Friday, October 31, 2003

Well, I just made it in to work, after dropping the Top off at their house. I'll stay long enough to do a bunch of letters, and then it's home to bed....(after calculating all my sick time this week for the finance guy). I am beginning to feel better. It's been a full 24 hours without a pounding head. But my body is wiped. So I plan on resting all weekend. I need to kick this. You see, I have plans.

I need to paint. I need to paint bad. What brought this on? I think time...and inspiration. Unbeknownst to Singletails, he inspired me in a powerful way. He asked me a question. One question. It became the seed that quickly grew into a raging desire. And, although the flesh is currently fucked, the spirit is chomping at the bit. I have 3 images I am going to work on, simultaneously. And, I know that once those are in process, my hunger to continue my lapsed series will seriously emerge. Yes....! I am so jazzed.

These are all portraits. The hands of a blacksmith, hammering away at a hot piece of iron. Can I tell you how sexy that is to me? Mentor. I'm going to paint His portrait. He doesn't know, so don't tell Him! I can't wait to present Him with His image. I see two paintings of Sir.

Dark....with light slicing through. Moody, provocative. I can see it, yet not completed. So the challenge is there, to begin and watch what manifests.

Okay, now I need to get back to work. And because it's Halloween, I'll leave you with this delightful article from Alternet.

Halloween: A Communal Catharsis
Why aren't I in bed surrounded by my 2 comforters, blankets and 3 pillows considering I've been craving it for the last couple hours? Call me sucker or call me friend. me very a Top I used to play a lot with, in the past. I'm picking them up at the airport in an hour. Seeing I'm close to the airport, they'll crash at my place, and I'll drive them home on my way into work tomorrow.

So to stay awake I've been surfing. Look at what I found!
Hear ye hear ye all you writers in the crowd! Yes, it's that time of the year.

It's NaNoWriMo time!

Thursday, October 30, 2003

Hey folks, I'm still pretty sick. Don't expect much in the way of blogs for a bit. I'm saving the little spurts of clear-headedness for work before I crawl home to bed. If I see any groovy links, I'll be sure to send them this way.

It'll be nice when I can sit down and really chat with you. In the meantime, I've already lost patience with this flu thingy that's essentially kept me down since Sunday.

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Yup, it's Wednesday. You know what that means.

I've spent the last couple hours at work sorting through jobs, and attempting to do batches. The last half hour has seen me looking at the same work over and over, numbers getting blurrier. I'm headed home to bed again.
Thanks to Lydia for drawing my attention to an article in the Village Voice on the art of being subversive.

Wow. I think it's a brilliant example of activist art. Kudos to artist Patricia Cronin.

About the sculpture Jerry Saltz writes:
'Memorial to a Marriage' doesn't stand out, it blends in. So much so that it's almost invisible—just another monument to death, love, and loss in this amazing garden of graves. Only when you think about why Memorial blends in does it stop being conventional and start being insurrectionary.

There is so much I want to say regarding this topic, and's not quite time. It ties in with my ideas surrounding 'erotic' art and activism. How can we create powerful change by a subtly blatant act? A highly sophisticated statement carried through with exceeding grace.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

And one more article on the russian tattoo subculture.

I honestly don't know why this subject grabbed me the first time I read about it, but it definitely has me in its clutches. I really wish the most comprehensive site was still accessible. There was a more thorough history, photos and even explanations of what some of the designs stood for. In addition to being a language, the markings are beautiful.
More on russian prison tattoos. Here's an interview with Alix Lambert, filmaker for 'The Mark of Cain'.
Sir emailed me a while ago to see if I needed anything. After thanking Him for His concern I reassured Him I had a blanket, warm socks, tea, drugs, juice, a new box of kleenex and Campbell's chicken noodle soup. I figure I'm set for a while. But, I sure as hell plan on going into work tomorrow. It's tough sitting still. Daytime tv sucks and I've been too dizzy to dare go out and rent a video. So, I've been working on collecting addresses of gay bars in WA, ID and OR for an ongoing project. I don't do naps well. Sometimes it's tough getting my mind to shut down, no matter how physically run down I am. I'm also trying not to freak about how much work is waiting on my desk for me.

Any virtual vitamins, hugs or some such stuff you have a hankerin' to send would be greatly appreciated.
Last week I found this amazing site. I immediately emailed it to Sir. Apparently, an hour later He went to check it out and it was gone. Gone! So I googled and pulled up the page in their cache. Today, I was going to at least link to that page, so you'd get an idea, as well as to another link I saved for a book on this topic. Guess what? Each of those gone as well. Fuck.

Over the last week I've been doing lots of googling for this info and have yet been able to find anything as meaty as the original site. But, this is what I've pulled up regarding Russian Prison Tattoos. I'm intrigued. It's a huge subculture, language and all.

As I'm now going thru the list of links I acquired, I see that most are now dead, including an article from ABC news. Shit. Bizarre. They were all active last week.

Here's a little piece about gang tattoos. There is a mention of Russian prison tattoos near the bottom. And another one in SFGATE.

There's a documentary made called: The Mark of Cain. I'm going to contact Scarecrow Video to see if they have a copy.

And I just found another site which advertises the book, Russian Prison Tattoos - Codes of Authority, Domination and Struggle. I am so going to pick this up.

As I find anything else, I'll make sure to drop it your way.

I'll leave you with another (not Russian) prison tattoo site, for your perusal.
Still sick. Ugh.

I've had too many days in the last few months where what appeared to be a nasty cold would keep me down. But after a good night's sleep, I'd be fine in the morning. This time, it's an out an out raging cold. So, I'm still home, although I'm doing a little work stuff via email, trying to deal with donor inquiries and staff questions. Maybe it's a good thing we don't have remote access to our data base, otherwise I'd be sitting here pulling reports.

Seeing my head is so full and unclear (therefore another good reason not to pull reports!), I thought I'd gift you with some cool links. Let me find them and get back to you. I know I've tucked 'em somewhere....

Monday, October 27, 2003

I was headed for a concert last night, Mavis Staples in a Tribute to Mahalia Jackson, when I needed to get home. The Bear, wonderboy, another friend and I were at dinner before the concert. One moment I was fine, and the next...I'm hit with a nasty cold. We had just finished dinner and were headed to the concert. Having two cars, wonderboy graciously took me home and then went to join the others. I'm bummed I missed the show, but I know there was no way I would have enjoyed it.

This morning, I wanted to buzz up to the grocery store. I need soup, juice, decongestants, and kleenex. But...I realized I don't have a car! Being so out of it last night, I totally forgot that before dinner I met the guys at the catering space and then wonderboy drove. So, my car is still there. I've left a message on his cell phone...and know I'll get my car back at some point. Just hafta wait.

Sunday, October 26, 2003

Fall doesn't mean down.

And yet, what is it about fall that tends to be the beginning of a more depressive cycle for many? The air is delightfully crisp. Fall smells fresh to me. If you live in an area blessed with the ever changing leaves, the colors are vibrant and invigorating.

