Sunday, November 30, 2003


I feel so much better.

Today, frankly...sucked. Something must be going on, deep inside. I found myself awake about 3 am...quite unsettled. Finally got back to sleep...until 6, when I just had to get up, still unglued in a very undefinable way.

It's been the strangest day. I felt...weird. So bizarre. I wasn't depressed or angry. Yet felt incredibly alone, isolated and like the biggest loser in the world. I didn't have any desire to do anything. There wasn't a stitch of creativity to be found in this body o' mine. No drive to go out, or hit the matinee I missed yesterday. Didn't feel like calling anyone to connect. Completely discombobbled, but not in an anxious way. Tough to describe.

Talk about the ultimate lump on the log. Seriously. It wasn't about being tired. I wasn't tired. Instead, it was about being a ball of nothing. Nothing. Simply nothing.

I've never experienced that before...not like this. It was unsettling to say the least. I kept reassuring myself that this is another step in the journey...and just allow myself to be whatever I was feeling. But was icky..for lack of a better word. I have a strong suspicion that this stems from ancient stuff.

The mail server is still down. Poor beautiful boy. I know he's fried, and quite frustrated. It will get going again, just a matter of jumping through the right hoops. And he is making progress.

About 5 pm, I was speaking with him online, and something inside me snapped. I needed to get out of the house...right then. Alone, or with someone...I needed to go.

I attempted to contact Sir, in case He desired to get out, but couldn't reach Him. I then called wonderboy, and he said yes. I told him we were headed to Cafe Septieme. I needed my comfy booth, a sexy waiter with fabulous service, a glass of cab merlot, and an hors d'ouevre plate consisting of roasted garlic, marinated mushrooms, tapanade, italian peppers, olives, hummus with killer bread.

We got to Septieme's about 6, and it was really quiet. I sank into the booth, and my favorite waiter appeared. He's mine. One day....I will have a taste of him. He had my wine within a couple minutes of entering the restaurant. God I love that place. Settling into my seat, I allowed the dark red walls with their peeling paint to envelope me. Sighing...I looked at wonderboy...and said "now I'm okay."

This place has become an integral part of my life. I am so at home there. Never rushed out the door, it's about regrouping.

So my day ends with a much more relaxed state. Yeah, still no mail, no I didn't paint today...and tomorrow's my first day back at work. But I'm okay. Even with the weirdness of most of the day...I'm cool.

Saturday, November 29, 2003

Well, well, well.

It happened again. Sorta.

Today, I was reading this guy's blog, feverrat and was going to send him an email...yet stopped myself due to lack of caffeine. I wasn't coherent. This afternoon I get an email guessed it. Feverrat. (By the way, Feverrat...if you have a better pseudonym, please let me know. I wasn't quite sure what to call you so I used the name off the url to your site)

He's 19 years old, and I'm captivated with his writing. It's because the vitality of youth shines from his work. I don't think I've told you the story about an old girlfriend. Well....when we began dating, she was 18 and I was 35. We lasted 2 years. She hit on me for 4 months before I'd encouraged her. I was so NOT going to touch a 17 year old. On top of it, her dad is an ex DEA, military type guy. On her 18th birthday, I walked up to her, said "call me...and by the way, happy birthday" and walked away. For the first month, she'd come over, we'd fuck on the living room floor, and then she'd leave. I had no intentions of getting involved or falling in love. I had no plans of showing her the bedroom. It was all about lust. After a month, we began doing things together, and then yeah...I introduced her to the rest of my apartment as well as my friends. After a year she moved in with me because she needed a place to stay. Her dad was being an asshole, and we didn't want her living at home anymore.

Her buoyancy was refreshing. The whole world was filled with possibilities, and each day she'd have a brand new idea. I encouraged them all. All except for her explorations with acid. That one was tough. I knew she was going to do it. And I wasn't going to condone or put up resistance. I simply told her "it's your choice. Just be aware of....". Anyway, this guy's writing reminds me alot of the wee one. (the ex). She was called that by my friends because she was shorter than I...and younger.

I made sure that she spent loads of time with her friends, not only mine. We came from different worlds and I didn't want her to leave that for me. I made sure we each brought our full selves into the relationship. Each have our separate dates, and then we'd come together with new stories. The wee one gave me so much. She opened up my eyes and world in new ways.

Well Feverrat's attitude reminds me of the wee one, and makes me smile...and think. Keeps me young in a way. As we age, and we think we know more due to life experience when it's really about realizing we know nothing. And dammit, we are never too old to explore and indulge our curiousity. Keep it on fire!

This guy wrote something really great, that I just read this morning. It's from this entry.
He wrote:

I played with this guy.
He tells me “we can play, but you can’t fall in love”
I retort “I can fall in love, we just can’t date”
I then walk home 30 blocks because I want to think about life.

And then he writes:

So….fuck it all. I plan to start loving more, dating less, all the while I plan to start slowly becoming better as a top, and bottoming with darker scenes. I need more bruises in my life.

Love that.

He writes with clean honesty.

We first had contact during the spring. He chatted me up online, and we had exchanged blog addys. I haven't spoken with him since then, yet he's been on my mind.

It gets better.
It seems that these guys I'm meeting appear to have friends in common. And they live 3000 miles apart. Yet somehow, magically, I'm somehow getting interwoven in this circle, thru different connections and directions. So cool.


I was going to hit a matinee this afternoon...totally cheesy movie. But I didn't want to drag any friends. The thought of being alone in a theater sounded good. As I was getting ready, Sir called. He asked me to come by and assist with editing a piece He wrote.
I jumped at that. I love reading His writings. I also brought the painting I've been working on, to show Him. He didn't say much. He never does...regarding my work. But to others...(because I've heard Him), He'll rave.
Sir's smile was huge and radiant while looking at this new painting. I know He was pleased.

We worked on His piece...and then He gave me food. Sir had made homemade tortilla chips...and chicken mole. Afterwards, we talked for a while. Actually, He talked and I listened. Listened to stories of His past. I cherish these times where I'm given this gift. An oral tradition. That's how Sir came into Leather. And I love that He's passing it down and sharing it with me.

Tonight, because beautiful boy is fed up with the network and computer nightmares (the mail server will be down at least all night)..he was headed out to party. B boy really needs the break. Sir and I looked at each other and mouthed "margueritas" the same time. We thought we could do it...but then remembered He had an appointment, and therefore not enough time. So...I headed home...and here I am. I borrowed a couple dvd's from Sir, and will pop them into the computer later to watch them. Sir is introducing me to Oscar Wilde and his plays.

That's my night.
Gee. I've been tired all day. Not physically tired, but mentally. I don't know what that's all about, but as I write, I can hear my therapist whispering in one ear, "think of all the emotional work you've been's exhausting." And in the other, Sir is saying "treat yourself as if you have a bad cold. Be gentle with yourself."

So, I've fully kicked back although I get tired of this low energy phase. You know...tired of being tired.

A few times today I tried to write. Jibberish would come out. My attempt to tell you a cool story came out all confused. In frustration, I'd close the window and do something else.

Let's see what happens now, eh?

Last night.
Last night was a blast. The household, another of Sir's boys and myself were invited to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of two men here in town. I met these guys back in March, at another party. Beautiful boy knew them from when they all lived in San Franscisco. Seattle seems to be gathering San Franscisco refugees.

There were 12 of us coming together for dinner. One of the hosts and I are talking, and he mentions blogging. Becoming excited, I mention mine. I wanted to tell him about 100 Bloggers. But before I get the chance, he mentions it to me. Come to find out, he is #70 in the new blogger list. I was floored! Yesterday morning, I happened to check out that very blog, enjoyed the spirit held within the writer's words and saved the blog in my bookmarks. On top of it, I was getting ready to email the blogger about his writing, but had decided to hold off. Lo and behold, I find myself at his home for dinner! Check him out. Send him some kind words of encouragement.

What a small and delightful world! I had once wondered if I'd ever meet other bloggers from this project. Figuring the chances were unlikely, I put it out of my mind. And not only did I meet someone who's blog I truly enjoyed, but the timing was great.

The dinner was wonderful. Our hosts are two very kind men, and great cooks. I'm going to have to come up with a name for these guys. The partner of the blogger is a writer. Last night this gentleman gifted me with an anthology that's published one of his stories. I was honored! And I made sure he signed it for me. I can't wait to read it, but will hold off until my head is clearer.

