Back to the questions. I still have a few more to answer. And these aren't easy!

"Is there a way to define sex so that it encompasses all the activities and experiences that you find erotic/sexual? In other words, what is sex to you?"

I think the only way I could define it is when I tap into a certain energy...a specific connection. In doing so, I will have a sexual experience. What I can't define is what that energy is. I just know it when I feel it. And I've discovered that activity is irrelevant, although some carry more consistent results than others. But there is always a surprise around the bend. I simply have to remain open.

Also, I don't believe that an orgasm is a requirement to defining sex. There have been some powerful sexual moments that didn't culminate in an orgasm. But, experiences that have included an orgasm (as you'll see below) I do see as sex.

Until 10 years ago I thought sex was strictly fucking and sucking. Traditional sex. My journey into s/m began to show me a larger way of seeing sex. It was just a matter of experiencing other things.

The first time I came without any genital contact was on the phone...at work, with my boss standing behind me! I was still living back east. The phone rang, I answered the typical greeting which included my name, and it was my first Top. She said one sentence..."cum for me." It was all I could do to keep quiet while this massive orgasm built up inside, my body shook, I sweated...and I came. She and I had been playing for a few months.

Continuing my journey, I've since discovered new ways.

The first time I came in context of what would appear to have nothing to do with sex was in Portland. I was visiting the Japanese Garden with another top at that time. We were wandering the grounds. Nothing sexual going on. I came across a portion of the garden that grabbed my gut and cunt. My breath caught in my throat, and I began to moan, absolutely captivated by the beauty around me. The top I was with was a few steps behind. Later on she said she saw my body posture and knew what was happening. Shaking, I grabbed hold of the tree next to me so I wouldn't fall over as I was overcome by an orgasm.

Yes, a big surprise...a gorgeous gift that will never be forgotten. It showed me that sex really is bigger than what I thought.

A year later, I was painting. So engrossed in a certain painting that as I was laying paint on the canvas, I became turned on, and came.

I learned that when my hair was long, if it was grabbed in a specific location, it was directly wired to my cunt and clit and I would come.

Just a few examples.

There have been a few times, in concerts, where the music filled me to such a degree that I came, sitting there, while tears filled my eyes.


Over the years, I've read statements that declare orgasms are impossible without genital contact. I think it is true....if that is what you believe. But when one sees other possibilities, then sex can be found in so many places.

One weekend, with a group of 30, we were all dancing in the morning. This man and I were facing each other, not touching. Maybe about 6 inches to a foot apart. The energy built up and an orgasm began to build...and release. It knocked both of us over.

Doing the Prix Fixe performance piece. I came in the first 10 minutes or so of the 2 hour piece, sitting there, watching someone else eat.

Bondage, with no genital contact has also, at times, created orgasms.

Caning. Singletails. Pain play.

Submission.

Service. Oh my...service. Service is a powerful sexual experience.


I remember once, in a Body Electric class. It was the first full day. I was laying on the massage table and someone was working my shoulders and lower neck. Again, I came. Thing is, I came hard and loud. And became embarrassed. Then I approached the facilitators to apologize for my outburst. They said, "don't apologize! It shows everyone else what is possible. It's a good thing." So I settled into it.


Imagine. I wrote about this a year or two ago. Just imagine, if most of us threw out our definition of sex and opened it up. How could it then be regulated? What would then be considered porn? Wouldn't, with practice, all our lives then have the possibility of becoming erotic works of art?


While thinking about this question last week, I wondered if our reason for holding onto a narrow definition of sex is not only for regulation and power over by governments and organized religions but, what if it was covering up a fear of change?

Think about it in terms of sexual orientation. If we say straight sex is this, and gay sex is that, and bi sex is something else...what happens when sex becomes so much more than that? What happens when it can manifest itself in different venues and contexts, alone or even with people you wouldn't normally be attracted to in a traditional sexual way? What does that do to our neat little definitions? What does that then do to laws? What does it do for sex ed? What does that do to society?

Wouldn't it kind of blow our identities out of the water? Leave us floundering...with no earth under our feet...

...uncomfortable, yes.
Fucking scary? Absolutely.
But I don't see it as a bad thing.

Maybe we need an invigorating shake up.

So, I can't define sex. It's a mishmash of many different things. All I clearly know is, I know it when I smell it. And, the orgasm that stems from deep in my belly is even more powerful than the one that begins in my cunt. And to make things more complicated, it has nothing to do with what is being touched or not touched.

It really is about energy and connection.

Thank you for asking.

Back to the questions.

"How do you define yourself in terms of gender?"

I don't.

This is one of those things that fry my brain. Gender, although I understand why people place importance on it and their reasons, for me is Halloween.