Fall is boldly and clearly a season of transformation. So why do our bodies react in opposition to such excitement?

Yes, the days get shorter. There is something restful in that. My pace slows, my breathing is deeper and more relaxed.
Does the sense of impending hibernation have to be a blues state?
I feel the rush of fall. And at the same time, there's a sadness.

I wonder if that's ingrained. I wonder if we've been taught that fall is the season of the dead, which it is in many ways. Yet death isn't ultimately a negative. It's an ending that brings up so many possibilities.

Understandably, there are those sensitive to the lessening degrees of light. I know it's physiological and not simply a mindset.

But...for others, and honestly, me, I wonder if it's a matter of shifting my thinking. Just some thoughts I've been mulling over.
Yesterday was our board/staff retreat for work. It's a one day event in the fall, and in the spring, a full weekend.

I believe we have the best board of directors. The board and staff work together quite well. There have been many times when we present an issue to the board, they will respond with "we trust you." It's a relationship of give and take, trust and much respect. And...loads of genuine affection. We have a 26 member board, and everyone plays well together. All are highly committed, empassioned people, diverse in race, sexual orientation, gender, and economic means. Other organizations have told us over and over how fortunate we are to consistently have a healthy working relationship between staff and board, and all the individuals within.

Afterwards, Sir and I were headed to a 20th anniversary party for a local queer couple. But on my way home from the retreat, I discovered how exhausted I was. Retreat days are a full day of thinking and brainstorming. Our biggest, most innovative, risk taking ideas tend to be born at the retreats. Off the cuff in the middle of an exercise, someone will say something, and it's the seed that slowly germinates. Within a few years, a new program is implemented. Due to all this mental engaging, and being someone who needs lots of alone time after being surrounded with people for hours and hours, I'm toast by late afternoon. So, although I was really looking forward to the party, which was being held at the Doubleheader, (oldest still running gay bar in the US), I decided that if Sir needed to cancel...then I was staying home.

Walking in my door, there was a message from Sir. Yup...He had to back out. Yes! I crashed on the couch and didn't move except to make a grilled cheese sandwich. I needed quiet and sleep. And there was my evening.

I'm planning on taking Thursday off this week, to make up for the retreat work day, and it'll give me a 4 day weekend. I also need to schedule a week's vacation in November, otherwise I'll lose the time. I've held off booking it because I wanted to be in a better emotional space to paint, which is what I want to take time off for. The urge has been increasingly stronger, albeit still faint at times, and I think my energy will keep up as well. So we'll see.

Friday, October 24, 2003

When I'm tired, one of the things I enjoy is to surf blogs and hit their links. I'm fascinated by what people choose to place in their links lists. Sometimes, I can't find my way back to where I began because of the maze of information.

Here are a few links I came across last night.
First, because I came into the computer age kicking and screaming, and by the way, I still have doubts and concerns surrounding the amount of bogus information, the demise of books and all this cyber stuff in general, although I keep reminding myself of all the positives in addition to the downside...I enjoyed reading What's Radical About the Weblog Form in Journalism?

Next, turning a corner and stumbling into a little treasure of a site, BookSlut blog, I found a link to another enjoyable article about Chuck Palahniuk (author of Fight Club and Diary). He mentions a goal of getting 30 people to faint at his readings, and so far 27 have succumbed. The piece also speaks of the autographed fake vomit he hands out at readings, and how prolific he is. Very good article.

Keeping on topic, I have 4 sites I keep up with faithfully. There is a bunch of others I frequent, due to their conversation on leather or art, and one day, when I have the energy to figure out the html code to include a links list in my blog, I'll include all of them. But these sites seriously juice me. They are writers. Fabulous writers as well as leatherfolk. It's the writing, and the spirit of the person that keeps drawing me back. I'm turned on by their fucking minds. I've linked to a couple in the past. Geekslut, Lthredge who hosts 100 Bloggers and Singletails.

The fourth, is one of the first online journalists I've been keeping up with...a couple years, I think. She's queer, brilliant, perverted and an amazing writer. Her entries are about her writing, politics, life, work, love, illness and times hot scene reports. She's a good ranter as well. Check out A Pornographer's Diary. I was quite taken with the entry for Sunday, Oct 19th, entitled "Sweet Hunger". Lydia...I just HAD to link to you. This piece is among one of my favorites!

In spite of my apprehension with the internet, it's sites like all the above that keep me surfing. The amount of ideas and thought that is quickly accessible astounds me. And yet, there are times when I attempt to research something, and realize I'd have better luck in our library. I guess the upshot of this is I need to remind myself that it's not an all or nothing scenario (or so I hope). They are all tools, right? Using this computer in addition to other stuff.

Thursday, October 23, 2003

Last night Benaroya Hall hosted a Pearl Jam acoustic benefit concert for Youthcare. I heard about this over a month ago and really wanted to attend. I'm not a huge Pearl Jam fan, but I love when heavier rock bands perform unplugged and acoustic. Well, I didn't get tickets. Apparently the concert sold out in about 8 minutes. Now, what I'd love to see is a cd of the concert but I don't know if there are any plans for such a recording. Imagine it. They could then continue to benefit Youthcare with a cut of the profits.

I'm into all sorts of music. Honestly, the only stuff I'm not crazy about is country and most rap. My selection of music is contingent upon my mood and what I'm currently doing at the time.

When painting, oddly enough, most of the time I need to listen to something that fills me...and tends to be almost hypnotic. Enigma (yes I can hear the groans) is my favorite for painting. No, it's not dungeon music for me. But for some reason, in the studio, it allows my ego to step back and assists with freeing me up.

At times, I'll throw on Metallica, Nirvana or Alice in Chains. Other times, it's Lucinda Williams, Joan Osborne or Peter Gabriel. I'm a huge fan of acoustic folk music. When I lived in New England, each weekday morning my radio was set to Emerson College radio for Coffeehouse.

Jazz and blues turn me on, as well as classical. Opera delights me. World music rocks me.

I guess it's like colors. As a painter, especially as a colorist, I am often asked what my favorite color is. My continual answer is "the one I need in the moment."

In my world, I don't have favorites regarding music, art, color, beauty. I'll see something and burst out "god I love this!!!!". And then an hour later see another and exclaim the same. It's what I feel at the time and allowing things to speak to me.

Guess that's the key. It needs to scream to me. When it doesn't, I tend to discard it. And screaming doesn't necessarily mean loud freneticism. Sometimes silence and calm calls as loudly.

Wednesday, October 22, 2003

Horoscope time! Rob Brezsny says....
I had full intentions to blog about this last week, but didn't get around to it. This morning's article in Alternet reminded me.
Gay Apocalypse Now

Yes, we as queers have an evil agenda...destroying civilization as we know it. Apparently that's why Marriage Protection Week was so friggin' important. And has anyone paid attention to the fact that this particular week, edifying the very pillar upon which our society rests, began the day of the 5th anniversay of Matthew Shephard's death and the day after National Coming Out Day? Timely, isn't it?