Good were the guests, who I met for the first time last night. I could feel the kindness in the room. Normally, I'm nervous around new folks, but not there. The group felt familiar, in a way. It was comfortable, with fun conversation, and sexual bantering. Teasing and talking.

We stayed quite a while...hesitant to leave yet tiredness was taking over.
This was one of the most enjoyable Thanksgivings I'd had in a very long time.

Today I slept in, until the late hour of 9 am. See? I am so not a night owl, yet wish I were.
Spent more time learning my way around the world of Mac computers...including some online tech support from beautiful boy. Oh the way, he is working on the mail server, and has warned me that our mail will be down on and off all weekend. I've a pile of emails I want to send, including a thank you for last night....yet it'll have to wait a bit.

I pulled the painting I've been working on out of the studio and hung it on the wall of the dining room, so I could really look at it. Normally, when I'm working on a piece intensely, I like to take a break from it. Otherwise, I can't see the forest for the trees. With fresh eyes, I hung it on the wall. A surprised "oh!" escaped my lips, and tears came to my eyes. I am thrilled with this piece. It's not the best work I've ever done. The composition is boring as hell. But I intentionally didn't focus on composition. Could I still paint? That was my concern. Had I lost it? Do I have the skill to paint something that actually resembles someone I know and love?

It's Sir. It's totally Sir. The composition is the typical student self portrait painting. Straight on, mostly head, neck and very little shoulders. He fills up the canvas. Now that I think of it, it's a mug shot pose. But it sure as hell isn't mug shot quality. There is so much color and sublime brushstrokes. You can see thick paint with thin glazes peeking out. It's quite painterly. The handling of the paint is probably the best I've done to date. I'm so excited. There is loads of emotion that comes thru the mark.

John Singer Sargent is the master of whites. Although I love his work, and at times have had copies of his paintings spread around me while I'm painting my own stuff, my painting tends to end up the total opposite. I'm at the other end of the value scale with many shades and colors of dark. Each time I return to a painting, I tell myself that I'm going to lighten my palette. And each doesn't stand of chance of lightening up. I went thru the same process with this painting. It's so dark...many different darks. I suppose if I got rid of the ultramarine, alizarin and sap green that would help. But I'm not prepared to let go. Now I do have a bunch of little 8 x 10 canvases and I think I'm going to challenge myself to do a little white dungeon painting. Something quick. Not a huge commitment. Kinda like thumbnail sketches on canvas.

Speaking of Sargent, this painting, Fumee d'Amber Gris is an excellent example of how he paints white. I saw this painting at the Sterling and Francine Clark Gallery in Williiamstown, Mass. many years ago. Totally wowed.

Here's a quote from an essay on the painting , written by Sue Canterbury:

In July of 1880 he (Sargent) wrote to a friend about a "little picture I perpetrated in Tangier....the only interest in the thing was the color."

Indeed, the painting is a nuanced study of creams and whites wherein Sargent subordinates the subject matter-through a tour-de-force presentation-to the act of painting itself. In this favoring of style over subject, Fumée d'ambre gris is an expression of the artist's alignment with the art-for-art's-sake movement that prevailed in the last quarter of the nineteenth century."

And on that note, it's time to hit the sack. Sweet dreams all.

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

Metallica S&M - Painting and S/M

I had an early morning therapy appointment. Out the door and on the road into town at 7:15, while on vacation....knowing full well what I was doing when I booked it....nuts, eh?

Afterwards, returning home, I grabbed some food, rested a little, and then went into the studio. Today was a day for Enigma, then Metallica. Not only Metallica, but the Metallica S & M cd.

I've never had a desire to go to a heavy metal concert. But this....this is one concert I would have loved being at. To mix symphony instruments with Metallica's sound is luscious. The energy of all the musicians come through on the cd.

And albeit overplayed, some of their lyrics are powerful. With what I've gone thru, these ring true.

Nothing Else Matters

So close no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters....

Until It Sleeps

Where do I take this pain of mine?
I run but it stays right by my side

So tear me open, pour me out
There's things inside that scream and shout
And the pain still hates me
So hold me until it sleeps

Just like the curse, just like the stray
You feed it once and now it stays
Now it stays

So tear me open but beware
There's things inside without a care
And the dirt still stains me
So wash me until I'm clean...

My cd player is cranked, the music envelopes me and I load the brush with paint.

The first I pick up is the portrait I began last week. Sufficiently dried, I begin by glazing. Choosing the lights, a pale yellow ochre and crimson wash, and a deep ultramarine over the shadows. From there, I can then begin to go in again. Painting quickly, my canvas is saturated with wet paint, and my palette muddy. I can't touch the canvas without having everything go gray.

Hanging the painting on the wall I then pull out another that has been hibernating for over a year and a half. This one is a painting of one wall in Sir's old dungeon. It's a portrait of His cross, His boots, His altar, His floggers and His whips.

Again I paint fast. It's not the first time I've painted Sir's cross. I have completed a few paintings, a bunch of little ones, and a larger one which Sir owns. But today was different. With each stroke I made, I was transported back to standing naked, against the cross. Marking the canvas, I was marked. Simultaneously top and bottom. At one point, my brush, wet and loaded with deep red, the paint splattered and left 3 large dripping red marks near the base of the cross. Stepping back, I smiled, and left it. My blood once shed.

Turpentine now permeates my space. It's a smell I enjoy, a reminder of my passion.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003

Jon Carroll, in today's SFGate writes:
"I have always wondered about that "Defense of Marriage" title. Is the idea that heterosexual marriages are somehow endangered by homosexual marriages? Those must be pretty wispy unions, if they can fall apart because the lesbians across the street decided to get married."

Read the whole thing.

I know I'm posting many links to stuff on gay marriage. Although I have no inclination to embrace a heterosexist lifestyle, due to the fact that I, queer, not straight, I am all for others having the opportunity to do so, if they wish. It's about choice.
I hate being a second class citizen. I hate not having the choice. I fantasize about every queer who's currently in the military to simply drop their arms and walk away. What would Dubya do then? We ain't good enough to get married, yet good enough to die for him. I dream about what would happen if we all stopped paying taxes. Why give our money to a government that doesn't respect us by not having access to the same tax breaks and legal benefits that marriage can bring to a committed couple?

Yeah, it's always bothered me, on some level. As the fear grows bigger in those who are against gay marriage, the arguments grow more ludicrous. And honestly, I don't have faith in the overall intelligence of the majority to think critically enough. So...I get cranky. This is one of those times. And when I get cranky, I get pessimistic. Maybe I need to stop reading the paper for a while.

This one and one makes two is honestly a fairy tale. Queer or straight, the knight in shining armor who will save us and bring us to their castle, is ingrained in all of us. I see the idea of wedded bliss as a piece of fiction that we've all grown up with. Granted, there are the rare couples who are in strong, healthy, longterm marriages. My parents, for example, as well as a few gay couples I know. But, I honestly believe that it's really a minority who can make it work. And it shouldn't be the template used for what truly makes a successful relationship. We are fuckin' used to the paradigm, and therefore think it's the ideal, something to strive for. Ugh. I am so sure that if our society were into a different idea of what family is, lets say, for example, large groups...attached to the idea of loving, yet detached to the idea of forever, then that's what people would be clamoring for.

Now I do believe that we as humans have a need for coupling. What I feel needs to change is all the stuff attached to HOW that coupling takes place, and what it means. We've really boxed ourselves in.

Divorce rate is high. It doesn't mean that there were more successful marriages in other times. It's just that folks were so damned busy working to survive that they didn't have time to argue over the remote, or who checked out who.

Just a reminder. This is strictly my opinion.
Art time!

Here's a hot off the press, brand new discovery for me. These are photographs by Tim Flach. The first image I saw felt strangely erotic, and highly reminiscent of Mapplethorpe's calla lilies. Clean, simple, touching. These feel almost like Mapplethorpe photographs. Some are very erotic. All very clean...impeccable lighting and composition.

Check out this and this and this.

