Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Email from Second Waver...

----- Original Message ----
From: Second WaverTo: darkdaughta
Sent: Tuesday, July 29, 2008 6:38:12 AM
Subject: Your blog

Hi DD --

I've tried commenting a couple of times, but your blog only sends me to an e-mail form. Is that what you want? Can't we comment any more?

I've been touched by your postings these days. I'm especially touched by your latest post on how blogging is much more than words and even thoughts, it's energy flowing. When you articulated it, the truth and beauty of it just shone. I wish I could offer you a hug.

I've finished the patriotism definition, and made it a post, here:

practical patriotism,ca. 2008

My computer access has improved, and I can now go online from home again. I know your access is still compromised.

Anything happening for your son's naming ceremony? Well, I know you will post it when it happens.

Wishing you every happiness. -- sw
Second Waver,
I'm glad to hear from you. I'm always glad to hear from you. I think I received your hug. :)

I'm not sure why the comments function isn't working. That's odd. I've been getting comments from other people. Is it possible that there's something wrong with the settings on your computer? I don't know.

The posts have really moved something for me, too. I'm piecing things together at a really fast, fierce rate. I feel the changes taking place even now as I type. The energy is what's really here with us and all around us. I think we instinctively realize it...that's what drives some us into blogland and keeps us here. That's the true nature of the "change we can count on". As those with power unravel the world real time we use what we have to knit it back together right under their noses in ways they literally cannot combat or fully contain.

We are so many, so powerful, so filled with just what we need for the task at hand. My heart breaks with hope fear pride happiness. I know it. This is what's happening. I'm glad to be hear with you and with everybody who passes through for whatever amount of time. (more tears flowing...)

Papi and I are both hoping to have our connection back at home next month. We both miss it so much.

I'll go see the definition. Thanks for taking the idea of the list of alternate definitions to heart.

Shmolee's naming ceremony is happening in the fall. I put it off so I could get a life and put things back on track with me, my relationship with him and Stinkapee, with Papi (but Papi has his own work to do on this front). We weren't ready for a celebration. Things with Ophelia are still not quite sane. I can't fix all what's happened with her/to her. I watch and make sure to not get wraoped in her family stuff...beyond what Papi insists on bringing with him.

All this to say, the naming ceremony will happen in the fall. I have to check to see when the Autumnal Equinox takes place. Do you think you'll be able to come?

Bye for now,

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, July 28, 2008

Don't step back, step in...

Yes, I know there are copious sexual overtones, but that's not necessarily a bad thing in my book. The message I appreciate is still t/here.

I've been crying. I cried last week before my period came. I cried on the weekend. I cried this morning in the library's bathroom. There are more tears in here with me. They're not choking me. They're just nudging me onward, signalling me about where I want to go.

Sad tears. I am afire. I like being afire. I don't ever want to stop drop and roll. I want to catch an updraft and fly. I want to flame brilliantly. No...that's not it. I want to MEET people who are not afraid of their own brilliance or of how we flame and ignite when we collide...connect.

I've been meeting mushroom people. That's what I'll call them. These are people who have been taught to fear fire, to hate fire, to dowse firey spirits.

It's not that they actually are clay footed. It's just that they were taught to believe that this was all they could be. They were taught that others with their feel buried in the earth, held there, was all they should desire.

Mushroom people raised in ignorance, raised to crave dullness, raised to fear and skulk away from their own brilliance.

Humans are energy beings. We ooze energetic streams and flows...they swirl around us. We only admit to fully recognizing some of this energy. We get hatred. We get love. We get lust. sigh...

But there's so much more. Some of it doesn't even have names...no labels we can assign to them. They're just things we know we need to feel and feed off of...share around, have more of.

I think I'm gonna cry again. I pick up a lot of it. I've been picking up more and more of it.

Blogland is an odd beastie. People think it's all words. But I happen to believe it's all energy. Words are the vehicle not the message. The message isn't completely knowable. But it is completely consumable. I've been eating on the daily. My belly is so full but somehow I want more.

I've also been at work in the kitchen cooking up experimental energetic treats. I love having guests, connoisseurs who really know how to dig in. (pausing...) How to proceed without crying?

I want more. But just as I say that the words are not the message, the energy is the message and just as I say that blogland is a potent place, has been a potent energetic place for me, I never understood it as an end in and of itself. I think I've been clear about my agenda, an agenda that involves building connections and ties that can transcend this place and bring more of what flows here into my real time moments fully embodied in the flesh.

yeah...uh-hunh...I said it. I'll say it again:
My agenda involves building connectins and ties that transcend blogland so that I can have more of what flows here flowing through my real time connections.

I realize that this runs runs counter to what most of you are doing here, not speaking about the nature of what you do here, not interested in allowing to flow over into real time and become not just what you're doing here, but also doing elsewhere, too.

I realize I don't know any of you...meaning that as I struggle to bring more of who I am to my words so as to allow who I present as to profoundly connect with the energies that flow around me, through me, many of you may like the disconnect just fine.

What this means for me as I continue to let my tears flow, as I allow myself to mourn is that what I understand as a deadly serious pursuit, I realize many of you understand as limited work or play or recreation or information relay.

And in truth? What can I do about this? Not a goddamn thing. I'm stumped. I'm fucking stumped. It really fucking sucks. I meet so many mushroom people real time. Then I go online and meet pure energy contained in digital boxes...constructed boxes maintained by folks who aren't even remotely interested in trying to see if the energy we build up individually and collectively can crackle and pop so intensely that finally it makes the jump, leaping right out of the box and into our every day.

ooh...darkdaughta. Bad words. You don't know what you're asking for.

Oh, yes I do. Oh yes I do.

But since I know that it's very probable that none of you are gonna help me break open this container and let what grows here between us, connecting us, out of the box...I'm just gonna sit here and tantrum and scream.
Please. Feel free to watch. I'm an exhibitionist. Hope you fucking enjoy the energetic flow/show. hee, hee! (really, I'm not so much angry, as I am disappointed and frustrated...)

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, July 26, 2008

Will you lend a hand?

Over at The Peace Tree I proposed the beginnings of a list of agreed upon definitions for commonly used words. My reasoning? Well, I'd been having a hard time finding entry points into conversations that were happening in the comments sections of various posts...as I often do in blogland.

Well, to comment either means de facto agreement that the ways certain words are used and their definitions are fine by me. Often I've been finding myself in situations with really nice people whose politics are in the right places but who are using words with understood definitions right out of a republicn spin doctor's playbook.

When I come, my comment has to serve two purposes, therefore. One. Strip away the seeming and offer an alternate reading of various constructed wordings. Then two, if I'm lucky, I might get to offer my original comment in fullness, with courage and hope.

So, I stopped and gave myself a moment to think about some of the words I see most often. I thought of fullness of meaning, brought out into the open. I thought of my love of words and my great affection for people who use them with passion and with an eye on change.

Here's me passionately hoping that every- any- body will come and help me craft some definitions that will lubricate our future conversations.

I've done "soldier" and "freedom fighters" below. But the rest are wide open.



1. armed, trained, uniformed civil servants who are mobilized from the citizenry for the purpose of domination and occupation on behalf of imperialist, colonizing states.

2. members of the lowest societal classes who are often seduced with bogus cash or offers of higher education, professional career training and status into putting themselves in harms way, being experimented on and forever traumatized by the atrocities they have seen and committed.

3. disposables.

"freedom fighters":

1. armed, usually untrained members of the citizenry who have risen up for the express puropose of resisting domination and occupation usually against one or many imperialist, colonizing state(s).

2. also known as "resistance fighters" or as "the resistance" or as "guerillas" or, when they have really amazing success and cause lots of damage, as "terrorists" or when an imperialist, colonizing, power hungry, generally stoopid government wants a scape goat for its own atrocious actions against its own people.

these next ones were proposed by betmo:

and I'll also add:

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, July 24, 2008

I grew up in the suburbs of the great white north well before eminem, snow, house of pain and vanilla ice...

...navigating whiteness, white domination and white culture...

My father would smile at me, head shaking with a combination of horror, amazement, amusement, disbelief...his teenaged daughter/not his daughter, couldn't possibly be his daughter...head stuck in her Heinlein, Herbert, Asimov, McCaffery, Le Guin, already understanding that she wasn't from this place, from any place, really...offworlder...very much a true daughta of the Black Atlantic...a mix up/mix up intergalactic travelling Middle Passage child finding her own way and dancing to an arhythmic and totally unfamiliar beat.