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

I've been quite preoccupied for the last week or so. Attention diverted leaves little energy to sink my teeth into a meaty blog. I miss that luxury.

A couple nights ago I received a gift in my email. A gentleman, and he so is...sent me files of his creative work. I was honored. These are images he's been playing with. I was a kid at Christmas, tearing off the wrapping to see what lay inside. With a click of the mouse, "oohhh" would slide off my tongue. They are minimal, clean and very juicy. Sexy.

What interested me is it could have easily become a clinical study in technique and yet somehow energy was captured and escaped as I opened the file. The work was infused with his sexuality. In my opinion, that is an important aspect that assists in defining a work as art. The energy of the self, when allowed to enter a piece, regardless of subject matter, will bring the work to a new level beyond mere depiction. It breathes.

Thank you for your gift.

Monday, October 20, 2003

Pineapple Express

Yup, that's what we've been experiencing. Very heavy rains and heavy air. So warm! I'm watching the news while typing, and they just announced we've had 3.76 inches of rain today alone. And it's still raining. Honestly, in the 5 years I've been in Seattle, I don't remember this kind of rain. Our rains tend to be quiet and slow. On and off mists...rarely drenching.

So, in my warped way, I'm thrilled. I feel a little of the intensity of storms felt in New England. There's a rush that goes through my body during dramatic natural events. Traffic's been a bear all day, beginning as soon as I hit the highway this morning. Flooding all over the place, streets, sidewalks, parking lots. Standing on my deck earlier, I noticed the green area near the playground, framed by apartment buildings. This area dips down and has turned into a small pond. There was a young boy wading in the water, he appeared to be about 8 or 9. The water was up past his waist. He dropped down, to get wet up to his neck. It actually looked like fun.

Now, in spite of my enjoyment, I'm acutely aware of the problems associated with all this. Some homes and businesses have seen water damage and sewage backing up into their space. There have been a multitude of accidents.

Good and bad. It all goes hand in hand, doesn't it?

Sunday, October 19, 2003

"Group from two models", 1822
by Alexandr Ivanov is from the page I linked to a couple minutes ago. The standing man's hand grabbing the other man's wrist.....incredibly sexy.

This drawing is positioned way above almost all the visual works that claim to be 'erotic art' (a term I detest and have been meaning to seriously rant about, but being so empassioned, I've yet to muster the energy. One day, I promise). The work evokes so many fantasies. Really look at it and allow your mind to wander. I wonder what the story is. What's the relationship between the two men? What happened just before? What will follow this moment in time?
Time for art!

Check out what I just found! Big score! Russian figurative work! These rock!
Apparently I'm into short sentences and exclamation points. But you know...these are great! I want to sink my teeth into each one of them.
The sensitivity of line and form. this!
I was very tired yesterday afternoon. Intentionally, I made no weekend plans until this evening, looking forward to a full 24 hour stretch of blissful nothingness…and time to work on the large drawing, hopefully to completion.

In addition to long work days this week, I realized I was out every night except Monday. Yesterday morning I returned to work to finish up a few projects that are near impossible to do with a full office. Quiet was needed. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen. Instead, I did complete the 2nd part of my list. So, productive overall.

Friday afternoon, I received a cryptic email from a coworker.
Yes, I have a bad habit of logging into my work email even on days off...and worse yet, responding. Anyway, I wanted to pop into work Friday night to check out donations that came in and see what the email was really about. But, the office isn't in the best neighborhood to be walking around alone at night . Hookers have been found murdered in the dumpster next to our building and drug dealers hang out on the corner. Since I've been in Seattle, this is the neighborhood that feels most unsafe, in spite of the gentrification that is currently under way. Ugh. I'm not for gentrification in all cases. Cleaning up a neighborhood is one thing…but I don’t believe in gentrification to the extent it is happening. I take issue with turning eclectic, diverse and yes, sometimes dangerous neighborhoods into little havens for the upper middle class population. It feels like the typical aggressive nature of America to swoop in and turn something into the so-called bland American vision with commercialism and all.

But back to my story. Sir called about 8:30 Friday night, and I mentioned the email to Him. He offered to come with me. We headed into town where I did a really quick work thing, clearing up the confusion around the gifts. Afterwards, we ran up to Capitol Hill...and hit Cafe Septieme for a bit. We were chatting away, and people watching. At one point, I went to the bar, to make sure the waiter understood Sir’s request. The three waiters descended upon me and asked me about my buzzcut. Yes, they’ve seen it in the last few weeks, but apparently never had the time to really talk. So, here I am in a full restaurant, with the waiters surrounding me and one rubbing my head. I relayed the story of how it happened, and pointed to Sir, saying if they liked it, they had Him to thank. Before leaving, one of them came up to the table and actually thanked Sir…and proceeded to rub again.
I do love this place~

Saturday, October 18, 2003

Thanks to sex-geek for this link. I can only groan when studies are published confirming what we already know. In Forbes, no less, 'Is Sex Necessary?'

Friday, October 17, 2003

I'm running in and out again. The shoveling done, flag pole gone, a trash run, and now back to Sir's.

After getting my hair buzzed last night, Tattoo'd Bear had me over for dinner. It was a great evening with him, his partner and their boy. Per usual, we played some at the shop before and after he clipped me. Have I mentioned he has great big hands? Yeah. And, he said I could link to his shop. So here it is, with a photo of him.

And here's another pix of Tattoo'd Bear.

Ain't he just fuckin' hot? I love this guy. We met about 3 years ago and clicked right away. A friend took me into his salon, we were introduced, and then spent that afternoon on his sailboat. It stayed moored because his boy at the time needed to do some work on it. But it was a fun day anyway.

He is a good man.

And now, I need to run.

Thursday, October 16, 2003

Wanna know what's up with me? First, I have a date with Tattoo'd Bear this evening. Buzz cut and then drinks. Yeah, I know it was supposed to happen last week, but it didn't. So shoot me.

My hair is waayy too long. It's now about over a 1/2" long and it is driving me crazy. Hmmm. Love that.

Second...the messy stuff. Remember last week when I wrote about remembrance of blocked pain? Honestly, it's been a really tough road. I kept putting off calling my therapist. I had a Wednesday am appt, and attempted to wait until then. But Tuesday afternoon, while at work, I couldn't take it anymore. I went into the ED's office (empty for the moment and it's the only office with doors) and called the shrink. I told him about this new development and he said now was when I especially need to keep in contact more often. Apparently, it's critical I reach out as it gets more difficult. Frequent phone calls. He also said I needed to learn to take pain breaks. I scoffed and said..."Right. How the hell do I do that? Simply turn it off?". If I'm alone, I feel and hurt. And I'm afraid to spend lots of time with people when it hurts because I don't want my pain to ooze all over and contaminate them. He quietly chuckled and responded "that's quite the dilemma, isn't it?". Frustrating, isn't he? Although I do have to say, he's extremely patient as well. Good thing.