His website is If you have blocked pop ups, then you can access his website at
Guess what? I've been offered the airfare to go back east for two weeks. I would split the time between my blood family and then my friends on the New England coast. This offer even includes the hotel cost for my time at the ocean. I can take advantage of this any time I want within the next year and I will be traveling alone. Is that too cool, or what?
What's good for the goose is good for the gander and it's a good thing.

Remember the feminist uproar regarding sushi eaten off a women's body? They were upset about the objectification of women, refusing to accept the fact that we do objectify our sexual attractions. Well...thanks to Dan Savage, he's burst a hole in their argument. As of last Friday, men have offered their bodies as serving platters. First for Top Pot doughnuts (at the same restaurant), and then for sushi. Yeah!

Monday, November 24, 2003

Very busy day.

I left the house about 7am, due to an appointment for a mammogram at 8, my therapy session at 10, and then I needed to be at Sir's by noon to assist with work on the dungeon.
Just now getting home, and wonderboy will be coming by in a bit.

I don't mind going for mammograms. Even with almost non-existent breasts, it doesn't hurt - not as much as I'd like. :-)
What I do worry about, is the week between the test and finally receiving my results. You see, my mom had a radical mascectomy (sp?) on both boobs 2 years ago. Her mom had the same about 25 years ago. Yup. It's probably in the genes. I always feel a little stress, wondering if this time they'll find something. My body has matched my mom's and my memere's regarding female stuff. All three of us didn't begin our periods until we turned 18. And then, it was like...once a year for 5 or 6 years. I kicked into a regular cycle when I moved into a women's dorm on campus back in '84.

That's all part of being born female that doesn't do anything for me. I'm not into embracing placenta or having blood rituals around my period. I do know that if I'm in a more positive space mentally, just before my cycle then pms doesn't rear it's ugly head. I have no affection for this girlstuff, yet no huge hatred. Ambivalence. Yeah, it would be easier without. But c'est la vie, right?

I think I'm going to drag wonderboy to the store so I can pick up a 2 button mouse with a scroll wheel. If I have will be easier to learn the other stuff on this computer. I am still slowly getting the hang of it. It's a different way of thinking. I like that. And, I'm thrilled that I'm not at work this week, so I'm not flipping between Windows during the day and a Mac at night. I can get some solid time in with practicing and learning this thing.

I have no plans until Thanksgiving, when I'll be headed to a dinner I've been invited to. Some friends who I met last year, after they moved up here from San Francisco, are hosting a t-day dinner for San Francisco folks, former and present. I've been invited to go along with the house. It'll be a fun evening, considering I know the two guys hosting, and I'm hoping that a few others I met at a party last March will be up from SF for this.

Seeing my week is free (other than another therapy session Wednesday morning)....I expect to immerse myself more fully in painting. Where has the time gone? I began a painting last Tuesday or Wednesday and haven't had a minute to work on it since. I'm hankering at the bit.

I'm keeping this entry filled with useless info about me because...well....I don't have the time to get deeper right now. Gotta hop in the shower and get grout and glue dust off me.

Sunday, November 23, 2003

I'm home.

I'm discombobbled.

But, it's getting better. This morning, I was getting ready to take a hot bath. Filling up the tub, I then went to get my phone, to make a call while bathing. I had finished peeing, flushed the toilet, went to move the handset, and the damned thing fell in! I fished it out quickly, but alas, it was dead. No computer (because it was still at the house...with beautiful boy), and now no phone. I don't own a cell phone because I don't need it in my life. Talk about feeling cut off. I had no way to communicate with anyone. So...after my bath I needed to run to the store and purchase a phone. Returning home, I hooked up the new phone, recorded a new greeting, and then off to the house to get my computer lesson (which is where I posted today's earlier entry from).

Beautiful boy spent 5 hours with me, giving me the Apple world tour. I was fried by the end of the afternoon. He then came to my apartment to make sure everything was working okay with my dsl, and gave me more pointers.

What a guy!

And what a system! He didn't need to reconfigure my old hard drive. He had an extra one hanging around. So now, the additional hardrive in this system holds 80gb.

Can you say thrilled?

Having a chance to work on this alone is slowly teaching me more. The highest frustration comes with missing my right click button. I knew I used it often, but didn't realize that every other mouse click was probably a right click. At some point I will pick up a 2button Mac mouse. Using excel is a little more challenging because I currently don't have the right click option. I know I can keystroke, but that's not where my habit was.

I became like a machine with some applications...and documents. My fingers just knew what to do. And now everything has slowed, and I sense my uncertainty. But it'll come back. I learn fast...if I don't allow myself to get pissed.

In spite of the learning curve, I'm totally thrilled.

Apparently, it was none too soon. My old pc would crash on me once or twice a day. B boy mentioned that it was crashing every few minutes when he attempted to back up my data before transferring it to the newer computer.

It's been a good, albeit unsettling due to unfamiliarity with the system, kinda day.
Guess what? I'm doing this from my new computer!
I'm still over at the house, having gotten a 3 hour lesson on the differences between Apple and IBM. So that's my quick update. I'll chat with you more after I bring this baby home. See ya!

Saturday, November 22, 2003

See what happens? I'm on vacation and I forget stuff. Late last night I realized I didn't post this week's 'scope from Freewill Astrology.

So here you go!

I also realized that I alluded to some positive after effects from the writing exercise I needed to do in my therapy and I had yet to discuss it.

As I did write, it totally wiped me out, emotionally. It literally took about a week to regroup. Now, although it still feels too soon to come up with conclusions, what appears to have happened is a purging. Buttons that would normally have the power to evoke old demons appear to have been diffused. I don't feel the same heart pain I used to, in certain situations or interactions. There is an internal clarity that is...well...fucking refreshing.

After the session where I needed to read my words aloud, I had 2 incidences that provoked old hurts and abandonment stuff. Pain was immediately fierce. As it attacked, I simultaneously had this ability to step back and see what was happening. I knew that I was attaching old stuff to a new situation, therefore I could put the new situation in proper perspective. Granted, it came with many tears and hurt...yet I could detach ghosts from the unintentional provocation.

So I didn't get lost in the pain, yet could really see my way through it. After that, I noticed a freshness surrounding me. It was so cool.

I don't carry the anger in the same way. I feel old wounds differently as well. They are still there, yet I do feel myself embracing the grief instead of fighting against it. And the paradox is as I accept the hurt that is a part of me, I become more peaceful and happy inside. I am developing a pride in my scars.

It was a powerful exercise. And if someone is reading this thinking "I'll try the massive writing of pain", please think twice. I honestly don't recommend it unless you have some professional support that can assist with whatever may arise from writing. Also, I believe it's about timing. Like anything else, it's working through certain steps (unique to each) before other things can be achieved. I'm not discouraging others from doing this, yet want to remind people of context. Everything comes down to personal context.

When I'm with Sir now, I don't confuse his actions or words with those of my dad or mom. Instead, I see and feel Sir.

Going through old emails yesterday, I was once again reminded how we all live life through our own personal filters, comprised of the sum of our experiences. I found myself reading emails and seeing sentences I hadn't seen before. I was mentally censoring emails to fit the context of the hurt I was dealing with instead of the legitimate context of the email. I wasn't really seeing what was there...or what is in front of me. Granted, it didn't happen all the time, yet when something felt similar to old stuff and old pain. Gee I hope that makes sense. It's all clear in my head.
This shows me that if I was doing it with emails, I'd be doing it with people's reactions and words as well. Living with a distorted perception.

There's still hard stuff to go through. But I'm on many ways. My therapist has given me a head's up to the next step, yet with no specific deadline. It will happen when it's meant to. And, although I'm currently not looking forward to it, I'll jump in when the time is right. I've worked way too hard to run now. And having this reprieve, seeing and breathing fresh air is a powerful preview of all that's yet to come and is in store for me.

Friday, November 21, 2003

Tomorrow morning I drop off my computer. Apparently beautiful boy is going to take all my information, save it on the house server, then rip out my pc hard drive (for additional storage), and somehow reconfigure it to work with the Mac G3. He said when dealing with computers, bigger is better. Then all my information will be transferred onto the newer unit. The house will retain a copy of my files for a few months, until we are sure everything is running smoothly. Then they can dump the files on their end.

I asked him if he wanted anything for the computer and his time. He smiled and said, "only your eternal gratitude.... and licking my boot, while my other boot is on back of your neck....pressing you into the floor."