Negotiating Blackness...a fancy way of saying I was completely inundated and surrounded by white supremacy in all forms and didn't encounter one blessed soul who was able to help me make sense of it in ways that offered me a way of experiencing mySELF as central until I was in my twenties.

Rozena wants me to write something. She always wants me to write something. I write every day...blogging is sort of like writing. I just don't publish. :)

A few days ago I ran into one of the bitter, passive aggressive, smiling, angry, dominating, privileged middle class white mothers. We chatted about childbirth, extended breast feeding, homebirth, cesareans, fallen uteruses (mine not hers)...

She indirectly said that I dressed like a slut. :)

Okay, she didn't actually use that word. Out of the blue she just started talking about not having to dress like a "tartlette" anymore, not since she had children and was older and more comfortable with herself...

Every inch the "tartlette" I was wearing a green camisole thingy edged in champagne lace with a plunging neckline, matching acid green bra pushing the cleaveage sky high and a short, tight dark forest green mini skirt with a big slit up the front...okay, a modest slit, but it was slit enough for me. :)

I think she might have been able to get through the conversation without levelling any barbs at all if I hadn't unknowingly brought out the "big artillery"...I mentioned having had two successful homebirths.

For those of you who don't understand the oppression, power, domination and subjugation fueled pecking order that exists among us mamas...
Let me elaborate.

You see...
Successful homebirths, unmedicated, natural, naked, glowing, are defined as the domain of porridge/pablum like, beige coloured, beige wearing, beige personalitied, patriarchal, heterosexual, married white wimmin who wear baggy shorts or baggy track pants or baggy skirts and make sure that any available cleaveage is always neatly tucked away under layers of jersey knit fabric that affords no view to nosey strangers not their balding, equally beige husbands. :) They natter on incessantly about noticing that there are no wimmin of colour in the midwifery offices where they go to connect with the practitioners who will help them birth their children without ever giving thought to the oppressive realities that divide their privileged existences from wimmin whose experiences of class and race directly impact their perceptions of pregnancy and birth, their choice of practitioner, their experiences of birth...their outcomes.

This woman had had cesareans and probably (internally) flipped when I mentioned having had two quick homebirths. This is because there is an unspoken understanding, an expectation that goes hand in hand with a particular aesthetic. The homebirthing, extended breastfeeding, co-sleeping mama doesn't look like a "tartlette". She who successfully births naturally and at home according to a carefully researched birth plan does not usually come in my skin with black nail polish and way too much eyeliner. This is the image of the undereducated, she who is confused and needing to look to her "betters" for information and guidance.

Something happened for this woman when she realized that I had "achieved" something she had tried for but hadn't managed to do. This meant something for her...in a world were everything is grounds for competition, make no mistake, birth is also another WWF arena where comparison reigns supreme. What did it mean for her to not be able to perceive herself as better, more well achieved, or at least on par with a "tartlette", a Black strumpet when competition among wimmin, even mamas is so fierce? I'll never know. She did not speak openly.

Since the mantra of the white middle class is "never let anyone see you sweat or have anything even close to a bona fide emotion", this woman had no choice but to stuff whatever happened for her down, keep smiling and then find a way to subtly attempt to harm me, butter knife style.

Her inept jab ("tartlette") hit home but then glanced off. See, I've experienced worse from much closer to home. And really, referring to me as a "tartlette" (oh, gawd I didn't tell her that I actually have the word "tart" in one of my many email addresses...), wasn't really going far enough. :)

Now if she'd said I was dressing like a horny middle aged slut who won't keep her legs closed, she would have been closer to the truth. :)

Oh gawd, how'd I get here? Oh yes! She's an editor. I found that out earlier in our conversation before we had our ahem...disagreement...when I was talking about not being able to stand editors. That's when she came out as it were. I back peddled, not being at all interested in slashing her or her chosen profession. I REALLY hate the subtle conversational slashing wimmin are trained to do.

By way of trying to take my foot out of my mouth and let her know that I didn't have it in for her I explained that the editors I'd dealt with in the past had been, with very few exceptions, extremely difficult...nice way of saying working with them was really pissy. :)

I explained that even without the editorial experience the reality is that the readership I thought I'd had really stopped getting what I was writing just as I started feeling like my writing was making sense and reflecting more of who I was/am as a whole human/animal. I told her that now my readership is tiny, virtual and completely not representative of any demographic that a publisher would be able to count on to help anything of mine they published turn a profit.

So, I'm just going to go back to trying to make sense of me knowing that as things become bloodily, messily crystal clear for me I will continue to haemorrage blogland readers who really don't want to know or deal with what I see.


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.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I have massive affection for the woman who wrote this post...

I really liked what she had to say. It was bare and raw and truthful and messy.

dearest darkdaughta,

I love you. I love you not just because I'm stuck inside here with you (being stuck with themselves never seems to stop other people from hating parts of themselves and compartmentalizing bits and pieces of who they are away in the terrified hope that no one will realize what lies beneath...)

Nah, I love you because I see what you're trying to do. I understand where you've been and what you've seen and the ways you bravely try to connect these pieces together in ways that does honour to your life's path. I get the ways you refuse to be a pawn controlled by the trends, values, beliefs and agendas of others. You make your own path even when it's completely covered by thorns, egg shells, broken glass and rusty upright nails.

Sweet, fierce, emotional, difficult, anxious, haunted, insecure, devil's advocate hellcat slut of a woman with a mouth, twat, tongue, thoughts and large brass ballz, I see you and love you precisely because of what you do. (now we're all soothed and smiling...)


Saturday, July 05, 2008


I've been reading and crying and thinking and reading and smiling and remembering and coming into contact with some bits of me I'm trying to not so much understand as sit alongside. I'm asking myself questions about how my erotic functions, what kindles my desires, what exactly it is I'm seeking and why it seems that this quest takes me to multiple others...as if splicing together the bits of a wide, broad and deep moist puzzle...energetically.

I have unexpected, unexpected hard-ons, cravings I don't get. But in truth, I don't think I need to fully wrap my mind around any of them in order to fully feed...surrender.

I want more flushed cheeks electronically administered through words flashing on my screen...
I want to fill the ass of a man whose beautifully shaven hard cock throbs painfully and remains untouched...
I want to be spread, lubed, entered and consensually violated until I cry, shriek, convulse, distance from my own breathing process and remember who I am...not a dominated orifice born to pleasure male others, but a spirited, emotional, verbal, flesh, blood, bone rutting animal...
I want...more.
I am greedy with want.
I am enjoying recognizing my wants, desires and needs.
I am enjoying articulating what I want.

But obviously there are more than a few things I do not want.

I do not want to be raped. I do not want to be killed. I do not want to be physically maimed. I do not want to be tortured or traumatized. I do not want to be virally infected. I do not want to be humiliated. I don not want to be valued less. I do not want to be ridiculed. I do not want to be ostracised. I do not want to have my children taken away. I do not want to be laughed at. I do not want to be seen as a carrier of disease.

In addition...

I do not want to serve as patriarchal cunt/receptacle for errant masturbatory sperm ejaculated without particular intent other than to cum which were probably better off spilling into his hand or onto dirty sheets while visions of mammary implants dance in his head after which he will shower or invite me to shower or more likely turn over and fall into a stunted yet surprisingly deep and untroubled sleep...rosebud tight ass still virginal and unused. :)

I WANT!...which is, of course, very different than need which really should be reserved for things like breathing, peeing, shitting, feeling, eating, sleeping, moving, heart beating...but...that...fast beating heart thang...eyes fluttering, limbs convulsing, head banging, spirit cussing in tongues...can I classify rampant fucking as a life systems absolute downright need?

It is within my power to envision, verbalize and create what I want.
I'm a fucking smart cookie. So damn right I'm gonna be able to find a way to connect with what I'm after. After all...it resides in...me.
I want me full of terrifyingly delicious sensation.
I want me full of mind seering imagination.
I want me embracing my ability to connect with my own erotic...don't give it away. Keep it close...hold it, suck it, deep throat it, ride it, rub it, moan for it, beg for it, love it, internalize it, contextualize it, never makes excuses for it.

Oh! And if you haven't already realized...
I'm becoming again...

A few nights ago I picked up bitch goddess and began to read. Now realize I'm not a bitch goddess in the classic dominant/top sense of the word. Draw close. I want to whisper a secret in your ear...no one can ever know. :)
I'm an unrepentant, completely greedy and lascivious bottom/submissive girl...(I know it's true because I got an instant hard-on when I typed that...)
I'm a bottom. :)
I'm a bottom! whoo-HOO!

