This is me blogging. This is me blogging because I’m a good girl and I’m practicing discipline and I know what it takes for me to be successful and I want to succeed and I believe in leading by example. Yar yar yar. Human example.
Here’s what I think: that I’m barely old enough to remember true desire. A time without cell, phones internet or DVR. We got three channels, that’s right count ‘em three. And one of us three kids had to stand and hold a hand out the wind to adjust the sky high metal antennae if we wanted the last channel to come in clear.
Any image that came to my mind came from either my wild imagination fueled by countless biblical tales, or it came from pictures. Pictures I had to hunt down. Images I had had to earn. If I wanted to see what the Cistine chapel looked like I couldn’t just flip and on switch, throw out a yawn and lean back in my chair and watch it all happen before me on 360 degree virtual tour.
To earn such an image I had to get up, get dressed, walk over to the library, spend minutes, maybe hours, thumbing through the hard copy library file of subject, author and title cards til I found what I wanted. You just had to take your best guess, bug the hell out of the librarian and make sure you always knew where THAT section of the encyclopedias was located.
What you young kids call desire today (there, I said it, you young kids) is really just craving. You also don’t know what dreaming is…the internet and designer drugs have killed that for you too. Instant gratification is your enemy. Pleasure is your alley. Pleasure requires discipline. The older I get the more I approve of military school for minors. Yikeseez!
And it’s funny because all this is exactly how I feel about blogging too…
Why should anyone spend their precious time reading something I might not have given any thought to that took only a moment and a click to globally publish? Because time is precious and reading is a gift from above. Everytime I pick up a book I’m reminded of the magical worlds that I entered repeatidly on the pages when I was young and could spend all my time reading. Someday, I may be rich enough that I can afford to do that again and leave the rest to wage earners and how wonderful would that be?
Instant publishing -that’s good for writers like me who tend to pull it out of their ass all in one big SWOOSH early in the morning (yes writing is very much like taking a big dump) but from the rest of you it results in a lot of mediocrity. There I said it, mediocrity. Like shit. Shit writing. And my inner critic is a seethe. He can’t stand your slop. So much of what is out there, even between the coverbacks at Borders, is often so, er, mindless? How can so many words mean nothing and go no where and not entertain but produce a profit? Oh yikes Lord I’m begging for a renewal of taste and quality. We are treating our minds like were treating everything else – fast food. Ugh.
You people always want to hear from me, well the reason you don’t is because I sit around all day stewing in my mind and thinking about these things. I’m really concerned about Americas youth. I can’t help it. I train for a living. Discipline-good or bad-is my life. And now these young ones come along and want a personal position and they get it because they are not obligated by things like jobs or families just money and school and so I have been realizing a few things as I’ve struggled in the past year or two to do two things at the same time – refine my discipline and attempt to train and discipline the most unruly, immature, selfish, clueless crew of social misfits I have ever dreamt up. Really! Finally one day it came down to this with these kids: YOU DON’T SHARE MY VALUES. But really, how could they? They just weren’t raised the same and now I fear that no one, not even my children, will ever understand or experience the sweet slowness of wandering until you find your elusive dream or the giant satisfaction that comes with finally finding what you always knew was always out there-somewhere. Then you find it!
Yes I am an elitist. Yes I will tell if your stuff stinks. If you ask. And don’t ask unless you want the truth. Yes I’m a critic and a dilettante. My particular expertise lies in secret and always will. On the surface I have only my witness to offer. I have seen and understand much. I have the experience and power to do this because by the Grace of God I am a Goddess, so why should I toil away dedicating my efforts to a single output when instead I could organize legions of crafty, skilled slaves and have them wage creative wars for me all the time fuck fuck fucking your merry little hearts out all along until we’ve created something great?
Or in my case PLAYING the heart out because frankly I’m too conservative to be or handle a slut. There I said it, I’m a conservative and I’m not a fan of the slut lifestyle. Slut is a mindset. I got a big slut-BETWEEN MY EARS. I don’t do orgies. I don’t even like threesome. There I said it I’m bi and I don’t like threesomes. I like it one on one. Mono y mono.