I moaned.

Ummmm....yeah. I 'm sure I can manage that. I left the house quite flustered, and excited.

So this evening, I've been going through all my documents and consolidating and saving them. I've then been cleaning out Eudora, and saving whatever emails I want to keep and trashing the rest.

It feels just like moving into a new apartment. Major computer cleaning.

I'm looking forward to learning how to navigate in a new enviroment. The first time I looked at Mac's was back in the early 90's. I couldn't swing the cost, but really wanted one then. And now, it's gonna happen.

While cleaning, I found this link and I don't believe I've posted it here. The page has two works of art. The first by John Singer Sargeant (my god), and if you scroll down, you'll see the second, a painting by Edwin Austin Abbey. It's a hot painting.


Thursday, November 20, 2003

Painting isn't going to happen today. I had an appointment, which ended up stretching into an all afternoon, early evening affair. I needed to get to Capitol Hill for a meeting with a woman who's on the board of the National Gay & Lesbian Task Force in DC. She's also on various boards here in town.

I was running very early for my meeting and stopped by Tattoo'd Bear's shop to set up an appointment for later. My buzzcut is seriously overgrown. For a low maintenance cut, if it's not rebuzzed every 3 weeks at the latest, it looks like hell. But I can deal with that kind of maintenance. And it guarantees that Tattoo'd Bear and I connect at least once a month.

After talking with him, I walked up to Cafe Septieme. I had about 45 minutes before my meeting, and ordered my lunch. At 2 o'clock it was delightfully quiet. I sat, read the paper, and enjoyed my meal.

She showed up and we had an amazing meeting. It lasted over 2 hours and neither of us wanted to leave, yet each had commitments. She wants me to keep all my writings, for a future book. We both spoke of the importance of individual stories. Everyone's stories. We spoke of activism. We spoke of service. We spoke of gender and how categorized everything is. We spoke of sexual orientation. And she asked me about s/m, my Leather training and life. I was running at the mouth...and she quietly listened and would ask more questions as I'd pause. I think I was hungry for this kind of conversation. I gave her tidbits of all my opinions, including the subversive ones. She would like me to still do panels, but respects my preference for one on one. I also told her that time has a way of changing our positions if we are open to it. She got that as well.

Afterwards, I headed back to Tattoo'd Bear's shop because he said he'd squeeze me in. Again, it was like a drop in center. Beautiful boy was there because he had an appointment. Grandpa Troll Don (a name given to this gay man by a little 4 year old girl last year) was there to meet Beautiful boy. The current WA State Mr Leather was also there because his appointment was after beautiful boy's. We've known each other for a couple years now...and he's fun to play with as well.

So it was time for gossip, squeezes, playful teasing and kisses. A couple of the guys are so tall, and I'm not short. I'm 5'8" yet when they are 6 feet plus, they can hug and intentionally do breath control by squeezing my chest.
Two of them hadn't seen my head buzzed yet, and were bemoaning the demise of hair pulling possibilities. I reassured them that if they were creative, they'd find other trigger points. It didn't take them long to make new discoveries.

It was then my turn for a buzz. Sitting in the chair, Tattoo'd Bear begins to use his clippers. I melt. The sound and the feel of his clippers had me on the edge of orgasm. If the joint weren't so crowded or if we were in the Eagle, I would have let go and succumbed.

Returning home, I found out Sir needs help tomorrow. I'll be cleaning the glue off of tiles, before they can be grouted. And then wonder boy called and we spent over an hour on the phone. I'll be doing some catering on Saturday...which is great. The money is definitely needed. My therapy has been sucking my bank account.

Busy day. I want to get up early tomorrow to do a little painting before heading to Sir's. Hopefully it happens. Otherwise, it won't be until Sunday.
Just found the following on

This type of legal marriage must be forbidden, said the Republican senator from Wisconsin, “simply because natural instinct revolts at it as wrong.”

An organization opposed to this type of marriage claimed that legalizing it would result in “a degraded and ignoble population incapable of moral and intellectual development.”

“I believe that the tendency to classify all persons who oppose XXXX marriage as ‘prejudiced’ is in itself a prejudice,” claimed a noted psychologist.

A U.S. representative from Georgia declared that allowing this type of marriage “necessarily involves (the) degradation” of conventional marriage, an institution that “deserves admiration rather than execration.”

“The next step will be (the demand for) a law allowing them, without restraint, to … have free and unrestrained social intercourse with your unmarried sons and daughters,” warned a Kentucky congressman. “It is bound to come to that. There is no disguising the fact. And the sooner the alarm is given and the people take heed, the better it will be for our civilization.”

“When people (like this) marry, they cannot possibly have any progeny,” wrote an appeals judge in a Missouri case. “And such a fact sufficiently justifies those laws which forbid their marriages.”

These types of marriages are “abominable,” according to Virginia law. If allowed, they would “pollute” America.

In denying the appeal of this type of couple that had tried unsuccessfully to marry, a Georgia court wrote that such unions are “not only unnatural, but … always productive of deplorable results,” such as increased effeminate behavior in the population. “They are productive of evil, and evil only, without any corresponding good … (in accordance with) the God of nature.”

A ban on this type of marriage is not discriminatory, reasoned a Republican congressman from Illinois, because it “applies equally to men and women.”

Attorneys for the state of Tennessee argued that such unions should be illegal because they are “distasteful to our people and unfit to produce the human race.” The state Supreme Court agreed, declaring these types of marriages would be “a calamity full of the saddest and gloomiest portent to the generations that are to come after us.”

Lawyers for California insisted that a ban on this type of marriage is necessary to prevent “traditional marriage from being contaminated by the recognition of relationships that are physically and mentally inferior,” and entered into by “the dregs of society.”

“The law concerning marriages is to be construed and understood in relation to those persons only to whom that law relates,” thundered a Virginia judge in response to a challenge to that state’s non-recognition of these types of unions. “And not,” he continued, “to a class of persons clearly not within the idea of the legislature when contemplating the subject of marriage.”

All of these quotes refer to interracial marriage, views of race, and the “proper” interaction between the races. They date from 1823-1964 and were culled by reporter Eric Zorn from a Boston University Law Review article and a brief filed with the U.S. Supreme Court. Zorn’s article was published in the Chicago Tribune, May 19, 1996.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003


I did!

And god did it feel good. The last time I painted was 16 months ago, the day before Sir became ill.

Going into the studio I already knew what I wanted to work on first. I currently have about 6 paintings in my head, but I began with a portrait. Sir's face. While painting, it hit me that this is the first time I've painted since He fell sick. This piece is definitely appropriate, and a healing of sorts.

I worked fast, not wanting to think too much. It was more about laying in the architecture and covering my canvas with paint, blocking in the lights and darks. So on my palette I squeezed out alizarin, sap green and ultramarine blue. I know alizarin and sap green are fugitive colors, but I so love the neutrals they create. They've become a standard fixture on my palette for the last 8 years. Mixing them is where my black and darks come from. I put out a titch of white, to allow for different hues. And then a little yellow ochre. I began laughing when I stepped back to look at my painting because my goal for today was essentially a very minimally toned painting. Lights and darks. I wasn't going to worry about color. With these 4 colors and the white, I again came up with a full spectrum of warm and cool colors. And some of them glowed.

See what happens when we open up?

It's not complete, but off to a smashing start. I'm pleased. I have very little experience with portrait painting, so I'm even more conscientious about measuring. You can fudge with still lifes and landscapes. But if the proportions are off with a portrait, it just ain't gonna look like your subject. This actually looks like Sir. I'm very encouraged. It's a good day.
Guess what? I'm going to begin painting later today. Taking it slow, I want to at least get in the studio and do something. Warm-ups, you know?

I just found out that (if the conversion goes well), I will be getting a free Mac g3 computer! Beautiful boy emailed me last night with the offer.
It's not a laptop, but that's okay. I currently have a pentium II that's been getting crankier and more ornery. Just think. I'm finally joining the Apple age! Totally thrilled. Saturday I drop off my cpu and monitor at the house, and he'll do the transfer as well as attempt to add a second hard drive...using my current one I think. I didn't ask for long as it all works.
Beautiful boy is a serious geek boy, and I trust him.