I know many will disagree, and that's fine, but my belief is gender is putting on a costume. It's fun to play with. And it gets us in all sorts of trouble when we attach strongly to it because in attaching, gender seems to become more important than being human. Everything is characterized by man or woman...including using gender as an excuse for behavior.

Societal programming is not only blatant but also subtle and insidious, becoming a part of our marrow which we then carry from one generation to the next.

As humans, we have the capacity to embrace both the yin and yang. Whether or not we choose to is a different story. Stripping away the outward covering and the triggers that go with that...what we've been conditioned to, or put on to fit in...ultimately doesn't carry the same weight as a curious mind, a compassionate heart, a soul that delves into harsh self-examination and a gentle spirit. In that, is a state of wholeness and lusty sexuality which allows us to evolve into fully-sexual/spiritual beings.

Now because it seems to be so very important to most in terms of identity...I don't freak when people call me girl, boy or whatever. I'll answer to pretty much anything and don't have a preference. Honestly, I don't know what to call me and will default to girl because I am female. It's all so very messy. And maybe that's okay.

There is one name I am called, by one particular person. Not only do I love it because of the context, but also because it's genderless. It doesn't speak to what I look like on the outside, but who I am inside.


(I had no idea what photo to use for today until I walked around the office this morning and my eye caught the wall in a coworker's space.)

I'm officially sick.

I was up from 2am on, fluctuating between the chills and the sweats. At 7:00 I crawled out of bed, showered, dressed and walked down to work hoping the cold air would slap some sense into my foggy brain. After tackling a few problems that needed to be taken care of, I knew I was sunk when numbers were floating around in back of my eyes instead of making sense on paper. Then I left a very fuzzy message for our stock broker in regards to a pending donation, spacing my train of thought halfway through the message.

So I took some time to get my energy together for the walk home, all uphill. And now, here I am.

It's a very good thing I'm sick this week instead of next. A couple of my coworkers are also sick.

Here is this week's horoscope from Rob Brezsny.

I'm still here. And I still have a handful of questions that I will answer. Just not sure when.

Since last Thursday I've been keeping to myself...blogwise. Lots going on, inside and out. All good.

Friday I was busy spending wonderful time with two out of town folks...one from Toronto and the other from upstate NY. Saturday afternoon I received a wonderful phone call from a party in Brooklyn and spoke with different people. It's almost as good as being there. In the evening I attended a play party and I'm still recuperating from that. It was an amazing time in a fabulous private dungeon that I had never been to before, let alone know it was there. My body still hurts anytime I move, including waking up every time I shift position during sleep. Bruises are blooming nicely. Cathartic, sexy scene.

Sunday, I didn't do anything but sit in my chair and zone out on movies. It was tough to move or walk. Surrendering to non-movement was the wisest choice.

So...I haven't deserted the blog, nor the questions.

I'm immersing myself in inner stillness and it feels nice.

Have a good day everyone.

I've been stubborn.
And not in a good way.

Beginning on Tuesday, and each night since, I've really missed painting. Working. At the same time, I am enjoying my clean apartment and have dug my heels in by choosing to not turn it into a studio again until after my SF trip. And each night, I've roamed my little apartment feeling lost because I knew I needed to paint.

The call is strong and I'm weakening.

Today, it really hurt. It is a familiar ache.

So tomorrow or Saturday I'll be pulling out some materials. First it will be black watercolor and charcoal. The 3rd piece I have to do is for someone in the SF area. Maybe I can complete it before my trip and will then bring it with me.

I don't think painting in black and white will satisfy but we'll see.

Another question:

"this may be a difficult question to answer, but you've been so forthright in anwering everyone else's challenging inquiries that I feel secure in asking it...

carrot cake: with or without pineapple? why?"

A breather is a very good thing.


I LOVE carrot cake. When I graduated high school in '77, the present I asked for was a carrot cake...all my own. So two were supplied for the party. One for them and one for me.

The thing about carrot cake is, I don't like it when it's too rich, too heavy or too sweet. It has to be the right amount of substance and lightness. Give me a nonexcessivelysugary voluptuous cream cheese frosting. Nuts are a must.

I've never had it with pineapple but now I want to. It sounds like it would be a perfect blend. It would add to the fresh-tasting flavor.


Today's photo has nothing to do with this entry. I shot it from Six Arms Pub last Friday night. I like it and hadn't posted it yet.

It's a helluva lighting fixture for a pub that brews their own beer and kickass hard cider which is what I imbibed in at the time, forgetting that their hard cider packs a pretty big punch.

So there you have it.

My desk at the end of the day...and this is the cleanest it's been in two days.

I left everything as is so I know where to begin tomorrow.