The periodic relief. Booze worked the other night. It was a suggestion from my therapist no less. Now, before all you ex-alcoholics come down on me....step back a bit and get over yourselves. I have rules. I will not drink alone....and don't. Except once. I remember wondering what it would be like to paint while buzzed. So I popped open a bottle of wine, brought it into the studio, drank and painted. It was very enjoyable and unsettling at the same time. I didn't want to use booze to loosen me up to paint. For other things yes. Things such as those dumb social gatherings that have no redeeming value except it is, according to someone else, necessary and according to me, political bullshit. But for my art, no. So I never tried it again.

When I do drink I tend to limit myself to 2. That choice comes from too many past bad hangovers. If I'm out at dinner with others, I will have a glass of red wine. So, when wonderboy took me out to dinner Tuesday night, it was wine, and then coffee with a couple shots. Nice. Took the edge off. We all use something to numb us. Some it's booze, or drugs. Others go online, or play computer games. Shopping, exercise, and s/m. The problem comes when it's out of control. If your habit or passion begins to hurt you...not eating, bombing at work, etc...then it's an issue. Otherwise, enjoy the fuck out of it.

Anyway, according to the shrink, I'm now in a stronger place and therefore can handle whatever pain I couldn't previously deal with. That's why it's coming up. He reminded me again it will come in waves. So it hits...and then subsides for a while. I know the retreat is to gather steam for the next huge onslaught. Or so it feels like.
It's been about 24 hours of reprieve.

We ended up booking a month and a half of twice a week apppointments. He keeps promising that it is really great on the other side of this. We'll see.

I'm somewhat fearful about this process. Normally, I'll jump into hard stuff, with both feet and guns blazing. The quicker the better...and I just want to get unpleasantness over with. I realized this was really big stuff when I was on the phone with him. I said I didn't want to do this anymore...and wished I had never begun the task of stripping myself...which I began with Sir in training. As difficult as the challenges have been, I've met them. But Tuesday afternoon, on the phone, it felt insurmountable. And I felt fearful and quite alone.

So that's that.

Now due to the date with Tattoo'd Bear, I won't be drawing tonight. Maybe tomorrow after I come back from Sir's....if I'm not too beat. At Sir's, there's a shovel calling my name, and a flagpole that needs to come out. Friday's the day for it.

C'est ma vie.
This week's Free Will Astrology
From his morning email, quoting sweetboy, an avid Mac user:

Said to the greater cosmos in general:
Can ANYone please explain this lunacy to me?

Oct 16, 8:53 AM (ET)
WASHINGTON (AP) - Microsoft Corp. ( MSFT ) warned consumers Wednesday about four critical new flaws in its popular Windows software...

...All four of the most dangerous new vulnerabilities affect versions of Windows 2000, which is commonly used by corporations and government agencies. Three of them also affect other Windows versions, including Microsoft's flagship Windows XP software, popular among home users, and Windows Server 2003 for businesses.

Microsoft shares rose 55 cents to close at $29.07 in Wednesday trading on the New York Stock Exchange.
For the full article

Wednesday, October 15, 2003

Sunday's large charcoal has been sitting in my dining room which opens up to the living room. Keeping it in the studio would silence its voice. This way, it beckons to me each time I walk past , demanding I stop and listen.

It has quite a bit to say. "Hmmm...the leather glove needs to be blacker...more saturation required. The highlights need to pop. Where did that line come from? It has to disappear. Contrast, more contrast."

I was busy last night and have plans again this evening. So it will be at least Thursday before I can tend to the piece. But that's okay. There comes a point with my art where patience is required. Be still, bide my time and listen.
Speaking with a writer yesterday, I mentioned how the creative process is such a mystery. Sometimes I think I've figured it out and have it pegged....only for it to laugh in my face. And they don't teach you this in art school.

I guess it's all about trust. Trusting myself. Similar to my leather training. Anyone can learn how to singletail, or bootblack, do shibari or mummify someone. But bringing the scene to life is a whole different matter. The creative process of a scene. Watch a bottom walk into the dungeon, and feel his excitement, his hunger. The Top stands and looks. Silent. Patient. See the bottom as the canvas. What does it need? Watch him he attempts to remain collected. He feels your eyes on him, studying. His breathing intensifies...

(smiling) I could go on and on...and elaborate. Actually, I'd love to. I don't want to let go of this fantasy that is building in my head but I need to stop. I have a couple meetings I need to rush to. See ya later...

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

Sir called on Sunday and needed me to come by. While there, after getting some business out of the way, with His eyes twinkling, He said "go see the dungeon, and be prepared."

Mind you, we've been working on this for over a year. Sir and one boy did lots of the work. Other times, I'd assist, and Sir would also put visiting boys to work. So, we watched the evolution of this space. Little by little.

The last time I saw it was Friday morning, and I know there wasn't much in the way of major changes since.
But, you know the point of construction and decorating...where things simply seem to come together? There are still details here and there that need to be worked on...but the personality was slowly emerging.

I walked downstairs and caught my breath. Tears immediately came to my eyes as I entered the main dungeon room. The biggest change was energy. For the first time, I felt Sir's spirit permeating the whole space. It was no longer a room with dungeon equipment. It was Sir's Dungeon. He claimed it. I hadn't felt that in over a year. It hit me strongly. I was transported back to the safe space that His old dungeon had been, in my training days. Memories flooded back...feeling them with each part of my being.

Looking at Sir, I could see He and the space as one. It was all the same longer one human and the other fabricated material. It was Sir. All Sir.

Monday, October 13, 2003

I think, for a while, I need to keep my hands off the keyboard when looking at email. I belong to a few discussion lists and mostly keep quiet. But lately, I find myself so angry, that I'm shooting off emails. I am attempting some self-discipline...wait...contain myself, and let it go. But if after about 24 hours, the same ridiculous topic is being discussed with the same ridiculous viewpoint...bam. Off I go.

The anger is a part of the grunting and groaning happening inside. I know it's another step in the process. Yet I'm not comfortable with this much anger. Thing is, the sooner I let it simply be, the sooner it'll dissipate.

Maybe some finger bondage is temporarily needed?
Imagine the Top possibilities....

In today's Washington Post - Monkeys Control Robotic Arm With Brain Implants

Sunday, October 12, 2003

The first artwork I've done in over a year (excluding little sketches) and I'm not hugely excited. While writing earlier, I felt flat, and rereading my words...they are flat. Something inside is thrilled. There is this little spark. But it's not my normal jump and down, electricity through the body moment. What's up with that? I feel a numbness.

In the past, when I've worked on something, and it felt good...I'd experience a surge through my body. Stepping away from the work, I would need to get outdoors to breathe...and calm down. This time, it's more matter of fact. "Oh yea, look...I've done a drawing. That's nice". And walk away.

Whatever. Guess that my mood today.
What have I done so far?

Opted for an americano instead of a latte. Did a little bit of grocery shopping. Picked up a video. Watched a little tv. Surfed. Wrote some email.
And...almost completed a large charcoal piece.