Dear gawd! Nobody write me all scandalized trying to persuade me about the necessity of carrying my real world, outer world, clothed world blogverse persona right on into my love making.

That's so tiresome. So horrifying. So murderous.

Don't I get to put down the mantle of amazon warrior anywhere? Holy Shite!
Tonight I was talking to Papi about his need for the mama he never had...his invented mama. He tries to make me her. Sometimes I play along. Other times I just...can't...do... it. I can't put his head on my breast. I can't hold his hand and guide him. I can't. I just can't.
I told him that I need. I NEED.

I said that I have very rarely if ever felt enfolded, cared for, protected by an entity equally or more grounded than me, more centered than me, more powerFULL than me who was willing to bring personal power (as opposed to damaging authoritarian power) to bear on my behalf, in my defense, because it was clear I needed it, because it was clear that although I am clearly bad by myself, a nurturing strand of assuring words typed and entered with me in mind, a shoulder offered, a persistent presence would ease my mind and give me peace.

This happened on so few occasions, without me begging for it, without me tantrumming and acting out for it...I crave it. I need it. I desire it. I fetishize it. I get hard and excited and kittenish and open wide at the sight or sound of it.

So you see...
In my favourite dreams I'm a bottom/submissive...mostly. :)
Last night I read something that put me in mind of all the married men I've encountered with their contracts implying the presence of dutifully, legally MONOGAMOUSLY wedded (assumed heterosexual) female partners perpetually in tow.

I thought about the narrowness of monogamy. I thought about needs clearly or not so clearly expressed by these men to others not their wifely units. I thought about the place where their needs coincide, merge, resemble, parallel my own. I thought about strategies, ways to get needs met without blasting their precious prioritized contracts to the lowest nether regions of infidelitous hell. :) I thought about getting more of what I want.

There is a level of word-filled creativity allowed in my neck of the woods that I don't see mirrored back to me by those who do monogamy, vanilla sex, traditional...no...constructed as acceptable relationship formation.
There are ways relationships can be crafted, made to order...however imperfectly through full and open verbalization or keyboarding on the part of whosoever shall choose to interrelate from this day forward for as long as all involved parties both see and define as generative, healing, stimulating and fun. :)
(cheshire cat grin...)
There is a certain kind of space to build according to need that really isn't usually considered part of most monogamously married relationships. Actually, it almost seems as if these relationships are completely predicated on a particular kind of stiffness, restriction, constriction, control, authoritarian limitation as its own reward. If you can tighten your belt, avert your eyes, keep your legs crossed and your treacherously blood swollen nature in your pants your relationship will be an astounding success.

In a model completely predicated on deprivation if you can resist any animal urges you will have the respect of spouse, children, extended family, family friends, co-workers, shop owners, church clerics and neighbourhood busy bodies who will never be able to chat about the comings and goings at your place on lazy summer afternoons when everyone is at work or walking around eyes wide shut zombies sleep walking.

In truth from where I'm typing, cranky, aroused, fascinated, stymied, sullen, hard-on as erect as ever :) it seems as if the success of these relationships are judged according to how well two individuals can bear up under a particular level of deprivation, isolation, alienation from all (emotionally or physically naked) others.

It seems to my bratty self (oh my teenager is really enjoying this...hee, hee, hee...) like marriage should really be defined as the act of resisting (externally located intense stimulation, interaction, desire, satisfaction which is all constructed as) "temptation".

I think that since I'm checking these unavailable untouchables (...oh, I think I'm now officially wooing the bi-curious hottie...he is special and dedicated and I wrote him and told him I want to try again...I thought about him, re-viewed his eagerly offered gifts and found myself once more nursing an erection...giggles. In truth, he's been the most clear of the bunch even when he was feeling unclear. I've had the most conversation and interaction with him...I didn't have to work to be attracted to him and he was/is attracted to me...so, I guess I'm back on again with the marrieds)...
So, yah...
Since I'm checking and flirting with the unavailable untouchables this must make me -- A Temptress.
I'm A Temptress. :)
I'm a temptress who will top when it suits her so bi-curious hotties who need training in the fine manly arts of sucking her cock are within acceptable date parameters.

But still...I'd much more prefer to bottom or submit.
Give me what I want...please.
I would like to willingly...knowingly...intentionally...kneel...naked...buttocks to heels and wait, head bowed.

When I spend so much time wielding copious amounts of personal power and defining what it means for me to be politically conscious and resisting with all I have in me...
Knots form in these shoulders, acid roils in this stomach, ankles swell, bones in feet grate uncomfortably, back stiffens, wrist bones scream, tears shed or unshed never fully empty, never toxic spill what lies in here with me...rage builds...angry words stabbed onto the surface of this screen never really allow me full relief...the monster wimmin fanged and clawed are all dressed up with nowhere to go...rip a hole in someone's throat. They're in here with me and they like a good "party" just like all good Middle Passage children nursing inherited insanity do. :)

So if some wonderful human being, powerFULL, confident (fer real), humble, compassionate, ethical, emotional, perverse was to step to me and say:

"There, there, little one. Put it down Little One. Put down the baggage for a minute, an hour, a day. Put it down and crawl away, panting, head hung low. Put it down and stand feeling nothing where there was weight and way too much care. Come here and sit at my knee. For this stretch of time I will keep you safe and secure."

If someone who knew how to nurture without profoundly harming, who could resist the societally indoctrinated urge to truly and unconsensually subjugate, could look on me sitting powerFULL yet choosing for a moment to be small and vulnerable...if they could see a gem worth protecting and say:

"Put it down and just back away from it. I will bear witness as you do it and not laugh or kick you in the gut or pull out a machete or gun or hard, unkind word."

Would I kneel before such a One?
Hell. Yeah.

Would I kneel and cry and roll over onto my back and show my soft underbelly to One who walked with enough consciousness of their own power that they could see me standing, crawling, kneeling with personal power intact but not on overt display and...let...me...live, head held high, pride intact once our fun was done?

Hell. Yeah.

Discipline, head bowed, careful service to One as powerFULL as I am in their own right would be a languorous pleasure...

Could I allow another to serve and experience this delight? Would I allow them to serve? Could I top so that they could touch rock bottom, choose not to stay, choose when to draw back and rise again refreshed?

I could.
Like I said...I'm a massive bottom. :) (I just got a chill typing that. I wonder what idiotic simpleton stranger will attempt to step to me in ways that gets their head or an offending hand separated from their body? (fangy wolf woman grin) bottom/submissive is very, very different than pathetic, disempowered doormat. No one try my patience.)

So, like I was saying...
I'm envisioning what I desire and re-reading the books on my shelves...

Oh! And puLEEZ. Nobody contact me to do a radical anti-oppression based critique of the following excerpt from bitch goddess.

That's so easy.
I'm assuming that at least a hand full of the folks who are reading this can do that over breakfast and still have time for a lovely and rewarding (aren't anally located endorphin rushes the absolute best?) bowel movement after which they can jet out the door and meet their day.

So no fucking way waste my time showing me your fancy analysis behind which you can still manage to effectively hide all the shadowy, confused, bloody nooks and confusing crannies of your desires, not name the specifics of your own tangled erotic or help me figure out how best to recognize, embrace and openly celebrate mine.

So, like...this is some of what I read...

"It has become fashionable of late to speak of BDSM not merely as an expression of sexuality, but also in terms of an ethical structure, a basis for relationships both erotic and "mundane." By exploring power exchange in a consensual erotic forum, the argument goes, we uncover the myriad power dynamics at work in the rest of our lives as well. Yet this dynamic works equally well in reverse. As more people learn about BDSM and accept it as a responsible and fulfilling sexual option, it is vital that BDSM practitioners examine their own ethical assumptions and articulate them to potential partners and to the larger community in which they move.

BDSM practitioners often pride themselves on their outstanding communication skills, and indeed, the willingness and ability to speak frankly about sexual and emotional matters is woefully rare in this puritanical culture of ours. But when we negotiate, what exactly is it that we try to communicate to our partner? More often than not, negotiation (especially for "casual" scenes) consists of little more than a laundry list of acceptable and unacceptable implements and epithets. While few would deny the importance of this information in clarifying physical and psychological limits, the result is at best, a meager menu of possibilities.

For those who are drawn primarily to dominance and submission (as opposed to physical sadomasochism), negotiation might include a bit more detail: roles, scripting, the parameters of service. Still, for those who desire "deep" transformative submission, these externals can prove inadequate. This is particularly true when satisfying service becomes a spiritual discipline.