The finance director and I have been working on creating a whole new fund coding system, and I've spent the last two days revamping our database with the new accounting codes, while keeping a history of the old ones. Intense project because one typo screws up donation restrictions, which then pops the funds in the wrong pool. With about 100 various funds (scholarships, donor advised, various regional outreach, grants and endowment) It's been page after page and reprint upon reprint of figures. This needed to be complete before the beginning of our fiscal year on April 1st.

It think it will be finished by tomorrow.

It was an intense but fun project.
That's the kind of work I can sink my teeth into.

"Why do you prefer to work in B&W?"

This question made me smile. And in working out an answer, I learned something new. Thank you for that!

The easiest most gut response is because it gets me hard.

For me, black and white pares the subject back to its essence...light and shapes. Without the distraction of color, even though there is much color in a black and white photo, I feel I am touching a purer form.

It relates somewhat to how I am with people. I'm not impressed by the glitz and want to see what's underneath.

When I feel the color is an integral part of the subject matter I will shoot in color. And although I enjoy color photos taken by others, shooting it myself rarely thrills me in the same way that black and white does.

What came to me as I was thinking about this question is that color excites me in oils. When I work in color with any other medium, even watercolor paintings, my work feels artificial. Flat.

People have no idea how much working color in oils excites me. Sometimes I can't contain myself. When I struggle and can mix the right color...the perfect color...oh my gawd. Laying down that color on canvas....it...it...it leaves me speechless.

So I save my color for painting and love being able to immerse myself in black and white photography which, now that I'm doing both together, see how they balance and play off each other.

Thanks for your question!

----------

And here is this week's Freewill Astrology by Rob Brezsny.

"Being relatively new to reading your journal, what does being a girlfag mean for you? Are there other girlfags in your life, & if so, what does that offer you as you go through the broader fag/kink world?"


I hate labels. I hate them with a passion. They hurt more than help. And yet, I know that they are at times, needed.

Girlfag was a label originally given to me by one of my chosen family about 5 years ago. The reason for being so christened was because they saw saw me as a bio female, who had a gay male sexual orientation. A bio female who has no desire to transition.

When I began the blog, I chose the label because I was in a place where I really needed to be seen and labels are a way to begin that process. And this one would lead to questions which are a good thing.

In the last 3 years, I've seen the term "girlfag" bantered about with various meanings. That's fine.


I came out as a lesbian in '82. Separatist for the first few years. Then in the mid '90's I saw that I was attracted to many genders but it scared me. I discovered s/m in 98 and id'd as a leatherdyke.

Taken into leather training in January 2000. In May 2001, it was time for me to play again...I'll never forget it.

My teacher gave me two assignments. I was to offer myself in service to a leatherdyke (she wouldn't own me, but I would do a certain number of service hours a week for her)...and I was to approach a specific top (straight man) in town for a particular scene.

Immediately, I became angry inside. So angry that massive heat came up from my belly, filled my chest and moved into my head. I was shaking.

"Sir, may I sit down please?"

I thought I was going to pass out.

My reaction, so very visceral, surprised and confused me. For the first time, in my training, I was resistant to the instructions given. Neither of us knew why.

After a few months I realized my anger was because I felt was being pidgeon-holed. My first time out of the gate after this intense training and I was being offered to a dyke and a straight man. It wasn't because of who I was, but who I was perceived to be.

I didn't know what to do with it. My teacher had no idea what to do with it either. It was a very painful time for both of us. I had been in formal leather training and in the process of peeling off my skin, I found myself in a very odd place, regarding my sexuality. It no longer had a place in the world I knew.

When my teacher had told me early on that I'd need to fully strip myself of all I assumed myself to be, including sexual orientation and gender...I had no idea that the old me wouldn't return. But it didn't. There was this new being and neither of us really had any idea who she was or how she fit into our current world.

Slowly, others closest to us just saw me as me. A given.

Now, I no longer know what girlfag really means to me. I know what people say. And I know the places where I feel the most comfortable.

And yet...it all hurts my head. I'm just me. I like what I like. It has to smell right for me to go for it. And it honestly doesn't have much to do with a type...or a look. Yes, some things attract me more than others, but I'm leery of my general attractions because I wonder if I too have also been conditioned like Pavlov's dogs.

It all looks alike. Depending on the community we bond with there is a "look" that is fetishised. And I wonder if some of these fetishes come because that's what we are inundated with or because it's really us. Granted, I won't angst over it. If something gets me wet, it gets me wet. But I always wonder...


Imagination is disappearing...in our sex, in our art, in our lives. We are so crazed and hungry to be accepted, liked and adulated that we allow ourselves to be sucked into the whirlpool of types and labels.

The hottest, sexiest and lustiest thing is when you are most comfortable in your skin, regardless of society, media, pop culture and what is considered sexy by the clamoring masses. It's not about emulating others. It is about being true to yourself. Learning to live a life filled with self-integrity; something I strive for and fail as often as I achieve.