I've had a big sheet of paper set up on my easel for the last couple of months. Every once in a while, I'd stand before it, pick up my charcoal, and work...for about 15 minutes or so. It felt forced. I wasn't inspired. So, it began as one drawing, and then I'd lay another over it. With charcoal it just gets darker and darker. There's only so much rubbing out that can be done before everything is obliterated.
Today I tried again.

I like working over older drawings. The marks remain, build up and create a history. It gives the piece more of a richness. I'll use vine charcoal, from hard, which creates a very light line, to soft which gives a deeper tone. And I have thick pieces. My favorite are compressed charcoal sticks. I have a small box which gives a very saturated almost black shade. It's a warm black...imagine sepia...very dark. I have a hard time finding this particular one and so when I do, I grab what I can.

And, I'll use soft pencils with this as well. Not for detail. I'm not into fussy charcoal drawings. The silver of the lead, against the powder flat charcoal is what juices me.

I dug into this. Chiseling out the subject, hacking away. Large, bold and very raw. Brazen marks, unapologetic. It dares the viewer.

Yeah, I only spent about a half hour. But, it's taken me a long time to accept the fact that some pieces pour out quickly, while others can take months...or years. I'm excited by this piece. It needs a little something here or there. So, I'll sit with it a day or two. Then I can approach it again, see what it craves, and feed it.
The day isn't quite sure what it wants to be today. Sitting here, I've watched the fog, the rain, the sun, back to rain and a specky bit of blue. At one point, although it's not yet noon, the light gave the appearance of late afternoon.

Hmmm...that's what I'm feeling like today. I can't make up my mind. Do I return to bed or pop in a video? There is this book I want to read. I know I need to do laundry and some food shopping. But maybe I'll run over Sir's, or call wonderboy. It's a blustery day and I have a huge hankering to walk by the water...the quieter section of Alki. And, lo and behold, I even had a 10 minute desire to go into the studio and begin a painting.

The image is in my head. It's large, at least 3 by 4 feet. I know that's not huge, but considering my space's big. It's going to be raw and rough. Not a slick painting. I'm going to keep the draughtsmanship visible. This is about line and exploration, with large washes of dark umbers to block in the shadows. Minimal and warm colors. Although I can see the highlights being quite cool. Toned canvas.

Yes, I have subject matter in mind. But that's a secret. It's part of the series I began last year...and I'm not sharing it until the entire series is ready to be unveiled. I've only shown it to those I trust, and some of my models.

Here is the kicker. The birth and death of many paintings remain in my head. Because I can clearly see the painting, it feels complete.

Maybe it's time for a latte.

Saturday, October 11, 2003

Now, after posting last night's link to the manifesto, and my opinions....I need to add that I am all for sex. Lots and lots of sex. Friend sex, lover sex, anonymous sex. Clean sex, dirty sex. Lots of raunch, and lots of sweat. Sex, sex, sex.

I do not believe in judgements, witchhunts, or scapegoating. That's a road I don't want to see us go down. Temper all with compassion.

People just need to make informed decisions, and if they are going to take risks, take conscious risks.

Barebacking. Yes, I have participated. Smart? Nope. But it was with conversation, honesty, and the acute awareness that I was taking my own life in my hands. My choice. If I became sick, my fault...not the guy who was plowing into my ass. We could lower the rate of disease if we all played safe.

I believe that Eli Sanders, once again, with his article in this weeks Stranger, Basic Values vs Basic Plumbing has his panties in a bunch, and maybe that's part of his problem. Personally, I feel they've been twisted for a while now. Yes, we need to get the word out that the rates of HIV and STD's are on the rise. No, it hasn't gone away. BUT, I feel he's going from one extreme to the other. It's about embracing sex AND responsibility. You can have both.

HIV cases have increased as the funding has decreased. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what's wrong. Non-profits only have so much time, so much money, and in these economic times, limited emotional and physical capacity to do what they do. Organizations are imploding because everyone is stretched too thin.

I do believe that the queer community has been sleepwalking. So let's wake em up. But do not attack or prevent education into new ways of having sex.
It seems to me that Gay City wanted to do that very thing...educate and enlighten. Show bath houses as an alternative where you can have loads of sex and be safe also. But, to the good, clean, little white asses...apparently bath houses are taboo. It's seen as the den of inquity. A boiling cauldron from which evil spills over and contaminates us all. That's fucking crap.

Mr. Sanders, instead of slamming anything that appears illicitly sex positive, how about doing some fundraising and loading bathhouses with condoms and posters? How about educating folks so people remember there is a problem? How about putting your money where your mouth is and become a part of the solution instead of running down the street screaming "murderer"?
A couple links.

Manifesto calls for safer sex to curb rise in HIV.

A Community Manifesto: A new response to HIV and STD's

In my extremely opinionated opinion...I believe we each, regardless of gender and sexual orientation, need to take personal responsiblity for our own safety. Do not leave it up to someone else. I don't want to hear "well they told me they were virus free". Personally, that's bullshit. Some tell the truth. Some lie. We've known about std's and hiv for a while now. Within the realm of consensual sex, there is no longer room for anyone to cry victim.

Each action is a choice. Make it a conscious choice.

Friday, October 10, 2003

Hurt revisited.

Yesterday morning I wrote about the feeling of chronic pain disappearing and then feeling a new sense of what normal could feel like. Granted, I was using that as an example for something else. Yesterday evening I was driving to meet wonderboy and the Bear for dinner. I realized that I had just experienced about 3 hours of no pain. No heart ache. No discomfort. “So that’s what this feels like….wow.” I immersed myself in this feeling.
Then it hit.


Dad and I had some bad times when I was a teenager. I’ve always remembered the incidences. It seemed I could never measure up. And his yardstick was the Catholic Church. It didn’t matter that I was attending another church, or volunteering in nursing homes 4 days a week. It didn’t matter that I spent my free evenings with friends praying and heavy into intense bible discussions. Apparently, the reason my younger sibs were all drugging, drinking and fucking was due to the fact that I left the Catholic Church. So, I was the one who was getting punished and grounded. I was held responsible for their bad behavior.

Periodically, over the years I’ve spoken to a few about those times. When I talked, it was quite matter of fact. Last night I realized I blocked out the pain of that whole time. Feeling rejected and unaccepted by dad hurt more than I let myself believe. And yesterday, I began to feel that pain. Out of the blue, in the car on the way to the restaurant it struck, and the teenager within was angry and so hurt. Sobbing, I ached something fierce.

This sat with me today. Walking into Sir’s home I headed for the espresso machine to make a latte. Sir came into the kitchen and asked how I was doing.
“Sir, I’m having a bad day. My hurt hearts and this is why.” I relayed the incident. He walked across the kitchen, grabbed me and held me…kissing the top of my head. I leaned into Him, accepting His love and touch in a way I felt my dad couldn’t have, when I was a teen. I breathed into Him. Sir then had me sit, and He proceeded to finish making my coffee. Sir reminded me that although it’s difficult, it’s movement forward. I knew that, but the reminder helped. The cat slinked in and hopped on my lap. The dog lumbered over and plopped himself at my feet, his large frame leaning against my leg.

