee, hee!

Really...

If I don't ask I won't know. And I like information. :)






if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Dearest Poetry Man...I'm a filthy mouthed, multifaceted, insightful, wordplaying trollop...

thepoetryman has left a new comment on your post "Well, I'm getting lots of email...":

Hi, dark daughta... I want to say that I feel for you, but am also a bit
intrigued by how you operate in the mode of siren. Before I got married a couple of years ago I did a bit of play on the chat/date/a lot of bullshit/ sites and found it engaging, at least on one end of the web. I think I liked the give and take and the idea that the control was never out of my hands. Yet when one thinks about it the control was in both, right? It was a safe way for both to be in control of what they say or what they felt, etc. Given your wonderful ability to express yourself freely and honestly and bluntly I feel for anyone that tries to play the game with you. Of course some might prefer you to be the dominate one and control their (leading) questions. I can imagine you are having a complete blast and I hope you continue to do so.


If I were to ask you anything while on this line of chat- I'd ask if you
liked your coffee with cream and sugar or straight up?


Go ahead...run with that one. ;>)

Dearest Poetry Man,

I've got a wicked smile playing across my face right now. :)
Cheeks feel hot. I really like word/play...a lot. It tickles me. I think that's part of the reason I enjoy the comments of people who actually think about what I write and from there seek to engage with me in an equally forthright manner. It's so refreshing. I think that one thing my experience as a dyke taught me (there were so many things I'm thankful for and try to remember...) is that it's possible to be really forthright, really politicized and still be smart and still be lustful.

I've been having confidence issues, nonetheless because I understand that most men are indoctrinated to gravitate toward wimmin who do not stringently question them, who do not express lust in a forthright manner, who communicate in circular ways.

Many patriarchal men tend to prefer wimmin who treat them as if they are a blessing in the flesh simply because they offered any kind of attention even the most limp, uninteresting, unintelligent, aggressive or insulting.

When I get mail from online places where I've tried to do some pointed seeking I tend to eliminate the men who can't say why they contacted me. I'm forty. I've got a good few precious decades left. No use beating around the bush. Time's a-wastin'. :)

I definitely eliminate the ones who come lustfully but not intelligently. Words are so exciting. Exchanging words is a good way for me to see who is approaching. Maybe I can even glean a bit about how does a person's mind works...

Presently the ones who remain, are the people who are clear about their desires who also have shown some intelligence and the ability to communicate.

Hmmm...
I don't hold the reigns completely. I hold my own reigns and they hold theirs. :)

Sometimes they let me put them under my microscope and poke and prod. :)

Sometimes I end up under theirs. :)

There is one man who has been asking me some really probing questions about my desires. I engaged but avoided answering in detail for a few weeks. When I finally decided to answer, I realized that the answers, though they were a good indicator for him of where my head was at, were a better indicator for me of what I was seeking.

I should mention that one of the men I sort of summarily dismissed had one thing in his description that really tee'd me off.

He wrote that he didn't mind wimmin sleeping with each other, but men sleeping with each other was downright wrong.

This homophobic expression was enough to x him off my list of potentials. If he'd actually read anything about me in my description or the sorts of questions I'd answered, he'd have realized that fag-related homophobia wasn't going to sit with me at all well. GrrrrrrRrr...that along with the fact that he hadn't been able to say anything more than he liked my look, when I asked him why he emailed me.

My look? Hee, hee, hee...
Poetry Man...
My look really is a veneer and I get worried when that and not my thoughts or my description or my desires are what people notice first...when everything else is available for them to read about in fairly extensive detail...at least read about me so that there is something else to say.
I said to Papi, who knows exactly who lives under the perfectly blended eyeshadow, loose powder, matching earrings, push up bras and pantie girdles...that if people primarily rely on what they see on the surface, when they get underneath, there will be nothing to hold them...
I have a degenerative eye condition...I don't wear glasses because the prescriptions don't fully address what's happening with my eyes. Ergo, I squint.

I grew up poor, so poor that there was no money for dentists. I don't have cavities. I get tartar really easily. That's meant bone loss. When I was pregnant with Stinkapee my bones weakened even further. During the first six months of her life she butted me with her head by accident a handful of times. I'm now missing one of my front teeth and instead have a flipper with a fake tooth that I'm not happy with at-all, at-all.