Saturday I will be assisting with a catering job so it is a good time to do the computer swap. And I will pick up my new unit Sunday morning at some point. Yes!

And's a fabulous article, The Love That Killed America, by Mark Morford, a SF Gate columnist. In addition to the link, I'm including the piece in its entirety. I'm not sure what happens to it regarding archiving.

The Love That Killed America
As gay marriage wins even more legal support, Bible-clutching homophobes recoil, violently

By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist Wednesday, November 19, 2003

The gays are marching in. The end is near. Sheer unadulterated evil and scary anal sex and superlative hair products and new blasts of fresh happy love are to be unleashed anew upon the country. Horror is nigh. Everyone into the bunker.

This is, apparently, the prevailing sentiment. This is, according to a new poll, the majority response in America to the increasingly successful gay-marriage movement, even as states and the law move more and more aggressively toward proving that banning gay marriage is unconstitutional and immoral and just plain stupid.

People are terrified. Religious people, in particular. Hyperzealous, evangelical, white, borderline fanatical religious people who apparently don't see a lot of sunlight and never read books and believe everything their homophobic intolerant Bible-spouting evangelical pastor and maybe Ann Coulter say, even more particularly.

The nation is not ready for gay marriage. This is the sad news. Even as homosexual people in love celebrate the latest huge victory in Massachusetts' state Supreme Court in support of gay-marriage rights, an enormous and quivering chunk of the BushCo-voting nation cowers in inexplicable horror.

And almost every one of them is vowing, right this minute, to vote for Bush in the next election, if for no other reason than because he's a none-too-bright born-again Christian who will protect them from those icky homos and will invoke God's name as it's supposed to be invoked -- you know, as justification for launching ultraviolent bloody hate-filled unwinnable wars over petroleum and corporate power.

The nation is not ready. Even gay rights advocates are worried, as the issue is simply moving and evolving too quickly for the dread-filled, God-fearing, war-drunk nation to absorb.

And, verily, the fear among the gay community is that the issue's amazing momentum could backfire, could divide the nation even more violently and drive more confused citizens straight into the fearmongering tentacles of the hate-filled Right.

It does not matter that gay marriage is so obviously no threat whatsoever to "traditional" marriage or the sanctity of uptight pseudo-Christian missionary-position Budweiser-fueled sex and the spawning of more Republican babies.

It does not matter that gay marriage could, in fact, be the savior of the institution of marriage in this nation in how it gives new life, new breath to our beleaguered notions of love and commitment and family, considering the relentless 50 percent divorce rate among happy heterosexuals.

This is a nation that still, despite its incredibly diverse range of religious belief, despite its array of progressive cities and universities, despite how every nuanced soul anywhere on the planet understands that love is not to be contained by rigid legislation and sanctimonious bile and pious narrow mindedness (hey, just ask the Taliban), this is a nation that still wraps itself in the blind and dangerous cloak of a few misinterpreted, regurgitated lines of the Bible as justification for bashing gays and remaining completely ignorant as to uncontainable energies of love and commitment. It's true.

Of course, at this point it seems completely useless to point out to the America's misguided homophobes that if you really want to follow the Bible that closely, why, we can easily justify, say, incarcerating unmarried single mothers. Or burning pagans. Or imprisoning Buddhists or Rosicrucians and members of that weird cult Tom Cruise and John Travolta are into.

After all, the Bible has been used to justify slavery. And misogyny. And oppression. And racism. And genocide. And Pat Robertson. For centuries. And it still is.

Half the nation still actually believes gays can change their sexual orientation if they really want to. Most still feel homosexuality is a serious sin. And, perhaps most depressingly, the poll found that the higher the level of one's religious commitment, the more bitterly, violently opposed one is to gay marriage and new definitions of love.

Ironic, isn't it? It's a global truism: The more passionately religious you are, the more hateful and small minded you become, and the more desperate you are to convince everyone else that Satan himself is at the door, carrying nothing but a whip and a sinister grin and a big bottle of Astroglide.

But here is the good news: In the long term, this bilious national recoil does not matter. The writing is on the wall. The cracks are appearing all over the homophobic armor. The national whining, the fear, the hate, the resistance, are only a necessary and entirely predictable pothole, a typical reflex, a painful wart on the big toe of progress.

After all, huge and violent were the protests from angry, terrified citizens when blacks were first allowed into white schools. Enraged and horrified were many powerful white men when women were finally given the right to vote. Shocked and outraged were the orangutans when humans first began to walk upright.

There is no significant change, no progress, without much impassioned puling from those who refuse to open their hearts, and minds, and thighs.

And the good news is, the sadly misguided citizens of America who are right now raging against homosexual love, well, they are indeed in for a number of big surprises in the coming decades, as their world of intolerance and fear crumbles, and as a new, more open minded generation emerges. To be sure, in the near term the controversy and the backfirings and the right-wing spew will be painful and obnoxious and sad. But, hey, you gotta start somewhere.

And, verily, to believe that the energy of love and devotion can occur only between a man and a woman, that the only acceptable definition of this most universal and timeless and unfathomably powerful of emotions can only exist between a penis and a vagina, well, perhaps this is the ultimate insult, the nastiest sin against true divinity.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

The first day of my autumn vacation

-slept in (until all of 7:30)
-had a cup of ginger peach tea
-checked email, surfed and vegged out
-went out for coffee (it always tastes better when made by someone else, except Denny's that is)
-purchased groceries
-vegged lots more
-cooked my first fun dinner (something that wasn't fully frozen or came out of a can or box in over a year...see what exhaustion can do?) gorgonzola & walnut tortellini served with barely wilted spinach and sauteed garlic...

-and got lost in this:
an ongoing blog written by Crystal, a young homeless woman in the Boston area. Here you can find her bio which explains how she became homeless.

In this very full site I found one great idea on how to lend a hand to homeless folks.

Through reading I learned much more about homelessness and how I do believe that most of us, including myself, are fairly ignorant regarding this problem. We think of the stereotypes. I see them every morning on my way into work. I see the homeless street kids each time I'm on Capitol Hill. I see the intersections where someone is standing with a cardboard sign, hoping for some act of kindness. I see what used to be an empty doorway that for the last two weeks is now claimed as a regular sleeping spot for a gentleman. These are the visible folks. From this woman's journal, I learned more about the invisible homeless. Those who hop from couch to couch, relying on the kindness of friends. Those who may sleep on the streets or the shelter, yet have somehow found the money to have a PO Box and can then access extra services. Those who may have jobs or are students, and yet still can't afford a roof over their heads.

The Boston Globe ran an article in July on Crystal. (I'm linking to the full article which she reprinted in her site)

I found her site through 'Homeless Guy'. I've had him bookmarked for a while, but never really checked his links until tonight.

Back to things we can do. Bear with me. Here's the train of thought that evolved.
I was thinking about her post on feeding the homeless, and thought about all the volunteering that many in the leather community do. My mind then went to all the community service that remains within the kink realm. I then wondered about powerful opportunities for activism that can come from the act of serving outside of kinkworld.

Go out of our comfort zones, into other communities and assist where we can. Be it folding newsletters for an AIDS mailing, or hospice work such as Nunsequitur is doing, or even taking the time to answer the phones for a couple hours for an overtaxed and stressed small non-profit. Provide childcare so a parent can get away from the house for a little bit. As we get to know those people we assist, they slowly begin to see us as more than a stereotype. And human interaction is the most powerful path to change. It's slower. It's a one on one method, not grand and sexy like protests and conferences. But it's substantial.

I believe we are creatures meant for service. All of us. And service can come in unlikely shapes. Nunsequitur has a beautiful entry he wrote on service.

Anyway, that's the first day of my vacation.
And Crystal is still on my mind.
It's raining and a perfect day to do nothing. The leaves outside my window are glowing. Cloudy, wet days in the fall are the perfect frame for showing off foliage. Love it.

My body is thrilled to have nothing on the books today. And my mind keeps saying "you should be doing...." until I remind myself I don't need to be doing anything, anything except getting a coffee, and do a bit of food shopping.
I'm on strike today.

A good friend called me last night, and asked if I could help him out tonight for a little bit. He also reminded me that he wanted me to feel free to say no if I had to. I really wanted to help, especially because I haven't seen him in a while. But I had to say no. I felt bad turning him down...because I don't say no often. I can't imagine helping anyone right now. It's girlfag time.