Had a convo with Vassel up at the studio yesterday. These young kids…back to that again…remember the good ole days when a guy could spend weeks waiting to hear back from a Domina and in the meanwhile all he could do was wait? Yeah well I think that is where learning to serve begins. Turns out I don’t really believe anymore that just because these young kids could, that they should SERVE. Not now. Right now they need to be getting educations and getting married just like you did (I’m still working on the marriage part, maybe) so that later down the line they can determine whether or not they need kink badly enough to put it all on the line. PAY YOUR DUES YOU LITTLE BITCHES. Find out what service really means, get your bratty incandescent self out of the way and learn to give until you empty yourself out on to the floor. Sure I could beat you til you do, but where’s the pleasure in that? Anger is not sexy. You should do it because you want to because if you don’t your head may explode followed by your heart. What the fuck kid, who the hell do you think you are?
Yeah that and some other things are exactly what I’ve thought over the past several months and just now can I put any or all of it to paper. More along the lines of my recent ruminations…
Do we have time for one more?
Dominant men. Conscious vs. unconscious. It’s true. I like to play around with dominant men. Who else is going to give me a worthy challenge? And it’s true, you all know what I’m talking about – the difference between one who gets it and one who don’t. Ones who do, they go leather or at least D/s usually. If you’re lucky, all the way they go and with you , whoohoo! But they can still be an asshole. Hopefully they will acknowledge it at least. But dominant men who lead unconscious vanilla lives, they are the penis packing equivalent to the psyco crazy bitch. So men, get your stuff in line because nothing is more disheartening than a puss of a dominant. And it’s a really pussy move not to come out and be conscious.
Went and saw the eye doctor yesterday. She was cute. I’m often made fun of because I wear sunglasses just about everywhere all day long night and day. They are also the classic oversized jackieO style digs so I usually get way noticed. Well as she peered into my eyes with her bright light in the dark little room (did I mention she was Asian, and hot too) she pulled back and said wow, your eyes are light through and through. I said what does that mean. She said It means that not only is the front of your eye light – the part you can see – but so is the back, by the retina. It means you are going to be significantly more light sensitive than your friends with darker eyes, like brown. I smiled knowing I had been right all along to do what I had done. Not to mention that artificial light fucking sucks. And not to mention that apparently, like all my Hebrew lovers already know, I’m Arian through and through. There I said it. Big taboo. Bad girl.
In closing I would like to say Listen up, this is your mother’s milk speaking; I am fond of ritual. One of my rituals is to listen to praise and worship music on the radio on Sunday mornings while I prepare for church services. A few times Ariel from TNG has crashed at my pad on a Saturday night after a party and in the morning when I do my superman twirl and pull out of my back bedroom some clark kent style and hit the door for praise songs and prayers, he always remarks on how incredible it is and calls me “a good little church girl” Someone asked me not to recently why I do what I do on the 7th or the first day of every week, depending on what type of calendar you claim. And I said because every Sunday of my life til the age of 12 this is what I did. I have been trained. This is what preachers’ kids do on Sundays-they get up, get dressed and go to church.
In closing at this moment I would like to say that it is early on a Sunday morning and the early winter sun rays are warming the East and south facing sides of the buildings and I am nestled in the oversize, down filled cushions of this couch and I have determined it is time to open back up again. Because in the four years that I have been recovering from the first round of blows, some of y’all have stepped up and showed me what COULD happen, if I don’t get back in the ring and honey: jaded is NOT sexy frozen is NOT sexy DRY is not sexy. So here goes. Turns out my first bi-queen performance ever (look it up) was to the tune “Dirty” by Christina Aguilera. There’s a fighter. I think I choose that one because I got to wear leathers and carry a motorcycle helmet on stage while hundreds of women screamed my name at Apex nightclub in DC.
I always write the last paragraph first.