In many traditions of both East and West, service is the basis of religious life. Certainly priest and priestess are, despite their outward appearance of authority, essentially servants of their god and of their spiritual community. Those individuals called to a life of prayer often accept a vow of absolute obedience to their superior. This is the case among Christian monastics who derive their way of life from St. Benedict's Rule and many others.

The goal of service in this context is not glory or fame or riches or any passing satisfaction of our physical or intellectual hungers. The goal is metanoia, conversation of life. By conversion, I do not mean a blinding bolt of light on the road to Damascus - one St. Paul is surely all we need -- but the slow, painstaking process by which one's heart and mind are re-formed to reflect more perfectly one's professed beliefs and values.

I propose that dominant/submissive relationships of the long-term variety can provide the stability and commitment necessary to effect such a transformation. I must quickly add this caveat: I am not speaking of occasional "play" or mere erotic titillation. And if one's spiritual path leads primarily to chemically induced trance, what I am suggesting here will prove wholly unsuitable, if not downright dangerous.

I'm talking about a move from recreational slavehood to ethically accountable service. In doing so, I am fully aware that the vast majority of people are more interested in simple sexual satisfaction than in talk of spiritual evolution. A blessing on their heads, I say! A sexually fulfilled world must surely be a more peaceful one. But for those few dominants who are familiar with spiritual discipline and are able to view themselves not as sex goddesses or avenging angels, but as loving teachers and guides, the task of direction may be a gift. For those few submissive souls who yearn to be first and foremost good, mindful, and obedient people, of service to the world as well as to a Mistress (my insert: or Sir), to be a spiritual servant is a worthy goal.

Where do we find models for this sort of relationship? Certainly very few people have the time or inclination to plumb the depths of monastic history. Even if they did, they would find precious little by way of dominant female role models -- and after all, they burned Jeanne d'Arc at the stake.

There is one secular movement, though, that grew up alongside medieval Christian monasticism in Western Europe and borrowed at least as much as it contributed to its iconography. That movement is courtly love. Courtly love forms the basis of what can be called the cult of romantic love, the same obsession we see today in its degenerate Hallmark incarnation every February 14th. Courtly love is closely linked to the cult of the Virgin Mary and other devotions that blossomed during this period, such as devotion to the child Jesus and the image of Jesus as Mother.

While scholars differ in their interpretations of the particulars, the basic outlines are clear enough. A young nobleman, often a member of the lesser gentry, conceives a grand passion for a woman of high estate. (The archetypal courtly relationship is female-dominant/male-submissive, although the roles can obviously be adapted for other erotic dyads.) Typically, the lady is inaccessible to the lover, either because she is married or because the difference in their social standing is too great. In many cases, such as that of Tristan and Isolde, Lancelot and Guinevere, or Diarmid and Grainne (my insert: obviously all the writer's references come right out of european history, myth and legend...so nobody write me pointing that out...that's so easy...like shooting rubber duckies in a bathtub...), the lady is married to the lover's liege lord, making the love doubly forbidden.

The result of this unrequited adoration of the feminine is a great outpouring of creativity on the part of the lover, in poetry, song, or feats of arms..."

There was more. But I need to stop transcribing this piece from bitch goddess by Christina Abernathy. It's called "Toward a Courtly Ethic of Dominance and Submission" And again, I had to bring my own critique of pretty much everything. So, feel free to do the same...really I don't understand how anyone reads a thing (even Black conscious, feminist or lefty publications) without doing just that.

Anywayz...comment at will...especially on the juicily fucked up, uncomfortable odd bits.

Oh, and LP? You there?
I have to respond to what you wrote about Wanted. And I will.

But I also want to say that I see you dipping a toe into my erotic even as yu seem still bent on relating to me as neutered Black mother/sister/warrior/homebirther/ally. That's so strange. It doesn't work, you see. Though in truth, I see the straight Blck folks try to do it with Black queers in this city all the time...sort of an extension of the "they're perfectly fine. i don't have any problem with them, their lifestyle or what they do. i have a gay cousin. i just don't think i should have to see what they do or have it all up in my face. they should just keep it in the bedroom. it's not really for public consumption."
I'm really dying to know what you think of all this...stuff I'm blogging out loud. :) What's happening inside your skull, girl? How are you doing?

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.

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, July 22, 2008

Better late than never...

Oh I know there are certain blogland denizens who are probably not particularly impressed with the ahem...bent...my posts have recently taken. :)

No matter. I remember where I come from, yes...but more importantly, I understand exactly who I am even as the nature of this beast remains, in the eyes of many, so difficult to comprehend, categorize, quantify or embrace.

So sad.

But I have no tears left to cry over those who insist on being so fucking narrow minded and sanctimonious in the ways they set their political agendas and in the ways they define/understand "friend" and/or "foe".

Good news, though...about the New Jersey 4...
...Terrain Dandridge has had her conviction reversed on appeal, and Renata Hill has won the right to a new trial! Please see the discussion board for continuing updates on their situations.
In the summer of 2006, seven young Black lesbians from New Jersey—Patreese Johnson, Renata Hill, Venice Brown, Terrain Dandridge, Chenese Loyal, Lania Daniels, and Khamysha Coates—were hanging out on the pier in New York City's West Village when Dwayne Buckle, a man selling DVDs on the street, sexually propositioned Patreese. Refusing to take no for an answer, he followed them down the street, insulting and threatening them: “I’ll **** you straight, sweetheart!”

It is important to understand that all seven women knew of another young woman named Sakia Gunn, who had been stabbed to death under very similar circumstances—by a pair of highly aggressive, verbally abusive male strangers. At least some of the seven had known Sakia personally.

During the resulting confrontation, Buckle first spat in Renata’s face and threw his lit cigarette at her, then he yanked another’s hair, pulling her towards him, and then began strangling Renata. A fight broke out, during which Patreese Johnson, 4 feet 11 inches tall and 95 pounds, produced a small knife from her bag to stop Buckle from choking her friend—a knife she carried to protect herself when she came home alone from her late-night job.

Two male onlookers, one of whom had a knife, ran over to physically deal with Buckle in order to help the women. Buckle, who ended up hospitalized for five days with stomach and liver lacerations, initially reported on at least two occasions that the men—not the women—had attacked him. What’s more, Patreese’s knife was never tested for DNA, the men who beat Buckle were never questioned by police, and the whole incident was captured on surveillance video. Yet the women ended up on trial for attempted murder. Dwayne Buckle testified against them.

The media coverage was savage, calling the women such things as a “wolf pack of lesbians.” The pro bono lawyers for the young lesbians would later have to buy the public record of the case since the judge, Edward J. McLaughlin (who openly taunted and expressed contempt for the women in front of the jury all throughout the trial), would not release it. As of late August 2007, the defense team still didn’t have a copy of the security camera video footage. And after the better part of one year spent sitting in jail, four of the seven women were sentenced in June 2007—reportedly by an all-white jury of mostly women—to jail terms ranging from 3 1/2 to 11 years. The oldest of the women was 24, and two of them are mothers of small children.
for more information http://www.amyewinter.net/nj4/

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.

Papi pointed out that...

There won't be an "I kissed a boy" song rising to the top of the charts with everyone speaking openly about it such positive tones.

I kissed a girl has a titillation value that two men kissing doesn't have in mainstream hetero culture. Two men openly kissing is considered a threat to so many levels of power and domination. Even if the song maintained the same format with threat of the presence of a woman as potentially disapproving girlfriend, it would not be able to play down the transgressive value of two men sucking each other's faces in the ways that perry's continued insertion of the image of the man, her boyfriend, functions as a tool to minimize the threat of two wimmin kissing in the original.

I wrote this for Shmolee who I hope, when he's older, will at least try kissing a boy to see if it floats his boat.

Here's to more wonderful, loving, fierce gay boys. The world needs them.

I found the gay remix version of her rattid song on youtube. It just followed the same cowardly, "I couldn't help it but are you titillated?" format. It was dry and unimaginative. I like my version better. :)

This was never the way they planned
Not their intention.
I am so brave, still a man
don't need an erection
It's not what I'm used to
Just told to keep it down
I'm curious, so is he
Caught my attention

I kissed a boy
And I liked it
The taste of his cherry chapstick
I kissed a boy
Want to try it?
I hope the whole world don't mind it

I felt so strong
I felt so right
Could be it's love tonight

I kissed a boy
And I liked it
(I liked it)

Maybe I don't know his name
It doesn't matter
He's sweet and cute all the same
It's human nature
It's not what most would do
Not how they behave
I've been so abused
Now I'll obey

I kissed a boy
And I liked it
The taste of his cherry chapstick
I kissed a boy
Just to try it
The whole world can fucking shove it

It felt so strong
It felt so right
Definitely in love tonight

I kissed a boy
And I liked it
(I liked it)

Us men we are fantastical
Rough skin, red lips, so suckable
Hard, don't resist, so touchable
Too good to deny it
It's a big deal it's clear to see

I kissed a boy
And I liked it
The taste of his cherry chapstick
I kissed a boy
Glad I tried it
Don't like it? You can shove it

It felt so strong
It felt so right
Fer sure I'm in love tonight

I kissed a boy
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.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The married poly man wrote back...so I wrote some more...