We talked some more, and then headed out to do errands. Afterwards, He could see I was depleted, hugged me and sent me home to rest. And here I am.
Today's a really hard day. I hope it gets better.

Thursday, October 09, 2003

How about a hair, or lack thereof, update?

It's been 3 weeks since I let go of my hair. Rereading that entry, I noticed I said shaved. I apologize if anyone had the impression that it was entirely gone. No, I'm not bald. I was buzzed...with 1/4" of hair remaining. It's grown quite a bit, and I plan on seeing Tattoo'd Bear today so he can buzz it again. Although, in the next few months, I am going to have him fully shave it. Seeing it's already this short, might as well take that plunge at least once.

Anyway, my original intent was practicality. And here's the ridiculous part. Not once had I considered how I would be treated because of it. Me...who continually questions, never questioned how perception of me would change. What's up with that?

Well, it's been fascinating, and I love it. Love the lack of hair. Love not having to maintain it each morning. And what I love the most is....for the first time in my adult life (about 25 years), I no longer receive the leers and creepy looks from straight men. I no longer have to turn down offers from 50 year old married men, and chauvinistic, arrogant dicks. They no longer see me. It's fuckin' refreshing. Imagine living with chronic pain. It becomes normal, right? Then, you wake up one morning and the pain is gone. It takes a while for the realization to hit that normal didn't need to be normal. What I've noticed is, those who are more comfortable thinking out of the box will approach me, smile, and catch my eye....or strike up a conversation. Others, no longer see me. I've become invisible. And although I was bemoaning invisibility about a month ago, that was different. I was commenting on how I was perceived as straight when I'm queerer than queer. Personally, I relish becoming invisible to most straight guys and rigid folks. There are a few het men who are pretty cool. I knew that before. And when they saw my lack of hair, their response was excitement. They saw me. Not some ludicrous image of what someone, somewhere decided all women should look like. are my extremely non-scientific observations.

Straight men:
99% - no longer see me (huge bonus for me)
1% - love it (showed me my intincts about these guys were correct)

Straight women
95% - very uncomfortable
5% - think it's cool

Gay women
butches - split (butches who are heavily into butch/femme stereotype sexist roles didn't care for it. Butches who are into being who you are love it)
femmes - most of them uncomfortable (I wonder it's because I have femme attributes...minus the boobs)
more androgynous - love it

Gay men
99% - love it (interestingly, a couple told me they are even MORE comfortable with me now than before. I didn't expect that at all)
1% - uncomfortable or admitted they needed to get used to it

I've discovered that this head o'mine has become an additional tool for weeding the wheat from the chaff.
Who woulda thunk that a small change would make such a difference?
God that sounds naive. But I am so into not being defined by my that way. And it makes me quite sad that I'm more easily accepted because of a physical change. I have to remain aware to the fact that we need the physical as a first step sometimes. Yet I have a hard time remembering or admitting that.

My ideal world would have everyone using their super-duper, incredibly groovy, xray glasses to see hearts and minds...and make determinations based on that.
I know...I know. A fantasy.

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

Once again, it's time for this week's Freewill Astrology.
Y'all missed it.

This morning I walked into work...the office dark. Not turning on any lights, I noticed a thick warmth coming from the windows in the back of the space. Heading to the conference room, the light flooded in. It was gold. Gold tinged with green. A magical spell was cast and transformed objects into shimmering light. Walking back across the office to my space, I saw two large orange patches on the wall. Flickering light paintings.

Returning to my desk, I gazed out the window. The dome of the church was coated in precious ochre. The sky became a deep blue green, the early sun claiming the day. A bold disk branding all. A large rainbow sliced the atmosphere and stood, cutting my window in half. Its lesser twin hovered close.

As I watched, the colors began to fade. Within 10 minutes the sky transformed to a blank gray sign of color or mark.

Yeah, yeah...totally cheesy...but it was this morning's show, 20 minutes where I could immerse myself in what is truly real...filled with integrity. Nature.

Yesterday was my coworker's last day. This morning there's a hole. I dreaded walking in, knowing he wouldn't be at his desk to greet me. And then I was graced with light.

The whole office went out for drinks yesterday, to spend time and say goodbye. Afterwards, I popped in on Sir, needing a little TLC. He and the house took me out to dinner. Two of the boys proceeded to torture me in the restaurant. One kept rapping my knuckles with a spoon while the other used the spoon on my thigh. Over...and over...and over, each the same spot. Then the back of my neck was grabbed, pinched and twisted...insistently holding on. I wanted to groan as I became hard. But, my building orgasms needed to remain silent, along with my moans. I clenched my hands and bit my lip. The restaurant was full. A little while later, we left. Walking to the car, my body in motion, the sensations returned and I came again.

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

I need to set a new time for my therapy appointments. 9 or 10 am is no longer acceptable. The last couple sessions have left me bleeding and then I need to attempt to function at work. This morning isn't any different...and probably the worse to date. How the hell am I supposed to deal with this and simultaneously wrap my head around numbers and complexities? All I want to do is curl up in a corner, wrapped in a blanket...and cry.

Hopefully I can shake it off at some point.

Monday, October 06, 2003

The last few weeks haven't been very exciting. I've been keeping a low profile. It's been mostly work, and then a few days of service for Sir. Catering has slowed down to no gigs..for me. The caterers are still busy, but my services are currently not required. The jobs are smaller. It's a seasonal thing. I do still spend time with wonderboy and the Bear. They aren't high maintenance, and right now, I really can't deal with freneticism, high maintenance, or negative people. There's enough happening inside and I feel protective and raw. That's why I'm annoyed at myself for taking part in that stupid discussion on Saturday night. I don't need to immerse myself in anything like that right now. I am specifically attempting to surround myself with low key, loving folks. That is, when I want to be with others. Most of my free time is currently spent alone, by choice.

A few surprises have been great, like two Sundays ago when Sir and I spent the evening with Bondage Top and his partner. But, then again, they are safe for me as well, even if I don't see them often.

As time passes, I find myself feeling more and more uncomfortable. My therapist keeps reassuring me that it's necessary, and this too shall pass. By today, I'm not sure if I believe him anymore. It's such an odd sensation...can't even begin to describe it. And most importantly, it feels bloody interminable. Ugh.

Last night, I spent some time with wonderboy. We stopped by Sir's and ending up taking Him to dinner. Afterwards, I looked at wonderboy and said "I can't wait to play with you again". But although I can fantasize, the energy really isn't there right now. And then, if I turn in the right direction, I get hit by a momentary heated desire for something or someone.

So, what's the upshot of this blabbering? Well...I don't know if I'm coming or going. I'm filled with discomfort one moment only to have a small space of enlightenment the next. Feeling nonsexual, and then the wind rubs up against me and I want to suck off every man I see. Maybe this is my New England weather phase. "Just wait a moment, and it'll change."
One of my rockin' and stylin' coworkers just emailed this link to me. It's the video for "Grave Digger" by Dave Matthews.