I'm looking forward to getting to a place where I'm relaxed, not recuperating from being sick, not regrouping from intense therapy, and not catching up on rest from having worked hard, yet relaxed as an 'is'...a state of being. At least for a little while.
This just came through about 20 minutes to wake up to: Massachusetts court rules ban on gay marriage is unconstitutional

Now the next battle is headed for the legislature.

From the article:
Beyond that, they (the plaintiffs) argued that nothing in the state statute dictates that marriage be restricted to a man and a woman. The only restrictions, they said, are that couples cannot be closely related by blood, must be of appropriate age, must have passed certain blood tests, and must be willing to pay a license fee.

In each case, the plaintiffs met those requirements.

The state's Attorney General's Office, which defended the Department of Public Health, argued that neither state law nor its constitution created a right to same-sex marriage. Furthermore, the state's lawyer argued, any decision to extend marriage to same-sex partners should be made by elected lawmakers and not by the courts.

"Although there are also legitimate policy arguments for affording same-sex couples some or all of the benefits now more readily available to married couples, those arguments should be addressed to the Legislature, which ... is the body best suited to decide whether, when and how to make such a radical change in Massachusetts law," the state wrote in a brief.

Monday, November 17, 2003

I'm finally on vacation!!!

My light day of about 4 hours (delusions, delusions), turned into a 10 hour day. And I really haven't had a day off in about 8 days. Last night I was zonked out by 9 pm. I'm way pooped.

But, tomorrow I get to sleep in, and I have no plans whatsoever, except run to the coffee shop for a good latte. Wednesday, I plan I working in my studio for a bit, and on Thursday I have a meeting with someone who's been pushing me to do workshops and/or panels on gender/sexual orientation stuff. I refused a few months back, but we'll spend time together and really talk. I still don't plan on doing anything publicly...because I'm not even sure what or how or if it would even be interesting. But this woman simply wants me to tell my story regarding how gender and sexual orientation aren't as linked as we've been brought up to believe. I figure my 'never' is only never for this moment. Maybe one day I'll do it. In the meantime, there will be good conversation.

My therapist graciously let me out of my Thursday appointment. I mentioned I didn't want to have more buttons pushed while I'm on my break. I'm emotionally tired...and I want to rest. He understood, and had me promise that I would be working in my studio.

I'm looking forward to 2 weeks of relaxation, painting, walking, and getting together with a few friends that I haven't had time to spend with. And I'm totally looking forward to begin really writing again, and posting little things and larger ideas.

I need to contact a certain boy who called me out of the blue a couple weeks back when I was sick. He wanted to come by and spend a day taking care of me, but I needed to get to work that day. Wicked bummer, eh? I loved the offer. We first met a few years back, both locked in individual cages in the dungeon. We spent the better part of a day locked up, talking and jacking off. That's how we got to know each other. I've seen him a few times since, and they've always been good groping and pain times. So I believe it's my turn to call cageboy.

And now...a hot bath is calling my name.

Sunday, November 16, 2003


I just walked in the door a little while ago and I'll be in bed very early tonight. It's been an amazing weekend. I don't want to be a tease, but I can't talk about it. Two extremely full days of images and ideas. I'm exhausted...quite excited yet saturated. Last night I got home, too tired to eat but forced food down, and hit the sack by 10 pm. This evening will be the same.

Tomorrow is my last day before vacation and I plan on making it a short work day.

Talk with you tomorrow.

Saturday, November 15, 2003

Hey folks.

This is going to be a very short entry. Yesterday was quite busy. For the first time in 3 weeks I miraculously remained highly focused and managed to complete difficult projects. Monday's my last work day before my vacation and I wanted to keep that day to complete the lighter things on my list. Then, I'm off for two weeks. Painting!!!! I'm pretty excited to begin.

I'm headed out the door, and will be gone most of the day. I'm assisting Sir all day today and tomorrow. So you may or may not hear from me tonight.

And, I do have something exciting to share with you, regarding one of the aftereffects of that writing exercise. But, it will need to wait. Time to jump in the shower and then out the door.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Today's Zen thought from my little calendar:

By your stumbling, the world is perfected. - Sri Aurobindo

Haven't gone away. And since Sunday, I still feel kind of empty inside. It's not a depressed feeling. Overall, I'm clearer and lighter yet remain spent.

Yanno that writing exercise I did on Sunday? On Tuesday, my therapist requested I read it aloud to him. I still cringe thinking about it. The piece was essentially all stream of consciousness writing. It laid me bare. Pages and pages of naked pain. 16 fucking pages filled with 10 point type. Tough enough to actually write and harder yet to vocalize to another. It took almost the whole session to read it. We had 10 minutes left for discussion...and well...vulnerability and rawness still sit with me.

I haven't deserted you, but this is where I am.

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Sushi and sex?

This is where feminists piss me off. They are upset at what's happening at this restaurant, but from what I read..this appears fully consensual. So what's the big deal?

I believe feminism is about having the CHOICE to do what we want. What I see in feminists out there (and yes, I'm generalizing), is how they do a great job at keeping women in victim mode.

I may disagree with someone's choice, knowing it wouldn't be my choice, but why aren't we celebrating the fact that someone is actually making something happen?

Why don't we simply allow others their own personal vision?

Tuesday, November 11, 2003


...I wonder.
Although I feel good about where the money went, if we promised Kroc to have McDonald's cater our meetings think they'd be as generous with our organization?
A teenage hanky code ?
I just got home from my therapist's, after stopping back at work to say I'm cutting out for the last couple hours of the day. Sunday's exercise was incredibly powerful. I'm touching dark recesses and it's all positive. But I don't have anything to give anyone right now.

Talk with you later.

Monday, November 10, 2003

Huh. That exercise was interesting to say the least. If I'm sounding flat it's because, well...I feel pretty spent.

Yesterday afternoon I sat down to write. And other than a quick get up to nuke some food, I stayed put for 3 hours, typing away.

Without going into specific details, here's some stuff about the process.

I found myself hesitant to begin. And when I did, the first paragraph was like a preface, although I prefer the term procrastination. I noticed that I could matter of factly write about old hurts and betrayals without too much of a problem. But, that really wasn't the intent. It needed to be written as if I writing to the people who I felt hurt me. Walls again went up. Changing my focus turned it into a whole different scene. I repeated my words but this time to a specific person and immediately my face was wet. I cried all the way through but didn't stop writing. 6 pages and an hour later that section felt done.

I needed a short break and went onto my deck for air and then heated up food. Sitting back down I found myself to be at a loss for words. But I would type whatever came into my head. Little by little, I found myself writing, "I remember...", and then the next paragraph, "I remember..."

Nothing was a new memory, just stuff coming back to me in that moment. About page 13, I felt done. Yet I was hesitant because I knew it was quite short of 20 pages. Now, I was into the spirit not the letter of the exercise so if it took more than 20 pages, so be it. And, if it was less than 20 that would be okay too.

Even though it felt complete something was nagging at me. I remember hearing that someone else didn't begin to get real until page 13 or 14. And I was concerned that maybe I unconsciously put up a block. So, I wrote some more. I figured it couldn't hurt. Either it would be jibberish with lots of repeating sentences, which would mean I can stop, or something would evolve.

Well...I did push through and new insights (not memories) but insights which tied everything together came to light. It was a powerful experience.

I ended up with 16 full pages, and that felt real. I emailed the document to my therapist, and we'll discuss it at some point. I haven't reread it. Tiredness came over me and for the next couple hours all I could do was lay there, in that space where you want to nap but you're not quite there yet.

What I'm becoming aware of is sometimes it doesn't take much to hurt a kid. Many times, it's done unintentionally. The younger the child, the less dramatic the incident needs to be. Sometimes a pattern of thought can do it. I believe this is just a part of living. We all encounter stuff that will wound. At some point it's time for us to each be responsible for healing those hurts. You may need to communicate with the person you feel hurt you, and other times, it's totally not appropriate to do so, yet instead find ways of working thru it within yourself.

Hot leather action, huh? I think it is, by the mere fact that I am a leather person, and it's not strictly about how I fuck but who I am. Our past affects our interactions which in turn affects how we play in the dungeon. Sir taught me it's all an expansion of training.