I have birthed two children. Before I had a belly I understood and loved. Now I have a wobbly belly that has minute stretch marks placed really close to each other and a flap of loose skin.

My breasts have been hung from like segments of a playground apparatus by two breast feeding children. :)

My lovely multi-shaded yellow hair always grows out to expose an increasing amount of grey.

These are pretty much the things I'm really working hard to learn to love about myself. Learning to love these runs counter to a culture that traumatizes wimmin who don't fit emotionally, psychologically and physically abusive social/aesthetic/fashion/physical norms.

Deciding to date men (more men than Papi who I've processed enough with that he sees what's here and does not balk) has been a decision brought on by my understanding that no one person really is gonna fulfill all my various needs for physical/emotional/social relationship.

It's a difficult, dangerous, discomfiting decision.

I'm engaging with patriarchs most of whom are well grounded in their culture which really privileges lookism, ageism, sizeism, phat phobia as ways to make choices about who makes a good partner, lover, friend with benefits, passing interest...
I'm engaging with these men and many of them will come believing that the engagment happens on their terms in ways they can understand that will allow them a place of uncontested privilege.

With this in mind I weed mercilessly.

I begin triage almost immediately. The ones who are dying, drowning in it or who don't show any signs of being aware of it I let go almost immediately.

Of course, if they have horns and their horns lock well with mine I "keep" them and then it begins...what you call playing the game...the dance...the transmissions back and forth.

I've learned a lot about me. I'm also continuing to learn about their culture - heterosexual, patriarchal, monogamous...
But yeah, there is power struggle here. I think coming from a place where I dabbled in bdsm, where I learned that power could be exchanged and spoken to in direct ways between people who desired some form of contact with each other...
The act of gently struggling with them through my words and theirs has been extremely hot. :)

At least one of them seems to have enjoyed it enough that once I rolled out the heavy artillery (just a few days ago) and started encouraging him to unpack quite a fair bit of denial around his relationship (which turned out to be a monogamous marriage) and what exactly he was doing (or proposing to do with me) and how he wrote around it (did not name what he had envisioned in its entirety and had, nonetheless, been moving according to a set of rules only he was completely aware of...) and how I wrote directly about it (so as to get him to invite him to bring his rules of play up to the surface where we could truly negotiate), about denial (which I explained I had no need for) and how our rule books differ because our belief systems define our relationships differently and how this leaves him very little space (to fulfill his desires) and leaves me much more space to play (out in the open with Papi's full support and consent)...
And when I started incorporating an analysis of our rule books and how we are dealing with each other according to our individual rule books...
And as I continue to invite him to bring more of who he is into the conversation and as I choose to not tip toe around his dicomfort at having been invited into something less "dirty" more honest and open...
He remains...
Though I think he dearly wishes he didn't find me quite so attractive, interesting and willing a play partner while simultaneously being the handful I tried to explain to him I would be...really I tried to explain... :)
And we play and it's hot and disgustingly nasty and insightful and forthright and difficult...
Poetry Man, you know I'm enjoying myself. And he swears he is too. Too bad about being married and creeping. I suspect we (me, him and Papi) would have been the best of "friends". ;)

And just a point of clarification?
I'm not a siren. Can't be a siren all sing songy, writhing, coquettish, soft of voice and body, batting eyes. I can't keep that up for very long before I start seeping out from underneath.
I wasn't trained in thatway of being and presenting by my mother as most wimmin are by theirs.
I was raised by a man for the most part.
So, I'm fairly direct about my thoughts, beliefs and desires. In terms of desire this has gotten me into trouble in the past. So, I've learned to not speak or move as directly as I'd like in real time as I do in other places and spaces.

So0000...
Poetry Man...
How do I take my coffee?
hmmm...
wet, preferrably bitter sweet, deeeep, full of body to be swallowed completely, without hesitation or regret while it is still hot.

:)






if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

She kissed a girl...do you still think she's cute?...



When I first heard this song I started to sing along defiantly...devilishly. But as the song progressed I realize that it was a load of placating, patriarchal, timid, ego stroking bullshite masquerading as some sort of girls gone wild anthem masquerading as some sort of second wave sexual exploration declaration. I was repulsed.