Do I have other girlfags in my life? No.
Actually, there are very few females in my life.


Being this weird mix of whatever has lent itself to something special. No, I don't get to play as often as I'd like...but when I do play, it's because someone is really seeing a part of me and not simply seeing "the type". So, being a walking question mark is a good way to weed people out.

For example...if I were a bio guy and looked the "bear" part...as people approached me, how do I know if it's because I look the part or because of who I am? When I had long hair and appeared to look like a femme, it was the same. I was treated in the way it was thought to treat a femme instead of seeing me and realizing I have very different likes than what is associated with femmes.

We aren't choosing soup cans off the shelf. We are dealing with human beings...who have similar characteristics and needs and yet each unique.

Sometimes it's taken a while, even years before someone would be comfortable enough to approach me for play or greater intimacy on some level. As we spend more time together and get closer...I know they are challenging themselves and letting themselves see deeper. In turn, I'm challenging myself by revealing more. And...I hold their quest with great regard and honor. And...awe. It becomes a sacred trust. In that, the play is deeper, regardless of whether it's a one time scene or ongoing.

Thank you for your question.

Considering I was going to take today off, it was a good work day. Very productive. I tackled a bunch of problem stuff that has been sitting on my desk for a month or two. It felt nice.

It was a little tough getting started because coworkers would each come up to me and ask about my weekend. Relaying that plans were changed because of ice would bring tears.

One coworker, who we had drinks plans with on Friday, already knew because I needed to cancel. He walked in this morning with a large bunch of tulips for me. And a package of Peep chicks.

He's amazing.

Some good things...

~letting myself feel the love of those who care.
~my apartment is cleaner than it has been in a year.
~great dinner party Saturday night.
~had dinner last night with good friends who I haven't seen in over 2 years.
~checked out the Seattle Erotic Art Show yesterday afternoon.
~and other stuff.


Tonight I finally shipped out the second art piece that needed to go out. I don't plan on working on the others until I return from California. Because I've reclaimed a living space and put away my studio, I'll leave it like this for a bit. It feels good to walk into a clear room. Unless I get a bug to pull out my inks and paper.

But the oils are staying packed for 3 weeks.

Unless of course I wake up one morning with a huge painting itch.
Then it will come out...because it has to.

A bunch of questions:

"When I think about our sexual experiences together, I eventually land on the Prix Fixe thing we did at SEAF. That was sex for me - including all the weird emotional stuff that came up for both of us. You too? Or were you too pissed off at me? Discuss."

Yes, I was pissed.
And terrified.
And hungry.
And horny.
And...it was definitely sex.
I wrote about it here.

----------

"And what about the scene we've discussed but haven't done - something involving art creation, art destruction and intense physical torment? Should we still explore that? I think there are still things there for me to learn. How about you?"

Oh my! I had forgotten all about that until I read your question. I'm very much game for it. I even have a couple paintings that would be perfect for the destruction part. One I love and one I like. What I learned a year and a half ago is that some types of art destruction for me, are my personal version of suicide. There is a big shadow piece. So going in and exploring that is terrifying and incredibly hot.

The idea of shredding a canvas I love....well....

----------

"Did you read into my recent post about (as Eddie put it) metasadistic rage and masochism the ways that it applies to our sexual dynamic? Is that okay with you? Because it's okay with me. In fact, I'd like you to help me explore that more deeply. I'm not sure how - do you taunt me with your pleasure at the pain I deliver to you? :) Is that too precious and contrived? I'm not sure. I think I should work through this somehow."

After reading your post on sadism, I did want to talk with you about it but haven't had the chance. Taunting you with my pleasure. I've never considered it in that light but it feels right. And it's a delicious phrase. On some level, that's where my masochism goes...rewriting history by being able to laugh at pain doled out.

----------

"I guess this is my real question: are there sexual questions better not lived out loud? Or do we build something valuable by making ourselves public to that extent?"


This is something I wonder about all the time and I go back and forth on. There are different levels of intimacy. For me, I have no desire to share my most deeply intimate experiences. Some treasures are for myself and my partner alone. There may be a way where I can share aspects of it, and do it fully anonymously and that may feel okay.

There really is something to be said for mystery.

I always return to the example of the home surrounded by the wall that hides the garden. It's like my apartment. In the last 6 years, I've been careful and am very particular as to who I invite in my home. It's the same with the garden in my body.

The clearest lesson I'll never forget was 7 years ago. My coworkers knew I was kinky. I was sharing with everyone. There was a part of me that thought I was so cool and so bad ass for being a perv. So I'd talk about my exploits and I have to admit there was a big element of bragging.