I'm glad he wrote back and seemed excited about the email I sent him. I ended up writing two emails in response not one.

Thanks for responding. I'm going to write back. But I wanted to fire something off to let you know that I'm very much interested in meeting real time.

I'm also hoping to meet your wife and let her have a look at me.

I think this is so crucial. I had one other relationship with a poly man who started the relationship without the full consent of his primary female partner. From what I gathered of her behaviour over time, she wasn't one hundred percent on board with us spending time. I think it brought up insecurity and jealousy stuff for her that she chose to deny, smile her way through and just generally not allow herself space to process openly.

His response from what I could see was to spend less time with me, not be forthright about what was happening in his primary relationship, while finding odd ways to let me know that his partner was the most interesting, beautiful, fascinating woman he'd ever met. :)

I ended the relationship after trying to talk to both of them about how they'd constructefd things in such a way that there was precious little space for the primary coupling or for any other lovers to speak openly about his way of beginning relationships with other wimmin. That was painful, sad, unnecessary, but still...a learning experience.

It taught me a lot about how I want to craft relationships and about how much veto power I like to have as a primary female partner of my present primary partner. It also taught me more about the nooks and crannies of wimmin's minds and about the ways we can hide things we feel or know away from ourselves. I'm using the word "we" very loosely in that I don't like to hide things I feel or know away from myself, but I've realized that many wimmin can't help but do this.

I'm not sure if you or your wife would be comfortable with her meeting me at some point and taking a look at me, spending some time talking/interacting with me so as to see how our energies or ways of being work, meld, diverge, clash. I think her input and perceptions would be so important...crucial...equal, really, to how much you and I hit it off. What do you think?

But again, yes, I'd definitely like to meet you and talk real time. Would you like to go for tea? What's your time like this week or next week?

Bye for now.

Then I realized there was more I wanted to respond to...

Hi again...
Oh, after I wrote the first note, thoughts started to come. I hope you don't mind if I share some more responses to what you wrote. :)

(giggles...) Thinking about what you wrote about wanting to put off kinky people. Well, I'm a kinky person and your post didn't scare me away. ;) I'm seeking particular things in terms of possible relationship building and kink or no, I'd like to at least explore the possibility.

I think the possible combinations you've describe will make at least for interesting discussion if nothing else...but hopefully more if the trust and communication are there. I hear what you mentioned about your wife and her interest in exploring with the same gender.

I haven't been sexual with any wimmin who understand themselves as straight(I should have added: ...in recent years...) although the first woman I ever slept with was straight and in a live in relationship. She sort of had a melt down afterwards and could only speak with me, flirt with me, but not spend any time with me. Sad.

What I've noticed over the years after that experience mostly by watching as other lesbians, dykes, queer wimmin I knew slept with wimmin who identified as heterosexual is that unless the heterosexual wimmin have actually thought about their own sexualities and checked to see what parts of themselves and their worlds are really solidly built, completely grounded in sleeping with men, when they sleep with a woman, things can come crashing down in really messy ways for these wimmin.

By this I mean that the thoughts they should have or could have been entertaining and exploring on their own, in their own time, come at them like a barrage, often completely traumatizing them, confusing them and maddening them in ways that makes it difficult to continue to engage with them. That's a lot.

But do I think there is space for wimmin who define as straight to play and explore sexually with their own gender? Most definitely. I'm just not the best person to do this kind of play with...unless a woman's thought process has proceeded to a certain extent. :)

I have two children...an energetic, talkative, intelligent, quirky, emotionally present girl child who is 61/2 and an equally energetic, equally chatty, equally intelligent, passionate boy who is 2 years old. My daughter is in daycamp which means that I have time during the day to meet as long as my partner's schedule will allow him to take our son wherever he's headed which often it does.

And, yes, I messenger via gmail. Do you have an account? Can I send you an invitation to chat with me there? :)


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, July 19, 2008

This is an emailed probe I sent out today...

These emails are really getting used to communicating in non-lefty speak to people who I might want to connect with. This one says...

Dear (knickname omitted)
This is a unique pleasure for me.
I'm an intelligent, tall and long legged, softly squishable woman possessing a wicked sense of humour, a giggly side and an intensely serious side, who is 40 years old and married to a man 11 years my junior, who is married BUT... :)
Openly, honestly, ethically, sanely, safely polyamorous.
I live in a middle-class, conservative, family oriented neighbourhood just off (main street name omitted).

My neighbours say hullo, compliment me on my gardening skills, allow my children into their homes...

But I don't define as "normal"...just as palatable to the naked eye...just barely. :)

I'm of African descent, born in the west indies, raised and educated right through to university (visual arts) (I forgot to put: in kkkanada)...
I'm a writer, visual artist, poet, blogger.
I have two tattoos. My nose is pierced. My hair is coloured on a fairly recent basis and hasn't been black in quite some time. I stress :) my neighbours still seem to really like me. Though I think the other mamas with children my age can't seem to figure out why I always look so happy (I call it satiated) and where I find time to dress in anything but track pants, shorts or jeans.

Full disclosure.
I have had "kinky" threesomes...foursomes...moresomes when I was younger, before my children were born.
I am not a swinger. I am not looking for someone to spank, although I have been spanked and enjoyed it heartily. :)

I like to explore sexually.

am seeking long term, ongoing, connected interaction...dating, relationship with people who actually understand that there is space between monogamy and infidelity or callous one night stands.
am a feeling human being, affectionate, giving, with good boundaries that I expect to be respected.
I am of the mind that it isn't possible for any one human being to offer me all that I need, desire, want in relationship. I came into my present relationship openly defining as queer (after years of having had relationships with only wimmin and defining as a lesbian, I decided to explore my relationship and sexual options) and polyamorous. I think having and rearing children forced my partner and I into a rut there for many years. This spring I took it on myself to bring us single handedly out of that place through conversation and inviting him to revision along with me, what our real possibilities for life, love, fulfillment and relationship actually were.

We haven't looked back.

Sadly, I've met a lot of monogamous men. A lot of men who have particular kinks they want another functioning as object to fill. Sometimes I've played along and just enjoyed the ride and dealt bravely, maturely with the inherent limitations.

But I'd like to meet other human beings who also see me as whole, human. This is why your post attracted my attention.

I am seeking new friends who will build with me over time and will allow emotion and connection to deepen as trust grows.

I am looking for an activity partner. I like movies, walking around the city, poking around in stores filled with old things, going for coffee, bird watching, camping (well, mostly seeing the shield...it takes my breath away...and also lighting camp fires and putting up tents...)...
I like to buy spices and try making new dishes at home.

I like painting...canvases and houses....want to learn more about power tools and building things...
I like learning more about html and struggling to learn the ins and outs of doing computer graphics.
Sorry, I don't work out...see it as a form of self inflicted torture. :) But I'll be buying a bike in the next four weeks so that I can trek around the city.
I was raised by a musician...bass guitar and trumpet...he gave it up, I think his heart was broken by not having succeeded in the ways he would have liked. I like all different kinds of music. Have a passion for different kinds of rock.

I like passionate discussion...but prefer passionate writing and sharing of thoughts using writing as a medium. I think I've just been missing the presence of people who know how to look into the abyss that is difficult, meaningful, transformative, exciting conversation and not balk...instead laughing so as to say: "Well, if that's what you've got...let me throw this at you and see what you make of it!" I like brave people who don't freak out when emotions rise to the surface and who know how to attach words to what they feel, think, fear...

And you have a kilt? My partner also has a few. He likes to wear his with big black and silver boots. Hmmm...men in kilts is so hot. :)

I'm about 5'8" 180 pounds. So, if you're seeking barbie or any of her closely related flat bellied cousins :), sorry, I am not going to be a good fit. And I could involve you in a philisophical/political/social conversation about the nature of beauty as a construct...but, really? I think I'm attractive. "Pretty"? Nope. "Lovely"? Nope. :) My partner calls me striking. I would have to say that who I am would have to be experienced by you. You would have to decide how much of who I am, how much of my beauty you are willing to understand, process, connect with. I have pleasing veneers aplenty. But the reality is...paint and glitter wash off...flowing fabric is removed...accessories are inevitably put in their various boxes and containers. What is left is me - layered, vulnerable, shades of Black, rippled and stippled...human...animal.
I'm not sure how you deal with or understand that reality. If it is something you already are able to connect with, we might be able to work at building something meaningful.