See how they love me? :-)
Happy Monday. Or not. It depends on your point of view.

Well I am still thinking about what I wrote yesterday. Here's another brief thought. Assuming there is a majority...what if that majority IS the silent masses? A large grove of willows leaning in the direction of the more forceful wind.

Does that sound cynical? Yeah. But I think I'm still feeling cynical, and tainted. People only see what they want to see. Or maybe they only see what they currently have the ability to see or maybe it's a little of both. Saturday night's discussion is apparently still sitting with me.

Sunday, October 05, 2003

You know, I've been thinking about what I wrote below. My comment about "majority culture" assists with the problem because those very words reinforce the line drawn in the sand. It becomes us versus them. What if there isn't a majority anything?

Think about it. We are all unique. Each individual gifted in various ways. What if what we consider the majority of anything is really only a few who have the vocal cords, or the cash, or both to seat themselves in some position of power, and then can entice others to follow, simply by betting on the silence of the masses? Think of the possibilities. What if there isn't a majority anything?
I'm really tired this morning...emotionally drained. Very late last night, I spent an hour and half on a discussion list arguing about gay rights. I allowed myself to be baited, and one person and I went back and forth. In the midst of it, I realized it was futile. I do not believe that heated discussions can come to some decent resolution in email interaction. It needs to be face to face, with time to really hear the other. Whether or not we can change each other's mind is irrelevant. I know better.

The discussion was about gay marriage. The resolution (according to one) was gays don't need to get married. They can have it all, if they have a good lawyer. The comment that finally drew me in was something like "why do you feel there is this war between hets and gays? Gays are accepted and have what's the problem? Sex is no one's business, and so I can't see why they are throwing it in our faces."

I caved. I responded. And in my frustration and anger, responded inappropriately. Shit. I finally dropped the ball and walked away with an apology to the group for playing the game in that manner.

But, here I can write what frustrated me the most. I get pissed at the way a majority culture takes things for granted and really can't see when there's an injustice. The statement that "gays are accepted and have rights" is very hurtful. And it's not only queers. I hear that same thing over and over with other minorities who attempt to find their place in society. The same song and dance. "You are allowed to go to school...what's your beef?" "You can ride the bus now...see it's okay." And on and on.

I know these battles have gone on since the beginning of time in one form or another. But I still have to ask, why oh why are we so mean to each other?

Saturday, October 04, 2003

Fear of Failure.
Fear of Success.

I always thought I feared failure. Then when I first began art school, my prof pulled me aside and told me what I actually feared was success. I couldn't deal with the fact that I was good at what I did.

I quit school after that year.

When I finally returned, and committed myself to my degree and my art, I began to see, and more importantly feel, how gifted I was. I have example after example of my leaps and strides. My gifts. No, this is not arrogance talking. It's a degree of self-confidence. In my thesis show, half my paintings sold. A gallery director, a gallery owner, the dean of the college of liberal arts, and two other artists purchased my work. Work that wasn't even in the show was sold as well.
I applied to Indiana University in Bloomington for their MFA program. At the time, they had over 600 applicants, and 8 slots. I came in as the second alternate. Freak out.
My profs strongly encouraged me to reapply the next year, because it was pretty much a given I'd get in. But I couldn't find my slide portfolio. The day after the deadline, I discovered my portfolio on a shelf, under a pile of books.
Self sabotage? Yup.

The idea of my potential terrified me. And obviously it still does. I'm paralyzed.

When the pain of not painting becomes so strong, I do return. But, in my explorations I'll hit upon something and again be stricken with terror.

Fear of success. Hmmm....maybe this fear of success and fear of failure are the same. Maybe they are the same because it's actually a fear of self. I don't trust the deepest part of who I am, my honest essence, to lead me forward...with its bumps and glories.
So....I am afraid of bottoming to myself. The ultimate act of submission. Trusting my Self implicitly. Doing and moving forward in the way it cries out to. It's about letting go and knowing that the surface me needs to lose control to the internal me. Loss of control. Yeah. Scary.

Singletails wrote a fucking amazing entry this morning. It spoke to me.
Here's a quote from him when he speaks of his sister:

"Well," I said, "I think she never had much confidence in her own abilities. She never thought that her art was any good, because making it came so easily to her."

I was hit in the face, and it's started the my whirlwind of morning thought.

In some ways, it is easy. I'd have these thoughts about being an imposter and faking it. How can it be real when it's not a huge struggle. The completed works are already in my head. I can see them.
But the challenge lies in perseverance, and doing it over and over., no matter the outcome. And, what does that outcome lead to? Flying into the unknown.

In the last month, as I deal with the realization and hurt of not being considered special and immediately loved at conception, the questions surrounding my art are intermingled with this awareness and pain.

With it, comes the fact that I consider myself incredibly lazy and not driven. Yet, if you ask Sir, my therapist, my coworkers, and my family, they will all wholeheartedly deny that statement. I work extremely hard. I'll jump in with both feet and work until exhausted.

Yet....I can't do it with my art. That's where the thought of laziness comes in.
And what I consider lazy is an excuse for not using myself to my fullest potential. Again, submission to Self.

I have lots more to say about this, but I need to run to Sir's before I'm too late.

In the meantime, I'll close A huge wow.
A little promotion this morning.

My coworkers all know about my blog. With them, I’m fully out with all aspects of my life. They’ve been incredibly, absolutely supportive of my highs and my lows. I couldn’t imagine going through this mess in another job. This particular family has been patient and loving. Sensitive and caring.

One of them, Dissenting Dad, began a blog a little while back. He’s a man of few words and I look forward to those words. They are short and to the point. When he first asked me about blogging and how to go about it, I mentioned it helped to have a mission statement of sorts. It can be general, or more specific. But it provides a starting point and can assist to keep your focus in mind (which of course can evolve). So, he has chosen to write about his passion for food, his son, politics and baseball. Check him out.

It’s a very different track than my blog. For me, reading his words is like a little burst of fresh air. Delightful.

Friday, October 03, 2003

Some things just aren't sexy.

-lack of compassion
-bad meatloaf
-runny noses

Ugh. I left Sir's and I was sneezing like crazy, my nose running and a full head. At first I thought it was allergies. The weather has been playing havoc with my sinuses. And I was playing with the cat before I left. I'm very allergic to cats, yet I also enjoy them. Some have totally endeared themselves to me. Sir's cat is the first one to fully capture my heart.

Sometimes she doesn't bother with me, or anyone else. Sometimes, she'll tease and allow one human to be affectionate with her while intentionally snubbing another. Once, I went to sit in a chair, and almost sat on her. She jumped off and seriously ignored me for a month. She's apparently exonerated me because I've been in her good graces for a while now. And today we reached a new level of contact. As soon as I sat on the couch she jumped on my lap. She's never been that quick about it before. I began rubbing her. She stayed for quite a while. And, I noticed that when I'd hit one certain spot on her sickening sweet feline self, she'd push her head into my thigh, hiding it...and stay put, wrapping her tail around my hand to keep it in that spot and continue touching. Today, she did something new. After a while she crawled up my chest and nestled there. Then she craned her neck and looked up at me. I lowered my head to stare back, and she reached up to touch my nose with hers. How can't you love something like that?