Monday mornings, I'd walk into work and coworkers would ask me about my weekend. We'd do a show and tell...and question and answer thing.

Note I am relaying my experience and can only speak for myself. Everyone will have different reasons for how much they share. We aren't the same. And there are people who are meant to be fully out there.

I used the guise of education as the justification for showing off.

The big lesson came after one specific scene. I'm not going to share the scene details here. At the time, I walked in on Monday and coworkers again asked about my weekend. I told them...and showed them my marks.

Immediately I felt horrible. The scene had gone deep for me because not only did it carry many firsts, but it revealed a certain passion and opened my eyes to my huge desire to step into the black.

Their attitudes were "oh wow, you are a big deal player..." blah, blah, blah. They oohed, and aahed. And I noticed and felt that they hadn't made the slightest connection with what s/m really meant and still means to me.

In showing and talking, there was an immediate sense that I had contaminated the experience. It's the "pearls before swine" scenario.
I've learned that I need to take note of the audience.

With blogging, as I've written before, I'm continually juggling. It's a delicate balance for me because there are times I need to push myself to open more and not be so closed. I know I need to let more people see me. And I walk the line between that and what needs to be kept private between myself and those I love.

I want to make sure that my walls are being used in a healthy manner.

Thank you for the questions. Because of life getting in the way, I took a little break from answering, but I'm back.

The Dinner Party - March 17, 2007
a group photo essay




























You are in our thoughts

This isn't the weekend we had planned.
Yesterday's weather, causing flight cancellations made for a brutal day. N had the day from hell.

And it's tough when you can't physically be there for someone.

Today, I'm spent...and kinda busted up.

I've been very busy and so no entry yesterday and possibly none today.
Big weekend planned and I'm very excited.

In addition I'm feeling more private right now. The outside world is touching upon old hurts and distrust so it's better for me to step back into my walled garden, inviting those closest to me inside and drawing the curtains closed for a bit.

Regarding questions, they will all get answered, even if it runs into April.

Last night, after working on two paintings, I began to put all my art supplies away. I can finally see my kitchen table for the first time since July. I had forgotten how much I like the little table. There's still plastic on the carpet holding paintings that still are wet, and the most recent ones are hanging off my kitchen cupboard handles, drying as well. Yes, it means I move these wet paintings to get to my dishes, but one needs to be creative when working in a small space.

It will be nice to have an apartment again, where I don't worry about stepping on a wet piece.

In addition to what you see, there are 5 other new paintings laying around.




Looking at everything, I was pleased. My apartment is still trashed but I have a few days to deal with that. I'm happy with what I've accomplished in the couple weeks since I've begun painting. And I'm especially thrilled with the idea that it's also been a rough time emotionally, dealing with family ghosts and yet still found the strength to paint.

Yeah.
Strength.
My shrink called me on it yesterday.

"You know, that is your big block. You refuse to see how strong you are and instead, denegrate yourself."

I thought about his words and wondered if maybe I began to claim my own strength, it would help push things through. So you get it here first.
I know I need to begin to acknowledge this...my courage.

It's a tough one.
New skin that doesn't quite fit yet.


Hmmm...something just came to me.
Isn't it interesting that after not painting in a year and a half, I begin to paint in oils at the same time that the old hurts and anger rise up to a new level?

Huh.
There's something there.

Huh.

Today's question:

"How do you talk someone out of being celibate?"

You don't. If you care for them, you need to respect their decision.

That opens up a bigger idea. I don't believe there is such a thing as celibacy. Of course there is if you define celibacy as the lack of fucking or sucking...what our culture views as sex. Very stifling.

We all make choices that get us off on some level. If we see sex as bigger than our limited, troublesome, too easy for our government to regulate definition, then orgasms will wear many faces.

There is another question sitting in the queue that touches upon this idea. I almost piggybacked it here, but don't have the energy right now to deal with it. So it will keep it's place in line.


March is question month.

Back to the questions...

"OK let's turn it around now. What kind of play are you interested in?"

I'm interested in just about anything. That is, depending on the top I play with. I hate sharpie things, such as wartenburg wheels and electrical play. They will enrage me to the extreme and so I'll only do them with people I really trust to go there with. And they'd better be prepared for my reaction!

Hitting, biting, kicking and the kind of face slapping that leaves my jaw sore for days...are all good. Predicament bondage is good. Rope is good, especially hemp. Caning (good, hard swings that leave nasty welts) are good. The singletail. Floggers, especially with rubber tails.

Cigar play, clothespins, etc.

Using me as an object...a toy.

Now let's get rid of the laundry list. When I play with a strong connection, it's all about the energy leading to the mental, physical and emotional edges that can be reached by all.