You define as polyamorous. So do I. Would you like to see what other bits and pieces we have in common? I have to admit I'm curious.

Oh, and if I haven't already said it, I'm really glad you posted. Just sort of dropped out of nowhere right into my lap. Sweet. :)

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, July 18, 2008

Back to craigs...again...

I saw another posting on craigs and decided to respond to it. My email bounced back. It seemed that the email address for that person wasn't working for some reason.

I was pretty intrigued by what they'd written. So, I posted an ad on craigs inviting them to email me.

I got an email from someone who claimed to be the person who had posted the original ad. They wrote about another man utilizing bits of what they'd written, badly, trying to pass the original posting off as theirs.

As I read about this bit of craigs related drama I realized I had no way of knowing if this was really the person whose words I'd read.

I sent them this response...

Now of course I realize that there really is no way to verify your identity, now is there? :)

I haven't gotten any other responses...yet. It never crossed my mind that anyone save the person who posted such a grounded and specific post, would respond to my note.


All's fair in love and war, I guess. :)

So, I will take you up on your offer and send you what I wrote. :)

Dear (knickname deleted),
Your posting attracted my eye a few weeks ago. I was intrigued and appreciated your willingness to utilize lots of language to communicate your vision. Clear, good boundaries, truthful, committed to putting what you seek front and center.

I also, appreciate you making the distinction between casual and callous. For so many these two are conflated...one and the same.
It's caused me a bit of upset as someone who does really like to fuck but who is also affectionate, likes to cuddle, kiss, date, go to movies, go for wine...meals.
I think these are all possible and don't have to be separated off from sexual intimacy or even kink...which I also enjoy very much.

There are a few interesting bits that I'm hoping you will allow me to tease out in full before you decide whether engaging with me further would be a good idea.

I'm an intelligent, forthright, truthful, opinionated creative. I'm a visual artist, writer, blogger.

I'm 40 years old but refuse to be prematurely aged by this society's oppressive views of wimmin who are "older".

I am tall (5'8"), curvaceous (squishable...definitely far away from being a bone rack) and long legged.

I am a Black woman born in the caribbean, immigrated here as a child.

I am a queer woman, a former lesbian/dyke who made the choice to be with wimmin and then made the choice to broaden my options by dating men, as well.

I presently don't date wimmin. Long story. Painful...sometimes just downright stupid. My heart is broken in a few places.

I am polyamorous. Not sure if you're familiar with that term. I know that you mentioned not being interested in wimmin who are proposing to cheat on their husbands. I think that men and wimmin who frequent these places because they are contractually bound to one person who they are not sexually compatible with are so sad. I've met a few of them.

It's wierd trying to interact with them as a woman who is in a polyamorous, committed primary relationship with a man who supports my choices and who regularly meets the men I date. Monogamous people don't usually understand. When I say, "Oh, my husband/partner/life mate might answer the phone, but don't worry, he's expecting your call..." they get anxious and start thinking that he's going to argue with them or cry or arrange to have them killed.

That's so much drama. Too much drama.

My life is quiet. I live in a house off the (main street near my house) with my partner and our two children. I garden. I blog. I make dinner time creations for my family. When I'm not with my family doing family oriented activities I read lefty anthologies, toy with ideas and thoughts as a way to learn and broaden myself and my persectives...I write blogger friends in the states and meet men. :)

I started dating in the spring with the full knowledge of my partner, who you will meet if you and I decide to get together. I've had three dates with three separate men. These were okay in different ways. But I'm still seeking a really good fit, a solid connection that can complement my present relationship, not compete with it.

I am a passionately feeling, thinking, interactive, fun, explorational lover of life and the flesh. As I've already written, I'm also into exploring kink and extremities of sensation with trusted, like minded others.

(knickname omitted)...
I'd like to speak with you, communicate with you. Perhaps even meet up with you...play with you...if the energy is right even fuck you definitely not fuck with you or be fucked over by you.

Are you interested in exploring possibility with me?

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, July 17, 2008

Spend some time,...

thepoetryman has left a new comment on your post "Just because...(but b.y.o.a fer sure...)":

The video from the beginning seemed to draw me in.


The snow/ice on the instruments gave me the first clue that this was not going to be an easy one to figure out, if indeed I have.

-You got to spend some time Love.-

-You gotta spend some time with me.-

-I will possess your heart.-

The `me' is "the world"...

The `with love` is "we need to look around us and spend some time with it and love what we see (people, cultures, seas, architecture, being one with ourselves and one as a whole, sky, soil, water, plants, etc)."

`I will possess your heart'... The world will give as much love as it gets.

The ice surrounding the band to me representa ice caps, earth, nature, etc.

Poetry Man, it's been so long since I actually engaged with someone who values deconstructing a work aesthetically, seeking meaning in form and light and movement and setting, that your comment caught me off guard.

I had to stop and think about what I'd expected. I realized that I was communicating from a purely politically analytical place, as I often do in blogland when I do a critique.

Coming out of art school, dealing with profs and students who only knew how to do visual critiques was such a trip, so annoying, so limiting that I put doing that kind of work to one side and pretty much vowed to never pick it up again.

So, when I saw your analysis, I thought about what it means to engage with a lefty who is also creative...you.

I also thought about the ways this song inundated my senses, flooded my heart, grabbed me up and flew me away...never quite setting me down.

I have more. But my computer is shutting down. I'll be back to respond to the rest of the comments you've left and to everyone else's, too. Bye for now.

I'm back...don't have a lot of time.

i like your macro approach to understanding the song...totally supported by the video...the woman's travels...I'm still not sure about the cold place where the band plays their instruments...I appreciate the contrast, though...the place they occupy seems suspended, ancient, unchanging...elemental...Love? Hmmm...
Your reading invites me to understand greater love...love of this place, this world and all in it. It's a good reminder for an urban girl like me who can usually be found most days intently picking the lint out of my belly button rather than looking around herSELF at the sky and the sun and the moon and stars and at other humans and animals with wonder.
I don't do that most days. I think it breaks my heart and opens me in ways I find difficult. I should spend more time learning to love what's around me...as much as I spend struggling to love what's in me.

Of course you'll realize that I took the song very literally and thought about...you guessed it...me. First I felt it, fell in love with it. Orchestral, large, epic, layered, taking it's time, travelling, bearing me along with it, urgent.
Then the voice, so small and gentle and unassuming...disarming.
I thought about the love I can feel for another human being. I thought about the intimacy I want. I was mortified. :) Connecting with a song in a way that is so patently romantic upsets me even as it continues to draw me in.
So, I buy myself emotional space by deconstructing it and inviting others to deconstruct it, as well. :)
As I've listened, I realize this song also makes me think about yearning.
I thought about what it takes to make friends with someone like me. Time...spending time...it takes time and an open heart. I remember a woman of colour blogger, I think it was who linked to me and invited people to read this blog with an open heart...or was it an open mind? Both are necessary, I suspect.
I thought about a minute glass and about time running out from the moment I meet someone, will they "get me" in time? Will they allow what's here to possess their heart? Not in a monogamous, owning way, but as in, will they allow some space for me on their insides and allow me to do the same.
It's a matter of time. Sometimes I have it. Other times I don't.

When I saw the video, though...
I was also a little disappointed. I had so easily slipped into experiencing the song that I was a little shaken when I saw what the video ended up being...whiteness...viewing the world through white eyes, a white woman's eyes.
When I see the video I literally have to remind myself not to enter too fully into her travelling experience as it is so very different than mine. Her travels in the video resonate with a historical imperialist imperative that cannot be erased for me no matter how far the song carries me emotionally.
Her travelling, as white tourist, has particular meanings for me as Black woman that conflict powerfully with how I want to enter and sit inside this song.
Whiteness as universal and ubiquitous...white femaleness as the object of love, desire, admiration, adoration. I sit at the opposite end of the spectrum, struggling against multiple forms of oppression, struggling against other people's projected fears and assumptions hoping to find a few who will spend some time, love...allowing affection for me to reign over shifting, overlapping experiences of power and domination that, hidden, impact and influence desire, attraction, affections powerfully...hoping that some will allowing who I am to unveil and possess their hearts.