Let's see...
Where shall I begin to bre'k it down?...my tantrum..unh...suggested lyrical additons are in RED CAPS

This was never the way I planned

BECAUSE WHAT PATRIARCHAL BREEDING COW IN HER RIGHT MIND WOULD ACTUALLY SET OUT TO DESTROY HER CHANCES OF LANDING A SUITABLE OWNER...ER...HUSBAND BY ADMITTING TO KISSING/FUCKING/COMING OUT AS BEING A LESBIAN? THAT WOULD BE JUST PLAIN STUPID.
Not my intention

I DIDN'T DO IT. IT JUST HAPPENED.
I got so brave, drink in hand

I HAD TO GET DRUNK TO LET MYSELF KISS HER. EEE! DO I HAVE LEZBO COOTIES?
Lost my discretion

OH GAWD! I DID IT IN PUBLIC. NOW I'LL HAVE TO ADMIT TO HAVING DONE IT. IF NO ONE ELSE WAS THERE, I COULD JUST LAUGH IT OFF OR PRETEND THAT I WAS TOO DRUNK TO REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED.
It's not what, I'm used to

I'M USED TO COCK. DON'T WORRY. I PREFER THE PRIVILEGES THAT COME WITH COCK.
Just wanna try you on
LIKE A COAT OR A 40% OFF MOHAIR SWEATER. YOU DON'T ACTUALLY EXIST. YOU ARE OBJECT.
I'm curious for you
THAT'S CUZ I'M A HOT (BI-)CURIOUS BABE IN SEARCH OF EXPERIENCE....
Caught my attention
IF I WASN'T DRUNK, HORNY AND CURIOUS I WOULDN'T HAVE GIVEN YOU A SECOND GLANCE.
I kissed a girl and I liked it
IF I KEEP SAYING THESE WORDS OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN EVENTUALLY THEY'LL START TO SOUND ALL POWERFUL AND SHIT, LIKE I ACTUALLY AM NOT SCARED OF THE REPERCUSSIONS OF WILLINGLY KISSING SOMEONE OF THE SAME GENDER.
The taste of her cherry chap stick
THAT'S RIGHT...GIVE IT THAT BARELY LEGAL SCHOOL GIRL TINGE THAT DRIVES SOME MEN WILD. WE ALL KNOW WHO WEARS CHERRY CHAPSTICK. IT AIN'T FORTY YEAR OLD BUTCH DYKES.
I kissed a girl just to try it
LIKE SOMEONE WOULD TRY BUNGEE JUMPING, PARASAILING, SUSHI OR EATING ROASTED RAT...TRY EVERY AND ANYTHING AT LEAST ONCE. THAT WAY YOU CAN CALL YOURSELF A TRUE EXPLORER AND MAYBE EVEN GET A SLOT ON GIRLS GONE WILD. :)
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it
CUZ HE'S THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THIS EQUATION. EVERYTHING I DO IS DETERMINED BY HIS LIKES OR DISLIKES CUZ I'M NOT A LESBIAN. I'M A GOOD HETERO GIRL WHO KNOWS HOW TO BOW TO THE DICTATES OF HER MAN.
It felt so wrong
I WAS RAISED THE RIGHT WAY. MAMA SAID: ALWAYS WEAR CLEAN UNDERWEAR BECAUSE YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU'LL HAVE TO GET WORKED ON BY A PARAMEDIC WHO NEEDS TO SEE THEM. ALWAYS EAT BREAKFAST BECAUSE IT'S THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY. ALWAYS FLOSS SO YOU WON'T GET CAVITIES OR TARTAR BUILD UP. AND NEVER EVER KISS A LESBIAN. IT'LL PUT POUNDS ON YOUR WAIST AND HIPS AND NO GOOD MAN IN HIS RIGHT MAN WILL EVER WANT YOU.
It felt so right
I FELT...SOMETHING. THAT'S NEVER EVER HAPPENED BEFORE. MOM ALWAYS TAUGHT ME THAT WHEN HE CLIMBS ON JUST CLOSE MY EYES AND PRETEND I'M IN HAWAII...IT'LL BE OVER SOON. BUT THIS WAS DIFFERENT.
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
THE CHURCH OF HALLMARK SAYS THAT LOVE IS SOMETHING YOU FEEL WITH THAT SPECIAL GUY. OBVIOUSLY I WOULDN'T FALL IN LOVE WITH A GIRL...MY PARENTS WOULDN'T PAY FOR THE WEDDING OR THE RECEPTION.
I kissed a girl and I liked it
JUST KEEP SWIMMING, SWIMMING, SWIMMING...
I liked it
I DID. BUT WHAT COULD WE POSSIBLY DO IN BED WITHOUT A PENIS?