I'm not interested in ADD play where tops pull everything out of their toybag and do a little of this and a little of that. I've experienced that many years ago and it's annoying as hell. Unless of course, your intent is to annoy.

I have no desire to see how proficient you are with each. It also smacks of directionless play: not following your intuition and smelling the energy...not connecting with the other person.

There is a meditation that comes with good play. An immersion into the black space. Do you trust me enough to begin to show me a little of your beast? Do I trust you enough to go there with you?

One of the things that get me off is being able to fight back until I come to a place of surrender where you will use me as you see fit. I want to play off your energy as you play off of mine. It's a transcendent journey for all involved.


I imagine resisting you until I'm finally on the floor, beaten, bruised. Your boot on my face as you piss on me...

--------

March is question month.

It's been a very intense 3 or 4 days.
I've felt caught in a space where I was reliving old hurts. Everywhere I turned my nightmare stared me in the face and threatened to suffocate me.

Sometimes, I think this healing stuff is for the fucking birds. If it weren't for my shrink and a couple people close to my heart...I don't know.

Thank you both.

Didn't paint yesterday. Too spent. As you can see I didn't blog yesterday either. Today, I'll resume answering questions.

I've vaguely written about some tough stuff I've been going through the last few days. With a lot of work, I've been getting to a place where I am learning (still learning) to sit with my anger. Anger that's built up my whole life.

Feeling it, admitting it is one thing. Now it's a matter of moving past it. I know the key lies in forgiveness.

When dealing with my parents, the source of my original anger, I know that they did the best they could. My head knows that. The adult part of me knows it. And...the wounded child is filled with rage, bitterness, and a different knowledge that they let me down and broke me.

Recognizing it, acknowledging it is one thing. Whenever we are hurt by someone we love, it's easier to pass the blame onto others or onto ourselves as children will do.

We're human. We bump up against each other and we're going to bleed. That's life. And yet, I still needed to admit that they hurt me.

And now, it's time to let it go.

I have no idea what the best way is to access forgiveness. It's what is needed and I haven't a clue. So yesterday, after an intense and long painting session where I immersed myself in my anger, the only thing I came up with was to begin verbalizing the words "I forgive you." Just the thought of saying it out loud to myself freaked me out.

I knew I wouldn't mean it. But I don't know what else to do. So, as I shared with someone earlier today, I have taken it on as my mantra. The choice was made to repeat the words over and over...hoping, believing that there will be some authenticity behind the words at some point.

In getting past this, then maybe I can begin to forgive others who I felt caused me harm. And in that, maybe I can begin to forgive myself.

I wasn't going to share this painting with you. Then I considered displaying only a small detail. You know...hide the nasty. That thought went right out and I knew I had to put up the whole thing. I worked on 3 paintings yesterday but this is the first, and the largest (20x28). It isn't pretty and it's a mess. I'll work on it again tonight. It's my trash painting. Nothing precious about it except it's my place to get angry.




I've spent part of the morning working on another and I'll paint again later this afternoon. Somehow, in the need to tap into the anger with my art, I've become driven. I'm working at a pace I don't normally work at.

And, I'm going to get past this fucking thing because I'm tired of dealing with it.

An interesting question:

"How much space does your heart take up in your body?"

That depends on how you define heart.

When I first read the question, my immediate answer was "it's taking up a buttload of room."

With all that's been happening, feeling so raw, I figured it couldn't happen unless my heart was oozing out of my pores. And then I went off on another vein. What if the anger and pain are taking up heart space? What if they aren't part of the heart but in allowing them to be, it's squeezing out the room for openess and love? And of course from there I return to the idea that even the rage and hurt are actually part of the heart.

Today, I think it's my first response. My heart has light and dark in it. It has crunchy and soft areas. It's clean and it's a mess. The size of it is contingent upon how vulnerable I allow myself to be, not only with others, but with myself. So, it may not be very pretty, but lately, there's a whole lot of it.

I've been letting this question sit with me since I first read it.
Good question. Thank you for that.


March is question month. Ask away and I'll do one a day.

"Anger and Art seem interwoven in you: Would working through your anger alter your art?"

Absolutely.

If you saw the paintings I worked on 11 years ago during my thesis while clueless to the hurt and anger that was hidden within you'd see pretty pictures with very little substance.

In the last few years I've become acutely aware of how angry I really am. In the last two weeks, it's been sitting heavy with me.

What is interesting, and I know why, is how I haven't used my anger in my art yet. It's only been six months where I am allowing my pain and my fears to be a part of the work. In doing so, the work is going to places I had only barely imagined. With the anger pushing its way to the surface I know I need to work it into the paintings. It scares me. I'm afraid to tap into it fearing it will consume me.