This is the same cat who would always seem to know when I was reading porn. A few times at Sir's, I would pick up one of His smut books. I'd grab pillows, lay on the floor and read. This cat would saunter in, see me, position herself between my legs, and place her head in my cunt. It would always happen in the good parts, as I'm getting heated. Uncanny. And felt good.

When I give quality kitty time, I'll make sure to wash my hands afterwards. This time, she was so close to my face that my allergies kicked in. But normally, once I leave, get home and wash my face, it would disappear.

This time, it didn't. It got worse. I better not be getting a full blown out cold. That would so suck. By the way, colds aren't sexy either.

So, I just took a hot bath, which is sexy, and wrapped myself in my long, thick, grey terrycloth robe that feels like velour. Texture is sexy. And there are times where softness is sexy. This is one.
I'm headed over to Sir's in a couple hours. Today I'll be working in the garden. Over the last couple months, I've barely spent time there. The big reason being, my emotional state. For some reason it didn't feel right. Sir was quite sensitive to that. He can feel me, and so wouldn't request it. He waited until I was ready to get my hands dirty again. Over the last few weeks, I've slowly gotten back into it. A little here, a little there. And it felt great. Yesterday, when communicating with Sir, I realized I was looking forward to weeding. It's gray and cool out, and in my opinion, perfect.

Thursday, October 02, 2003

I think I need to go back to bed and start the day all over again.

First, I would actually crawl out of bed and take tylenol when my headache began at 4:30. Maybe then I could have slept better and not tossed and turned for the remaining couple hours. Then, seeing it's a drizzly day, I would have stopped by the grocery store for oatmeal. A hot bowl of oatmeal, while sitting at my desk, would be a good thing right now. Instead, I think I'll satisy myself with a cup of tea and some leftover sandwiches from last night's meeting.

My therapist said something interesting yesterday. He mentioned that I'm holding my mom's passion within me. Seeing she couldn't (for whatever reason) touch it all, it transferred itself. Curious. In a way, the idea is nice. It would mean that passion is never wasted. If it wasn't used and played with by one, it could be passed on. An inheritance of sorts.

I've always been extremely passionate. Sometimes, what may appear to be the smallest or insignificant thing can have the greatest impact on me. When I point out something that touches me to folks, they respond with "huh...what are you talking about?". Or..."you're crazy. That's no big deal." Or, they simply won't or can't see. Inside, I think, "how can't they feel that? Look at's gorgeous, or touching, or sad..." And, it saddens me that people seem to walk through life with blinders on. I truly cherish the friends in my life who can relate, and engage with more of life than the obvious.

Because of this, I need others who are just as passionate, if not more, to share s/m with. Once....once I tried to play with someone whose joie de vivre didn't match. It was a single tail scene over 4 years ago. We were at a play party. I remember asking to be whipped and no warm ups. We were playing, and I didn't feel anything. No energy going back and forth. Another Top who I began to play with a few weeks later was playing beside us. She told me later that she caught me yawning at one point. I don't remember doing that, and I so hope the Top who was hitting me didn't see it. I'd be mortified. It's rude. But it was a flat scene. I ended the scene by turning around, thanking her for the scene, then got dressed and went home. My masochist desperately needed to be fed, and I thought I could meet that, regardless of connection. Good lesson for me.

Wednesday, October 01, 2003

Just found this on the main Blogger page. It's a unique blog called Blogstop. Actually a blog game. You take the last word in the sentence of the most recent post and create an acronym out of the word. Instructions to join in are on the right hand side. Fascinating.
I didn't make it to Alki for a walk. Leaving work, traffic was heinous...worse than I've seen in a while. Much of the backup was headed over the West Seattle bridge. I couldn't deal and at that point I just needed to be home, alone, and away from noise, congestion and people.

So it's Wednesday and it's the first of the month.
Here is this week's horoscope from Rob Brezny.

And here's a new link I haven't shared before. It's another astrologer, Eric Francis. He publishes his stuff once a month on Planet Waves. His work, for me, has been frighteningly on target each month. This month gave me chills. I printed it out and handed it to my therapist during my appointment. Watching his face was fun. As he was reading, his eyes began to get bigger. And at the end, he was open mouthed. Bingo.
Geez...I returned from my meeting this morning and it's been chaos ever since. Not necessarily in a bad way, but a coworker returned to work today after a many month leave, and so much excitement is in the air...along with lots of chatting and catching up. On top of that, I've been getting loads of interesting news and treats.

Okay, I owe you a studio update. I checked it out last night. There are postives and drawbacks about the space. The upside is a really cool owner/landlord/fellow artist. He's an older man, late 50's, with a very warm smile and really good energy. He's into creating a community with the group of artists in the building. When I walked in he handed me an invitation to a no cost salmon barbecue at the local ale house for Friday night. It was a special get-together for the artists in this factory building. Pretty cool, eh?
He also wants more painters because there currently aren't as many in the space. Other media, but less fine artists.
They hold open studios twice a year and average about 500 people traisping through the building at each event.
The studio is fine...definitely large enough, and right near the train tracks.
It's in a building I covet.
The rent is cheap. $325/m for 400 square feet.

The down side is:
-No heat. I need to bring in space heaters. I hate being cold. I'm concerned that I'd get to the studio after work, turn on the heater, wait an hour or so for it to take the chill out of the air...and then I still may not be comfortable enough, temp wise, to paint.
-Thin walls. I could hear the neighbors muffled voices, and they sounded like they were talking in a regular voice. That's not good.
-The utilities are divided by number of tenants and square footage of each individual space. So my share would be $60/m (in addition to the rent). That's a lot. In the winter, even with heat, (excluding my last apartment which had a busted thermostat and radiant heat in the ceiling), I've never paid more than $30/m. I cannot justify paying for someone else's utilities especially when they are running power tools, and large equipment and electric kilns. I may have to get used to that. It may be the standard, but I need to check into it.

And I realized that, I think I need to wait a month or so before actively committing to anything. I am in emotional turmoil, and it's been increasing. Today, my therapist suggested I come in once a week for a bit instead of my regular twice a month that I have been doing. I cried and mentioned I couldn't afford more of him. He suggested I run a tab and he'd trust me to track it and pay him in payments whenever. So I don't want to make huge changes right now, not being sure how clearly I am seeing situations.

That's the scoop thus far. I hope to write more later this evening. I'm going to stop at Alki and walk by the water on my way home.
I've got to run to a meeting, but a quick note. I checked out the studio space last night. More on that later.

And right now, looking out the window, the fog is fab and thick. Gawd I love weather like this. It reminds me of being on the coast - my favorite, wind picking up, pungent smell of salt, feeling the moist fog against my skin, hearing the waves pounding the rocks and the faint sound of the bell clanging on the buoy.

Okay, gotta go for now.