Sunday, November 09, 2003

Here's a museum for you.

I'm getting ready to settle in and write. But, before I do, check out this ludicrous ruling. According to the New Hampshire Supreme Court, gay sex is not adultery. Why am I surprised? Bill Clinton said blow jobs aren't sex either. Well, if what we do isn't sex, then what's the big deal? Why does it come with disclaimers and titillation? What is so obscene?

How will this ruling affect anything else on the table? My head hurts just thinking about it.

See what friggin' happens when we attempt to define sex in such a limited way? People make damned little boxes to suit their needs.

I need to go focus on other, talk with you later.

Saturday, November 08, 2003

Yesterday, Sir and I went out for mexican food and margueritas. We were talking and I mentioned to Him that sometimes I get down because after 3 years of intense training, although I have no desire to be someone other than myself...finally seeing my strengths for the first time...after all this rigorous training, I felt like the invisible Leather person. My connections, although mostly tight, were small, sporadic and far apart, in time and distance.

Sir looked at me, and His eyes were sad. He totally understood. He then quietly mentioned that if it weren't for all the deaths from AIDS, it would be different. The bulk of the deaths He knew of came from our generation. Apparently, I would have a larger circle, not because I was female, but because of my passions and sexual energy. They would have played with me in spite of the fact I was woman born. Yet...they are gone. I can see that. And, I know it doesn't only affect me, but many. There are others, Tops and bottoms who don't have the resource of peers that they once had. I see them and feel their loneliness..for folks of a certain age, missing those with similar history and experience in Leather.


Tonight, I will be assisting with a catering job at a private party in town. It should be fun...and I'm assuming the guests will all be queer. I offered my services to wonderboy and he took me up on it.


My therapist assigned homework. I brought the thought to him last week and he consided it a smashing idea and then made it official by giving me a deadline to complete it. It's about writing.

For over a year, I've known I need to write out my anger and despair. You know those letters you write to a person...the ones that aren't meant to be sent, yet it's the act of getting the words out that are healing? One of those.

I've tried a few times. Many months ago, the Bear offered to make it easier for me by providing a safe space. He has a private little room in his dungeon, and suggested I come by (for as many days as needed), to crawl into this room and sit and write. I took advantage of his offer one time. I wrote all of 3 pages, felt it was dumb and stopped. Since then, I've attempted to write, and never got very far. What I write is about how I'm feeling, instead of writing TO another person.

Yeah, the walls go up. I've felt them each time. That's how I know I NEED to do this.

Almost two weeks ago, when I was home sick, I had daytime tv on, and caught an episode of Dr. Phil. I believe he's incredibly sexist, yet at the same time, he doesn't take bullshit and gives interesting food for thought. On this particular show he had someone write out their grief, and requested a minimum of 20 pages. He said the reason for that is he knew she wouldn't get real until she was heavily into the exercise.

That idea struck home to me. If I push myself to write...and continue writing even when I don't feel like it, stuff will come out. About 8 years ago, when I was painting fulltime, I'd get up in the morning, make a cup of coffee and sit and write a minimum of 3 pages. When I'd be at a loss for words I'd repeat the last sentence over and over until I began again. I never reread those. I ended up throwing them away, unread. It wasn't about content, but about throwing garbage out. This little ritual became my dumping ground, and would free me up so I'd be clear enough to go into my studio and paint. It worked.

Well it's time. I mentioned the 20 pages to my therapist and he jumped on it. He was going to be away for a week and said he wanted my 20 pages by my first appointment after he returned. That's this coming Tuesday.

Knowing I've been fearful to do this, not sure what would come out, I told him I would wait until almost the last moment to write. I didn't want to bring up a bunch of stuff, be a wreck and have him 3,000 miles away for 6 more days. So I chose Sunday to do this. Tomorrow.

In a strange way, I've been quietly gearing up for this time. The closer I get to it, I find myself inundated with messages of dealing with grief from many sources. The first, being Nunsequitur's blog that I linked to on Thursday. I emailed Nunsequitur about my reaction to his writing, and on Thursday evening he responded with a wonderful letter including more thoughts.

Yesterday with Sir, earlier in the day, we were talking in the kitchen while munching homemade blueberry scones He just pulled out of the oven. I was listening to Him talk about some of His past. He then began speaking about His grief and His take on that. Last night, I curled up in bed due to a foul headache, and was watching tv. Turning to a show called Joan of Arcadia, someone is talking to Joan about grief, and an alternative to dealing with pain. I don't remember the details because I was in the process of falling asleep from the pain meds, but I remember thinking..."wow, another mention".

So tomorrow afternoon, at some point, I'm turning the volume off on my phone, grabbing my keyboard and a cup of tea, and will write. The only one, other than myself, who will read these 20 pages is my therapist. There is some fear mixed with anticipation at finally doing something that's been on my mind for so long. I haven't a clue what will happen, but I know I'm ready.

Friday, November 07, 2003

Huh. Apparently, Amnesty International holds an annual film festival in 4 or 5 cities, Seattle being one. It's going on right now, and we haven't heard a peep, until I checked the Seattle Weekly today and saw this article about the 12th Annual Seattle Human Rights Film Festival.

I'd like to check out some of the films, but not sure if I'll have time this weekend.
I'm still sitting with this new stuff on grief. Oddly, this insight has brought back big feelings of invisibility. Not being in the mood to blog about substance, I'll give you links instead.

I don't know about the rest of the country, but kilts are becoming a big thing in Seattle. Gay men, straight men, dykes. I personally think they are sexy. A year ago, one of my coworkers decided to purchase one. So he, the finance guy and myself went over to Utilikilts at lunchtime. He wore his new kilt back to work, and proceeded to flash finance guy and me while walking through the office. Mind you, this is the same guy who told me this week he brought red yarn to tie up his dick and kept hoping for a quiet hour on Halloween to truss it up and flash me again. The two of us are bad when we get together. I was first hired, and he came on board about three months after me. In this enviroment, we've put the sex back in homosexual. This is also the same guy who pulled the little angel out of his pocket and handed it to me when my world came crashin' in. I still carry the angel in my pocket. Our relationship is one of deep, genuine affection.

Mind you, work isn't one large sex party. But, in the mornings, when there are a few kindred spirits, our conversations get quite lewd. We are also quite respectful of those who may be uncomfortable around such shenanigans. It's about context.

Anyway, back to kilts. Check out the site. You can order online. It's a great shop...with kilts made from so many different fabrics...camouflage, tropical shirt material, denim, etc. The Carhart material kilts rock. I'm saving my money for a black one.

I discovered another site last week when my boss brought a catalog to work. Remember the damned woowoo motivational posters? Here's a twist - a company called Despair, Inc. You'll find posters, mugs, postits, etc. Searching the site again this morning I even found those little sweetheart candies, with phrases befitting the company's mission.

This week, at work, we received the latest copy of the The Advocate. The cover reflected a gay male couple who are performers in a new Cirque du Soleil show, Zumanity.
From the press section of the website,

"ZUMANITY bears all the characteristics of a classic Cirque du Soleil® production —movement, music, color, acrobatics, dance — but is Cirque’s first production to deal with human sexuality. ZUMANITY’s exploration of love, sensuality and eroticism, in all its forms and from all perspectives, is ultimately a tale of humanity, emotion, the nature of beauty and the acceptance of differences.

More theatrical than circus spectacle, the creators of ZUMANITY have moved away from the world of the circus and put a new twist on the risqué — sometimes raucous —intimacy of the European cabaret tradition....

...Cirque du Soleil’s performers have always been known for taking physical risks, but the risk-taking in ZUMANITY is also operating on artistic and emotional levels. The 50 members of the cast of ZUMANITY are more identifiable as individuals than in any previous Cirque du Soleil production. And they are not acting parts written for them, they are playing extensions of themselves — the people they really are. The people who inhabit this “human zoo” come in all shapes and sizes, all ages and conditions, all colors and varieties — and ZUMANITY rejoices in the infinite variety of ways in which they express their own sexuality and their desire for each other."

According to this article in The Advocate, the two men featured are life partners, having been together 14 years. Apparently, part of their performance is a heated dance that ends in an incredibly passionate kiss.

Zumanity....human animals. Love that. I wish the show would travel, instead of being stuck in Vegas. It sounds like an amazing celebration of sexuality.