I can work through anger easier in an s/m scene than I can even imagine working it through my art. In a scene, there is someone else to assist with grounding. Alone with my work...I have to rely on myself. But the time is coming. It's upon me. I have to do it.

The painting highlighted is my newest one. It was done earlier this week in a state of great longing and sadness. I remember pushing the paint around, not caring about anything but pushing the paint around while allowing myself to feel all that I needed to feel in the moment.

In doing so, it dramatically changed the work.

I've spent the last couple days stuck in my worse nightmare. So much so that I left a message for my therapist this morning, hoping he can fit me in today. Since this foreboding feeling has come up, I haven't been able to paint. In addition to hopefully seeing the shrink today I know it is the day to approach the work while in this state.

There is some synchronicity here because I'm answering the questions in the order asked, and with all that I'm dealing with, yours came up today. The other piece that feels incredibly timely is my horoscope for today:

"After the dragon has brought forth its last furious breath, it can do no more harm. Still though, it takes a brave person to go up close and investigate the health of the beast. That is how some dragons continue to maintain a reign of terror long after their death. We get conditioned. We become accustomed to oppression. We forget how to live without fear. It takes a while to remember the experience of freedom and to adjust to life without a heavy threat hanging over us. But really, your dragon is on its last legs."

Thank you for your question.

March is question month. Ask away and I'll do one a day.

Today's question:

"Do you have a favorite flavor of ice cream? If so, which one?"

After a couple difficult questions I was absolutely tickled to get this one. Don't get me wrong, I wholeheartedly appreciate the tough questions. But this was a nice break.


I love ice cream. I REALLY love ice cream. I may not eat gobs in one sitting...but it doesn't mean I'm not into it. It's like all my food. I love food. In the last 5 or 6 years, my portion size has dramatically shrunk. I've noticed it seems to confuse people because they think I don't enjoy what I'm eating. On the contrary. I can immerse myself in the flavors and even get little orgasms because the food is so damned good. I just don't need nor even want a ton of it.

I like the small plate idea. A little of this, a little of that. It allows for me to put more flavors in my mouth and dance with it without getting sick, sluggish or just feeling horrible when I get up from the table. Once in a while, I do get into a mood and gorge. But those times are few and far between.

There are other things in my life I'm voraciously and blatantly piggish about. And my body feels better for it.


Oh yeah. Ice cream.

I'm big on the chunks. Unless I'm hankering for smooth...in which case I love a good gelato, such as from Pagliacci's Pizza. Sometimes even sorbet.

With the chunks I used to be an avid Ben & Jerry's fan. That is, before they sold out. Have you noticed how over the years their chunks aren't as large nor as abundant as they used to be?
Disturbing. Highly unsettling.

They used to have a flavor I enjoyed. Holy Cannoli. Sadly, it's no longer available. New York Super Fudge Chunk was another big favorite. Now, I may crave a little of it but not enough to even buy a pint. The white chocolate has become too sweet for me. Tastes change with age.

Most of my ice cream favorites depend on my mood. They shift.

The one I still think about to this day even though I haven't had it in about 6 years is Raspberry Chocolate Chip from Annabelles Ice Cream in Portsmouth NH, across from the Moran tugboats. I can still remember my very first taste. The earth shook. My body trembled.

The raspberry ice cream was astounding. It was fresh. It was real. The color...fucking fabulous. And the chocolate..! Wow. I don't know if they still make it the same way...but at the time...it rocked.

Over the summer I discovered a new one. Pomegranate with dark chocolate from Sheer Bliss. Their pints are little metal cans and they aren't cheap. $6 pints. And worth every penny. That reminds me...I have a very special guest coming next weekend and I think I'll pick some up.

My ultimate favorites seem to have a combination of fruit and chocolate, preferably dark.


Wouldn't a Mojito flavored ice cream be tasty?


March is question month. Ask away and I'll do one a day.

It's Wednesday and not only do I have Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology but a few other goodies today:

Thanks to Matt, here is Astrobarry.
And from Eric Frances, March's horoscope and Inner Space.

Next question:

"Since I started reading you, i've been reading the connections between your inner pain and your beautiful art. I know your pain informs your art. How much does your art heal your pain?"

Thank you for your kind words on the art.

Being someone who only painted in sunshiny days until 6 months ago, painting in pain is new for me. So I'm not sure that I have had enough time with working my pain through art to actively see the healing. But how can it not?

It's an energy exchange, no different than what I may do in s/m play, or a seemingly mundane encounter with the person who bags my groceries. They feed each other.

We are all connected. Energy flows in and out. Whether or not we are aware of it all our actions touch another. Connecting with my passion, be it art or anything else, while in turmoil is a vulnerable act. In opening, it exposes the wounds. Healing can only happen when we unfold, stand naked and allow wounds to be revealed. Feel them.