No, I don't even know your name
THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND DOUG/BOB/GARY/BRAD/RICK...WHO ARE YOU?
It doesn't matter

BECAUSE YOU DON'T REALLY MATTER...THIS IS ABOUT ME, MY CURIOSITY AND MY MAN NOT BEING TOO FREAKED OUT...I NEED A DATE FOR THE FAMILY PICNIC...
You're my experimental game

CAN YOU JUST LAY BACK, BEND YOUR KNEES AND BREATHE DEEP? I'VE WARMED THE SPECULUM WITH WARM WATER SO IT'S ALL NICE AND COMFY...NOW I...JUST...NEED...TO DO A QUICK...SWAB...THAT WASN'T SO BAD WAS IT? WHERE DID I PUT MY TEST TUBES?
Just human nature

TO PRETEND TO BE SOMEONE OTHER THAN WHO WE ARE...THE DISCOMFORT, DISSIMULATION AND GENERAL DISEASE ARE ALL SO MUCH FUN.
It's not what, good girls do

CUNNILINGUS WASN'T SOMETHING MAMA MENTIONED WHEN SHE GAVE ME THAT ONE SENTENCE VERSION OF THE BIRDS AND THE BEES.
Not how they should behave

AND I DO KNOW HOW TO BEHAVE WHICH IS WHY I KNOW TO THINK ABOUT HAWAII AND TO GET ROARING DRUNK BEFORE KISSING ANY LESBIANS.
My head gets so confused

YEAH...IT WAS SCREWED ON REALLY SECURELY BEFORE...PATRIARCHY AND HETEROSEXUALITY ARE MAJOR GROUNDING FORCES IN THE LIFE OF EVERY YOUNG WOMAN ON THE PLANET. NASTY LESBIAN KISSING FANTASIES GO AND MESS UP OUR HEADS. BUT OTHERWISE, WE'RE JUST FINE.
Hard to obey
THE MIND CONTROL THAT HAS BEEN FORCED ON ME SINCE JUST AFTER MY MOTHER PUSHED ME OUT AND QUICKLY SLAPPED A BOW ON MY BALD HEAD, HIRED A WEDDING PLANNER AND REGISTERED MY WEDDING WITH MACYS.
I kissed a girl and I liked it

D'YOU THINK IF I KEEP SAYING THAT EVENTUALLY I'LL STOP FREAKING OUT AND OBSESSIVELY BRUSHING MY TONGUE? BLENH!
The taste of her cherry chap stick

THE LAST TIME I SANG THAT LINE MY BOYFRIEND POPPED A BONER.
I kissed a girl just to try it

HE ACTUALLY PERSUADED ME TO DO IT. HE WANTED TO WATCH.
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it

THE FACT THAT IT DIDN'T GO QUITE AS HE PLANNED...UNH...I COULDN'T PULL AWAY AND THAT HE HAD TO PHYSICALLY DRAG ME AWAY FROM HER...BUT NOT BEFORE I GAVE HER MY DIGITS AND ASKED HER TO TEXT ME AFTER HE DROPPED ME HOME.
It felt so wrong

HE SAYS IF I EVEN THINK OF CALLING HER HE'S GONNA TAKE BACK HIS PROMISE RING OR I'LL HAVE TO GIVE HIM SOME MORE "INCENTIVE" TO STAY WITH ME.
It felt so right

I DUNNO...NO ONE EVER TOLD ME THAT I COULD KISS GIRLS. MAKES A GIRL SORT'A WONDER...
Don't mean I'm in love tonight

NAH...THAT WOULD BE JUST WRONG. NOT AT ALL PART OF GAWD'S MASTER PLAN FOR MY WOMB AND OVARIES...BUT....
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it