Thursday, November 06, 2003

Nunsequitur, a blog written by one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence in San Francisco, is one I frequent. This blog is another intelligent, insightful and sensitive read. And, I am biased because I have a very special place in my heart for the Sisters. They are all about service. My first introduction with the Sisters was a couple years ago here in Seattle at their 'abbey' (The Abbey of St. Joan). I spent a delightful hour getting to know them, and what they are all about. What I learned, which impressed me tremendously, was they take their commitment seriously. It's not unlike the training I went thru with Sir. You can't simply decide to join the Sisters and begin going out, serving and accessorizing. You need to prove your devotion. If I remember correctly, what I learned that afternoon was there are 3 stages (unless that's simply Seattle based). I think it was something like a year or two before you could begin to wear the full habit. Similar to earning one's Leathers, it's about commitment and humanity.

This morning, I went to Nunsequitur to catch up and saw this entry on Grief and Loss. Reading it brought tears to my eyes. Everything I've been struggling with all of a sudden made sense. I saw my grief as a heavy, detachable object. In my vision, I kept seeking a day where I could look back after laying grief down, and see it grow smaller as I continue to move forward. In my mind, it was this door that would finally magically appear, and I'd walk through, without the 43 year old burden of musty burlap bag of slugs and snails.

I know we are the sum of our experiences and our character is built on all that we've lived. And I felt that with some form of enlightenment we could let go of grief which meant literally letting go, making it go away while keeping the grief scars that make us who we are. But, what if what is seen as letting go is really a letting go of our idea of what grief means? Letting go of the picture we have of grief and the connotation of what that image brings? We see grief as a burden. It's about pain, right? And pain is no fun, right?
If we let go of the attachment we have to our idea of grief, then it would have room to breathe which would allow for transformation.

Nunsequitur's piece on grief is a huge...HUGE lightbulb for me. Now I need to sit with all this, and let it fill me. As I write, I am beginning to sense peace for the first time in such a long time. I feel that I'm beginning to embrace my grief instead of seeing it as the uninvited guest at my table and being bitter about its appearance.

My heart is telling me that this is the conception of the forgiveness I've longed to give.

Wednesday, November 05, 2003

Good morning.

I just got into work, and while sipping my coffee, I figured I'd chat with you a bit. It's going to be another long day, so let's ease into it gently, eh? (yeah, that's my Canadian coming out)

Rob Brezsny's weekly scope is was in my inbox early.

Our mornings have been unseasonably cold for the last 4 days or so. Freezing temps kind of cold. But you know what comes with that? Incredibly beautiful sunrises. The yellow pinks of the sky each morning take my breath away. Hmm...what's a yellow pink? Maybe a light salmony color. Can't name it, but could mix it on my palette.

I hope I don't get to the point where I stop appreciating what's out there. Back east, I never tired of the smell of salt air. Even though it was all around me, I was continually aware of it, and each day would mentally note and savor it. Thus far it's the same here, with the mountains and sky. And the few moments the breeze drives the salt air in, I jump inside. One of my favorite smells.

What is sex? Talk about a segue. But, thinking of what color, light and smell do to my body reacts, and compare that to what society considers sex and how my body reacts to that...well...what is sex? Really sex. Why limit it to fucking or sucking dick?

I grimly laugh inside when I see how fundies attempt to limit nakedness or sex. Actually, not only conservatives. I see lots of sex positive or kinky folks attempt to label it as well. I then think back to the moment I was in a Japanese garden in Portland, and so overcome with what I saw, I needed to stop, place my hand on the trunk of a tree and had a huge orgasm. What about when I paint, and I've cum while stroking the canvas with my brush? What happens when I'm fully suspended, clothes on, and I can't stop cumming? Is that sex? Where do we draw the line? Why do we have to?

Fuck. There's so much that makes me tingle inside. I sense possibilities for sex everywhere. Seeing a certain pair of boots, or the line of an object. A pair of hands, or hard rusted metal. How dare someone attempt to limit eroticism and sexual behavior to a few images or acts. It's a big part of why I detest the term 'erotic art'.

The act of creating is erotic. Whether it's joyful, angst ridden or painful, there is still eroticism involved. For me, anyway. Some will say that sexual is erotic but not all erotic is sexual. I think that's hogwash. And then there's the term 'sensual'. Is that supposed to be g-rated sexual stuff? I don't believe that either.

Well...wasn't expecting to write about that at this time, and I do need to get to work.
But first...more coffee.

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

Hey you.

I'm finally home, fed, and curled up on my couch. This is the first day I'm feeling almost well in almost 2 weeks. Other than a thick cough...I'm on the mend. Last night, I had a huge hankering for something other than soup. Picking up wonderboy, we ended up at dinner where I ordered a steak and cheese sandwich. It's an unusual choice for me, but I try to listen to deep cravings.

Hmmm...other cravings. I'm almost afraid to write about them because it's not quite time. And sometimes I fear my hunger.

But, here goes. I can see myself thrown in a cage. Minimum 2 days of solid cage time. It would be a regrouping, to get my body and psyche back into S/M. Centering, and confining. Touching my animal and returning to my base self.

After being pulled out, I'd be pushed up against the cross where cuffs would be attached and I'd be locked into position. Every other time I've been beat, I'd be free. It was up to me to stay still. But, seeing I haven't felt canes and singletails in such a long time, I'd want to be locked into place. I want to be pushed. Pushed past any place I've gone before. Pushed until I can't stop screaming. Pushed until the remainder of these walls I've built up in the last year crash to the floor into a pile of dust...and blood.

I want to be broken. The part of me that's needed to work and worry...take care of many and much....needs a break. I've created this supermachine to function in the last year throughout everything, and now...I crave to be fully vulnerable to another.

I'm tired of being the one that many turn to.

I kind of lost it at work today. It's the beginning of my busiest season. And as the organization has grown, systems are more complex. I was hired to meet the needs of one, and now my job has evolved to where I'm essentially the hub for each department and program. I can't do it alone anymore, and we don't have the funds to hire help. About an hour after arriving at work, I left in tears, needing to get away for a little bit. As much as I love my job, I didn't want to return today. Driving around for about 15 minutes, I had to continue telling myself that I can do this. Keeping only one problem in site at a time, I can finish each. I have no idea where I pulled my strength from, but I did. And then worked over 11 hours today to complete a few things.

I know part of this is from having been sick. Yeah, I'm feeling weak. Another part is from the work I'm doing in therapy. And the rest is a combination of illness and tough times with my Leather family, and work stuff. I am trying to keep everything in perspective.

So in my periphal vision right now is the idea of some serious pain play. Allowing my masochist to submit, and then some aftercare that consists of being on my knees, worshipping boots. Sweet, isn't it?

Monday, November 03, 2003

Last night, I went to see Madame Sata, based on a true story of a 1930's gay drag cabaret singer in Rio. It's only playing this week at the Varsity in the U District. Good movie, and I enjoyed the way it was filmed. Gritty. Talk about marginalized...street thug, black, queer, drag queen who adopted a whore and her kid as family.

Check it out if it shows up in your area.

I arrived at work late this morning, due to traffic and jumped right into the pile on my desk. Feeling better each day, but I've noticed my energy is limited. I'll stay another couple hours and then go home to bed.

And, I've booked my vacation for the end of the month. It was a use it or lose it thing. I'm still antsy to begin painting, so that's a good sign.

Sunday, November 02, 2003

Tough weekend.

I'm still recuperating. This cold has gone from my head and settled in my chest. In spite of this, I attempt to get out for a bit each day. Otherwise, I'll go nuts.

The other part of tough is the internal healing that's been going on. How do I reconcile events in my past as well as recent history to be able to move forward with forgiveness and clarity? Essentially, how do I let go? I know that's the key to dropping this large musty burlap bag filled with snails, slugs and odd stuff that I've been carrying for a while. Letting go.

It happens with time. I've been working on increasing awareness, meditation, remaining present with whatever is going on each second...and trying to trust that letting go will happen as it is meant to. But yeah, it gets fuckin' wearisome. And tiredness leads to discouragement.

Sir took me to a new bar for a bit yesterday, and tonight I'm headed to a movie. I'll write about it later on...with links. But now, it's time to rest again.