I'm not sure I answered this well. This is one of those things I know from my belly and my cunt more than from my head.

Thank you for asking!

March is question month. Feel free to ask anything.

First question and it's a toughie.


"Why do you think you ended up being as strong as you are, in yourself that is?"


I'm not sure what being strong really is.

Sometimes I think if I were strong I wouldn't be still carrying a large chip on my shoulder. I'd be more open with people. I'd be more forgiving. I'd be more consistent. I wouldn't be so lazy. I'd tackle the world. I wouldn't long and miss the way I do. I wouldn't get so caught up in my insecurities.

I'd be fearless.

I'm not fearless. In addition to emotionally dealing with this question, I've also spent the better part of two days riddled with anxiety. I did something pretty scary Sunday morning and I'm still sitting with the feelings that come from taking such a risk. Sometimes I think that if I were strong, I wouldn't feel the nervousness.

Then I realize that strength isn't about that. It's about doing what I need to do, what feels right, in spite of the anxiety, tension, fear, self-doubt, etc. And trust me, there is plenty of that in this body of mine. And yet, I still wonder. Sometimes I think strength is an illusion.

Only two people, until now, know how the perception of my strength is a hot button for me. When I read your question I burst into tears. There's still quite a bit of healing that needs to happen around how I visualize myself as strong. In reading the question, I felt the rawness of the wound.

For most of my life, I was abandoned, rejected, ignored for being perceived as strong. I need too. I need to be held, and loved and comforted. I need to be helped. Being seen as strong gave others the excuse to not do so.

And yet, because I had to be so independent at such a young age, it's difficult for me to seek what I need. I think strength is when one can show their vulnerability. I don't do that all the time.

Slowly, I'm learning. Especially now. But it's still painful and very, very difficult.

Anyway, I don't know about this thing called strength. I really don't.
If I am strong, as my shrink and a few others keep insisting, then I have no idea where that strength comes from.

It's an excellent question and one I plan on asking my shrink next week.

Thank you very much for asking.
Your question is a real gift because it forces me to continue the process of healing by having the question whirl around in my head and deal with the impact.

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It's question month. Feel free to email me with questions and I'll respond here.

For the last few years in some of my friends journals, March has been question month. I've been highly resistant to the question meme and I'm still trying to figure out why. Seeing this reaction is so strong, today I decided that maybe getting my feet wet would be a good thing.

Feel free to ask away. You can either leave your questions in the comments or email them to absque2 at yahoo dot com and I'll respond here in my blog.

There is something so cleansing about the air after a rain. Especially yesterday morning because the air was almost balmy. Those drops are quite sexy to me.


Lately, I've been pretty consumed with painting and a connection. So I've been diving in deeper and in doing so, I watch how each feed the other. And, I'm keeping most of my words private.

Regarding painting, on Saturday I again reworked the painting I showed you on Friday.



In addition, I've begun 4 new paintings. Yesterday, I immersed myself in sex, choosing not to get myself off, but building to a frenzy that allowed me to tackled canvasses freely. My head shut down and my cunt did the work. Color and composition didn't matter. It became a space of animal painting...ferocious...from my belly.

The freedom in that moment was intense. I didn't care about good or bad. There was no preciousness to be found. It was painting for no other reason than I hungered to fuck the canvas.

I've been keeping to myself since Thursday due partly to exhaustion, mixed with retaining energy to paint and immersing myself in other thoughts. Yesterday I reworked the painting I showed you on Friday. It's coming along and makes me happy.

This week will be a big work week with complex projects looming. In addition there will be more painting, house cleaning and errands. I have a few things to pick up.

Last night I received a few delicious surprises, including briefly being part of a gathering 3000 miles away by phone and meeting a couple new friends in the process.

Adventures abound and although challenging as life is known to be, it is also very good.

This is one of the paintings I'm currently engaged in. The color is actually a littler brighter than what we see here. Clicking on the image will give you a better sense.

Three other pieces in progress are from photos whereas I'm pulling this one out of my ass. I'm still struggling with the architecture in an attempt to solidify the composition. That's where the black lines come from.

These marks are a way for me to ground myself in the piece. And as I'm writing, I realize that I hide myself behind the black line work. My challenge is to remove them and allow the color to be. Allow myself to be seen.

I'm pleased with the direction of the bottom half of the canvas and need to bring that to the entire piece. I'm curious to see how it speaks to me this weekend.

Happy Friday everyone!

I've been pretty quiet today. Inside and out. Not a bad thing and it's been nice to spend part of the day like that.

The photo is one of the scenes from our deck on the third floor at work that I shot this morning as soon as the light came up. I've been looking at it many mornings, intrigued with the indoor/outdoor scene. Kind of like blogging, eh?