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, July 15, 2008

CJ, I've been reading your blog...

CJ has left a new comment on your post "Oh GAWD! You recognized the questions?...":

Darkdaughta -

Definitely recognized the questions. :)

My lover has had a profile on that site for some time, and actually encouraged me to make one. He likes the questions and the 'matching' aspect, and thought it would be good for me as far as making friends.

As you may imagine, I've been pushing that boundary a bit. :) I'm trying to get him to consider meeting people, on both of our parts, in some way or another that would be considered more than friendly. ;)

A hard sell for this man...he's all about monogamy. I guess I am too though, really, as much of the time I think about him with another woman, I feel queasy and destructively jealous. But, not all the time. :)

Anyway, you're probably right about not needing to explicitly lay out your polyamory up front. Those who are in the know (ie those you'd like won't need the intro. Probably better to rock on with that strategy as it's more likely to hook you up with desirables.

Definitely look me up. Gotta make a more concerted effort to be active on that site...talked to a few people so far, but haven't gotten many responses.

I'm not as sexxay as you are. ;)

Much love,

Dear CJ,

I've been back and forth reading your blog and leaving and coming back and reading some more. You seem to have amped up the volume quite bit. I always like it when you do that. :) I've been wondering what the after effects of your miscarriage look like? By that I mean, do you find that things have been muddied for you, clarified or has your reading of life, lust and love remained pretty much the same?

It's coming through in your writings loud and clear.

I'm enjoying being on the dating site. But it has posed some problems for me. As I've met men, most of them straight, I've been confronted again, as I always am when I encounter them, with the ways so many of them have been encouraged to shape their desirs and their perceptions of us wimmin...patriarchally.

This has, in turn, caused me to rethink the profile I have on the site...to make it more full, more about distinguishing myself from the kinds of wimmin many of these men may have been taught to find attractive.

The kicker is that my identity and visual aesthetic, my social positioning, mean that it ends up being super difficult to attract the kinds of lovers who might be interesting to me. The men whose values or aesthetics might allow them to code a Black woman as "suitable" date material are not often the same ones whose desires might allow them to code that same woman as "suitable" if they were for instance to realize that she doesn't wax or shave her pits, genitals or legs.

Then of course there might be ones who would "accept" or "admire" a "natural" woman, an African queen or princess. But most of these men would not be able to understand deviance or mouthiness or multiple partners or both men and wimmin lovers as part of the parcel...

But then of course there are those self-styled radical, alternative men who might appreciate a woman complete with armpit, genital, leg (actually, my leg hairs are sparse and brown and soft as opposed to coarse...most people assume I shave and really like touching my legs...) hairs, who uses a crystal or tea tree oil instead of deodorant/antiperspirant, who doesn't always need to wear clothes that bind or constrict (though baring lots of cleavage is big fun for me!), who is poly, who is intelligent, articulate and thinking, who values passion and deviance...

But whether they care to admit it or not (sometimes it's hard for them cuz they can be a very white liberal bunch) their understanding of who this woman is at her core codes her as white or as extremely white identified and alienated from her Blackness, working dilligently to impress by fitting in with often extremely eurocentric and white dominated communities, gatherings, clothing aesthetics, ways of communicating...

So, I'm feeling a bit bound...in ways that aren't consensual or pleasurable. To be naked (in a variety of different ways) and present as all of me I end up doing what Papi calls "casting a net that's about 2 in, more people lie outside my potential area of interest than lie inside it. :0

I've been sending them here to this blog, knowing that the vast majority of them will self deselect.

But when I had less about me and showed less about me, I had more responses, but I had to cull mercilessly or be confronted with remaining silent or worried about what it is, who it is any given potential would see and draw away from.

That sucked.

I would like to meet someone who can look on me and still want to be near me, who is articulate and loves using language, who loves to think and question, whose desires are constructed (all our desires are constructed either with or without our knowledge or consent) in ways that allow for the possibility of finding something other than white femaleness appealing, desireable, fascinating, precious, who is comfortable with their own body and desires enough that they can strip in a room full of people, fuck ecstatically and feel no ways, who is comfortable with the various and multifaceted biological workings of a woman's body and does not fall back on christianized notions of feminine purity and/or sluthood when confronted with a woman who consciously embraces her own erotic...hmmm...what else?... who understands that to sexually please a lover leads to their own fulfillment, as well, who believes in multiple relationships where deep emotional connection is possible and desireable, who feels...deeply and openly...) ... who does not believe in sanitizing or denying what makes us human, or for that matter, animals.

I'm gonna add that to my profile. That should reduce my net to the size of something made of the hairs on a fly's legs. :)

I hear you about your lover and his monogamy. Most of the men I'm meeting are mongamous, including Papi, I think. He understands poly intellectually, but I think he's still coming into his own understanding of what relationships will look like for him. I've just ended up pushing for the relationship to accomodate the fact that we're in different spaces developmentally. That's okay. I just want to be able to meet different people and have access to their energies in whatever ways I'd like without being blocked by Papi's process. He's managing to do this. So, that's good.

And, oh puLEEZ! You're plenty sexxxay. (hee, hee!!)

But seriously, I wanted to thank you for the post that contains these paragraphs:

"Many things I want to/should be/need to write about, we'll see how much I can get out in one sitting...it's like shitting and being constipated...the stuff just. won't. come. out. in large chunks very often...I tend to rant and ramble about one or two things (or nothing at all).

As I was reading this afternoon, something triggered a thought about a conversation I had with my lover a few weeks back. He'd asked me if I would erase/hide my blog if my ex and were to go into a custody battle, as I/we/everyone well know(s) it would hurt me should it be presented as evidence in my fitness as a parent. I thought about this for five seconds. Didn't take long. My answer was, of course, no. No fucking way. My lover asked me if I had thought of/was prepared for the consequences of that. I told him I had/was. I think about it quite often, actually...sitting on a witness stand somewhere, sweating, tears welling up, hopeless powerlessness filling my gut, creeping knowledge of loss and agony swelling in my heart...

No. I would not delete my blog. I would not erase evidence of my thoughts, my life, my desires and fuck-ups. I would not hide it. I refuse. To do so would be admitting guilt. To be conceding victory to the empty-minded, cold-hearted majority who would think nothing of taking my own child away for writing and obscure online diary, honestly, viewable to the non-viewing public. I mean, what the fuck? Why would I do that? I am me. Why should that, me, engender guilt, shame, erasure? Not always (never) perfect, not always (rarely) proud, but me. It's all I have. It's all I have to give to my son...the dignity inherent in refusing to not be myself in the face of rabid, ridiculous persecution. It's the only legacy worth leaving him. I see no reason for shame, and will certainly not hide. I will not negotiate with self-destroying terrorists of any stripe. Not ever.

It's the only reason I can see to move forward and play the games of the world, actually. Nothingness notwithstanding. Self. Sense of self. Knowledge of self. Grounding in self. Evolution of self. Discovery of self. Recovery of self. Revelry of self. This is where it happens, my Workshop of Self-Understanding Selfhood, if you will, and it's the only sound reason I can come up with for anything. Without it, I am not even air. I disappear. I don't even become. I just cease to be. I'm not giving that away...that would be deepest and most permanent abyss I can conceive of. The most complete form of death I can imagine.

And that is unacceptable. I love my son, losing him would be the (almost) ultimate agony...profoundly painful, damaging, traumatic. But I, we, would not go down without a fight. I can and will and could and would brave it to preserve what matters most to me, what I believe is most important to impart to him, to teach him, to model for him...I would fight for the rest of my life to get him back...but as me. Anything less, any concession of my self, the authentic person I am, in order to get to that point would be no victory to celebrate. No accomplishment at all, let alone one to be proud of. I wouldn't be able to look Ryo in the eye afterwards...ever. I would never have the confidence or courage to tell him or teach him by words or example to be true to himself. Because if I relented, if I let them disappear me, if I allowed their power to overwhelm my commitment to becoming exactly who and what I am, I...we, lose. Regardless of the outcome. Those ends do NOT justify the means! Never! Anything spoken after words about pride, dignity, wholeness, authenticity, strength in the face of adversity, courage, perseverance, would be utter bullshit. I could never speak to those things again, because I would've made the ultimate cop-out."

I live with the understanding that writing on my blog as I do will have real life implications for me...is already having real life negative implications for me. I know that people read and get angry and fearful...that they talk and that their talk turns into action in ways that does not benefit me.