Us girls we are so magical

IF WE WIGGLE AND SIMPER AND FLIRT AND BAT OUR EYES AND SHIT WE CAN GET AWAY WITH QUITE A BIT...AS LONG AS THE PATRIARCHS ARE EXCITED
Soft skin, red lips, so kissable

mmmm...AAAANH......OHHHH...REMEMBER WHAT THE LIPS ARE REALLY FOR, OKAY? tHS ISN'T A SONG FOR/ABOUT WIMMIN. THIS IS A SONG FOR MEN...TO PUT THEM AT EASE AND ALLOW FOR SOME PARTICIPATORY SPACE FOR THE PENIS.
Hard to resist so touchable

DON'TCHA JUST WANNA REACH OUT AND TOUCH BOTH OF US?
Too good to deny it

SHE LIKED IT....A LOT
Ain't no big deal, it's innocent

ANY MAN WHO WITNESSED IT INCLUDING HER BOYFRIEND SHOULDN'T FEEL THREATENED BECAUSE IT WAS JUST A GIRL...NOT EVEN A WOMAN...ADULT FEMALE...JUST A GIRL...
I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chap stick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it














if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

L.P. there's always room for you here at my table...

Loving Pecola has left a new comment on your post "Privacy versus secrecy, Sarah...":
"In between I'd hide out in my burrow and play and replay and rewind
everything that happened and try to run simulations about how things could have gone, what I could have done or tried to do."[+ what am I going to do now?...]


This is where I re-enter (again). Because this is where I am...or maybe
where I'm coming out of now...either way it's relevant. I am/have been hiding out. 2 posts in 2 months I think. Everything swirling around in my brain. It finally happened...that warp speed thinking where I just couldn't slow it down enough to get it down on the page. So much fear. (Do we always turn into our mothers no matter how hard we resist? Is it different if you don't know your mother?) So much disappointment, confusion, anger. I remember, this was a safe place for me when I used visit a million times a day. So maybe coming here will lead to me going back over there, to my place. My place, my home, that does not feel safe to me anymore (that just came to me....I don't feel safe there anymore...that's why the words will not come when I sit down to type them. damn.)


It's weird to come talk though when there's no link-back availability to
my place so people can see a fuller me, not just the comments I leave in
isolation here...I get the ...one-sidedness...of that. And I'm frustrated with myself because that one-sidedness is one of the reasons I'm struggling to still write publicly in my own space. I don't know. I'll figure it out as I go.


But anyway, hi old friend, I missed you, your cyber table, and the
thoughts.


LP

Oh LP...
I told Papi that you'd come over.

(Do we always turn into our mothers no matter how hard we resist? Is it different if you don't know your mother?)

Oh no...
I've recreated bits and pieces of her from memory. It's just that I don't have her direct indoctrination forcing The Fear on me. I have fear. But it's about being punished by dimwits who uphold outmoded behaviours and value systems. I have fear of being stalked. I have fear of my children being treated cruelly by people who realize their mama is a slut.

What I do with the fear, though, is key. I push through it. I recognize it. I claim it. I try to allow it as little power in my life as I possibly can. I surprise myself with the creativity I can bring to bear in the face of it. I make myself giggle at it and shout incantations: "RiDIculous!"

I guess I'm saying that it's possible to do more than just recognize the fear or the place where we learned to bow down to it. It's also possible to transgress, to survive, to question it, to minimize its power in our lives. This is part of the reason I had advised you to mail the person who had blogsided you an invitation to your (now closed) blog. That would have trumped her public blogsiding. It would have served her notice: "I, Loving Pecola, am a growing power in this world. I do not fear you. But perhaps, you might want to rethink who you understood me to be. I will not run or hide from you. My flow will not be diverted by you. Make room. I'm flowing/powering through."

Our ancestors also taught us how to pose this kind of challenge. Yes, their messages are dual and conflicted in nature. It's up to us to decide how we will interpret what they've offered.

You should come visit Toronto. When do you have time/money/space to come for a sleepover?




if what you're reading here grips you, holds you, fascinates you, provokes you, emboldens you, pushes you, galvanizes you, discomfits you, tickles you, enrages you so much that you find yourself returning again and again...then link me.