I choose to continue, choose to walk with my head held high, choose to continue. I'm stubborn. They may "win", but they will not stop me. My capitulation, my hiding myself away, my fading away into a subjugated nothing creature is a prize they will never have. :) I know that those who wish this as an existence for me are fucking choking on their bile and hatred every time I post. That, in and of itself, is so very sweet. (Hey y'all!)

This bit made me giggle...not because it was funny, but because I recognized the cinematic reference and appreciated the way you used it...

"Then, just as abruptly as it had come, it faded. I became The Girlfriend, The Pretty Thing, It-Rubs-The-Oppression-On-It's-Skin-Or-It-Gets-The-Hurt again."
I felt what you wrote about your lover calling you a fucking bitch. That was intense...real...painful...to be expected...not accepted...but in a patriarchal world where men, no matter how wonderful, or kewl or desireable or poetic or wordy or open they are, still are raised in a patriarchal society, the stuff lurks under there. That's the nature of the beast, really...oppression. Those who benefit from oppression have been taught to do so, taught to rely on it, taught to filter their experiences through it and when they can't, when they're blocked from doing this, when they are challenged, when they can't fully have their fun, they get really, really, really pissed.

In truth, although I like soft spoken, gentle men who feel and tbink, I realize that others lie underneath their surface. I don't ever tell myself that the calm surface is all there is. I don't actually need to in order to feel affection for them. I know there is roughness and edge and rage and difficultness there...

oh, god, there I go getting myself all hot and bothered and excited again. :) This is so inappropriate. :)

What I mean to say is that I don't think it's useful to go into denial about who men are in order to be feminist and love them. I see lots of feminists who do tell themselves that their chosen male lovers are somehow "different".

I see when people try to tell me that Papi is "different". Papi knows he's not "different". Educated and conscientized yes. But also still birthed from a woman-hating, woman sucking (not in pleasurable ways) woman destroying patriarchal root. It's in him and he grounds in it...when he can...when I insist and stomp my foot hard, shake his earth, my nostrils flaring, goddess energy on fire.

Men. They're human beings. So fallible. So many of them are angry and confused and childlike...all of them are indoctrinated to try to climb up onto into us, so socialized to suck from us, so unwilling to unlearn this stuff and learn how to nurture themselves and us wimmin. Even when they're lefties, this stuff sits in them, in their blind spots in ways that doesn't allow them to pull their blinders off and really be brothers to us feminists.

I still think they're cute, though. I see glimmers of what I'm after. I see human beings who are frail and imperfect and beautiful and defiant and struggling...as we all struggle. It's just so fucking pissy to have to struggle against men, struggle against patriarchy even in our political communities, even in our relationships.

I make choices, I realize, about how much I actually want to struggle with them around their shite. I still have a pained spot right where my conversations with Julian went awry over me pointing out that there was no way for him to not benefit from patriarchy, even as a Black man. I think he wanted me to let him off the hook, somehow...like I had him on a feminist hook.

I didn't invent patriarchy. It really sucks to have to debate men's patriarchal privilege with them. This is their work, their stuff to unpack. I'm hoping that at least some of the ones who visit me here will be able to sit with this. I really hate losing allies because I am able to talk openly about privilege and oppression as it relates to people inside the communities I am linked to.

Fucking bitch. Angry? He felt that was okay? hmmm...
Calling you a bitch is not acceptable. You being surprised that he did is surprising, though. Do you know what he was taught? Does he know what he was taught? It's been in the relationship between the two of you all along. There's no way to avoid it.

Do you think you'll be able to survie this reality and still be in relationship with him? Are you going to go and activate your lesbian membership, now? ;) hee, hee, hee!

Hugs. You're great. Keep digging.

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.

Beatiful guitar and voice...nice way to start off the day...

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, July 14, 2008

Three wimmin...

One. She's got considerable facial tattooing. I told her she was beautiful. She told me I was, too. I had an anxiety attack and moved quickly away. darkdaughta, you're such a nerdling. :) I have fantasies about running a single black fingernail across her skin, tracing the tattoos and then kissing her forehead slowly without pulling away. Fantasy.

Two. Black butch. Completely passing...but there were two nubblings on her chest that would only give her away if a person knew to look for them. She did not compromise in any way shape or form. Not a hair, not an angle out of place. Usually I find that some will compromise by doing things like buying girly shoes or by relaxing the jaw's hard line or wearing some other item of clothing that just screams "girl inside here". She did none of this. Handsome. I would have liked her a few years ago. I looked her in the eye but did not smile. She could not see my insides jump. I went back to drinking my strong, black, deep, dark, bitter coffee.

Three. I got a telephone call two weekends ago. Former lover. She's a really nice, laughing, affectionate, skilled white woman who I romped with a few years back after one of her lovers pointed out that she was attracted to me. I was at the net cafe writing about men and struggling with Shmolee when she called. I said I'd call her back. Now I'm waffling. I really don't have it in me to deal with the various interpersonal and community and sexual and racial dynamics. I just don't have it. The thought of going out with her or with any woman I've already met or know triggers me. I want to meet people who are off my beaten path. That's safer for my heart and spirit. No looking back.

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, July 10, 2008

From Leatherfolk...

"A dream is a wish your heart makes: Notes on the materialization of sexual fantasy" by Michael Bronski snipped directly from the pages of leatherfolk- radical sex, people, politics and practice...

"2. We all carry different images of ourselves in our minds. What they are depends upon who we are: our personal backgrounds, our gender, our race, our sexual desires, our class, our political and religious beliefs. At any given moment our fantasy image might change depending on what we need. This is especially true of sexual self-images. We might be the seducer, the betrayer, the betrayed, seething with sexual animalism or soft and romantic, enticing our ability to love rather than fuck someone's brains out. We get our images out of our own minds, out of magazines, out of porn, out of fairy tales, and out of movies.

The sexual imagination is elastic and ecstatic, it can expand and incorporate whatever strikes its fancy and many times we have little control over what flips into it. Like a video screen run by a libidinous double agent, we are always on the edge. What might turn us on? What deep recesses of the brain might reveal something unexpected and new?

We are generally taught to curtail our sexual fantasies; we should play them safe because they might get out of control, out of hand. They might, in fact, become reality. Sex is a powerful force and most political systems -- including church and state -- find it in their interest to control not only sexual activity but also sexual imagination. What happens, then, when we are able to break through and unleash the imagination, and then bring it into reality?


9. Conservatives and those demanding social control have always argued that the realization of sexual fantasy is too dangerous -- that it will only produce more extreme sexual behavior. This sort of addiction mentality is based upon the fear that sexuality is always in danger of going out of control, becoming all-consuming, that meat will always take precedence over mind. It is the fantasy of those who have no understanding of their own sexuality.

The relationship between sexual fantasy and sexual reality is never simple. One does not necessarily follow the other, but rather there is a subtle and unending interplay.


10. The explosion of private sexual fantasy into public view is a powerful political statement. In a world that functions on sexual repression, the sight of two queens or dykes walking down the street is a vision of the gradual cracking of the social order. The drag queen, the butch lesbian, the clone, the lipstick lesbian, are all expositions of sexual dreams -- waking nightmares for the culture at large. Some might be more sexually explicit than others -- and not all may be understood by the straight world viewing them -- but to consciously present oneself as a (homo)sexual being is to grapple with and grab power for oneself.

This is particularly true of the S/M leather scene. The blatant, public image of the leather man (or woman) is an outright threat to the existing, although increasingly dysfunctional, system of gender arrangements and sexual repression under which we have all lived. "This is about power," we are saying, "and the power is ours to do with what we please. It was always ours and we have reclaimed it for our own use and our own pleasure.""

I think when the white gay man who wrote the essay I snipped these pieces from could have defined the words "we" and "our" and "power" so as to infuse with an analysis of his own complex social positioning as privileged and oppressed, as well as with a critique of power, dominance, subjugation and systemic oppression.

I do understand that the (personal) power I seek is different from the unearned power conferred by privilege in hierarchical societal systems.

I understand that the (personal) power I desire is already MINE, here in me. The challenge for me is that I struggle daily against systems of domination and against colonized human agents of these systems who have been alienated from their (personal) power who only know how to forcibly alienate me from mine and from the power of my erotic so as to better gut and control me.


And as I NEED, I desire, connecting deeply with the realization that I can and should (re)claim my (personal) power so as to better use it towards (collective and personal) resistance as well as for the realization of consensual, ethical, safe and sane pleasure which, because it is elemental, uncontrollable and falls well outside the bounds of what is considered acceptable, will invariably be defined as "perverse".

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.