Tag Archive: love


No Thank You: The Blue Balls Serenade

Call me a cunt, call me a whore
I just could not take one second more
Of the plodding, the pleading,
The groping, the gripes
While we kept weeding,
Kept doping our pipes
You’re good for nothing you unreasonable prick
And you can’t even keep any blood in your dick.

Advertisements

Xena the Damsel’s Ideal Knight

My ideal relationship is with a hung Alpha Male Dom to whom I submit and with whom I switch. He enjoys, in turn, watching me be with other men and playing with other everyones with me. We will sex other people with each other and not, but we will love each other the most even as of course we come to care about other people. Somehow he will communicate to me that he so profoundly cares about me in a way that relieves me from being the Jealous I already anticipate in my heart will be the potential downfall of my seeking an open relationship. Of course he will want to marry me and be vanilla with me and we will be friends with our play partners long after (it seems as if) we’ve stopped playing (or have we?). Careers, communities, kids. Sex everywhere in between and more. Fuck couples counseling – I know how to communicate because I’m a kinkster. And so is my boo.

Engagement Rings and Feminist Things

If I am to be bound by the hand
To a lad to share my life
He’ll wear a ring to tell the land
That I have yet to be his wife.

There is one way I’d let this slip
And be the sole wearer of ring with rock.
Surely this is still a feminist quip —
He’d be wearing my ring around his cock.

Some Thoughts on the Rethridgerator.

20130625-215517.jpg

20130625-215525.jpg

20130625-215539.jpg

20130625-215548.jpg

I push, I shove,
Forgetting how to empathize.
His tush I love
More than is probably wise
And now my fate
Has sealed itself rotten.
So how to state
I fear being forgotten?

I fret, I pace
I’d rather not sleep.
Forget his face
Before you’re too deep.
He said please go
Tomorrow’s a long day
And you said no
I must have my own pleasure’s way

I fight these pills
They fog up my mind
To spite the thrills
I would otherwise find
In heart and soul
Along with my skin
I’m part, not whole
This healing body I’m in

The Drafts That Could Still Be: A Writing Discovery

I have discovered something about myself. 
Should it be discovered or uncovered?
Rather than ask the questions I have in my head
To another person
In real time 
That could garner potentially hazardous consequences for the future
Of such a meek and budding relationship
As is any relationship on the brink
Of being anything more than it is
Where the two souls are alike
And amiss and a-twitter
Because they can’t seem to communicate
Even though one knows the other intimately in structure
But not in content
That is where the insecurity rises up
The fear that I can read the inner strings of his heart’s song
No, that can only be sung by you 
In the form of words, notes, tears
Many instruments have you
And many instruments have I

One of these instruments is through bravery
I can instigate a battle, I can
But just because I want to know the answer
And have the capacity to ask the question
Does not mean that it was mean to be inquired
Yet, anyways

Instead, I shall make it a story.
I constantly fear that my writing about what happens in my real life will make the people I love angry with me if they ever find out. That includes the content of this blog, the contents of my diaries, the contents of my plays, and some of my songs. Some are in code, some are poorly in code, and some are so exposed it’s like that moment you realize the pantsless dream you’re having is actually your wedding. Which is why they cannot be seen. 

But I seem to have forgotten something about myself. Let me remind myself, and you, dear reader, of what it is.
I, as my mother says, have a vivid imagination. 
I can predict the highest achievement 
And the most tragic defeat
The exhileration courses through my veins 
As sparks shooting through a cannon’s barrel 
Sometimes I am kept away by this electricity
I cannot hold it inside
I burst out with delight and force 
Somewhat haphazard in my release I will admit
And I maybe singe some of my constituents sometimes

Instead, strike that match onto the page
Rather than sending a burning arrow to another heart so soon.
Let the vivid imagination
The world that I long to create to be my own
Let it come alive in my stories 
Until those characters I am to play along with as myself
Arrive in my scene

Until then, all the drafts that could have been
Better yet, those that could still be

Touch Me Like You Love Me

Touch me like you love me
Even if it’s a ruse
Touch me like you love me
I vow to not refuse

A kiss breathed in my hair
Your hand around my waist
You don’t have to swear
On it – give me just a taste

Touch me like you love me
Make me shiver to the bone
Touch me like you love me
So I don’t feel so alone

Self-Evaluation: The Winter Slogs On

I was cavalier in welcoming spring, such that I forgot to cover my heart chakra and look where it got me? My body fails me at the time my schedule cannot allow, and my heart tugs for someone equally busy and it is too soon for that kind of hope. 

I’m ready for an overhaul. I’m ready to leave these jobs that I’ve been experimenting with and to find one money maker that allows me to pursue my art in the meantime. I’m ready to let a few of these plates finish their spins and then pack them away in boxes. Good for me for saying yes, I will, and for staying open to the idea that other pursuits might be useful. I have tried it and now I know. The problem is whether I will remember I know as such the next time someone asks me to do whatever it is that is similar enough to what I’m doing now and hating; I am the number one culprit of “Maybe it will be better this time. Things are different now, after all.” I am a serial optimist, after all. 

Honey Jay seems to have disappeared. My other dancer, however, is interested in continuing our dalliances, and his suggestions of where we could go are enticing. The complication is that a new gentleman has entered the picture and I don’t know what to do. Let’s call him Gorgeous Gentle Giant or GGG (and for those of you who know Dan Savage, you will understand how else that acronym could be applied and I will happily tell you that he embodies that too) and guess what! He may or may not be a reader of this blog. Meh. If integrity is to be desired, then I suppose the secret sexcapades blog may be a good thing for him, or future honeys, to stay abreast of if so interested.

I hadn’t thought I’d be so ready to jump back on the relationship wagon, but I think that checking in with my notch number and having to reflect on all those experiences has jolted me back into alignment of what I’m looking for. 
It’s never changed, for the record, because it always was kindness and affection from interesting and dynamic individuals, but I have been suppressing an integral component in my defensive and healing phase and that is devotion. I want to pour all of this affection I have here, brimming at the edge of my fingertips and my cherry lips, into someone else. Let it course through his veins, protecting him and invigorating him and fueling him to be the best possible person he can be. Let him caress me and kiss me and care for me in whatever way I need, enough but no more than that. Someone with whom to pack survival packs with for an epic romantic adventure to … I don’t care! The mountains, the valley, the Europe, the city, the family farm, the tundra, the bush. Come with me. Hold my hand. Help me up and I will kiss your eyelids as you fall asleep in my arms. 

In the meantime,
I’m struggling to breathe without a wheeze,
to maintain my aim when the weapons I’m being handed are made out of rubber,
to find that men are kind and not just looking for a naked grind.
To remember what I’m good at,
to distill out what is innocuous,
to render myself spent but not weary,
busy but not frantic,
and valued but not idolized. 

I’ve been pondering Self-Care v Motivation a lot lately, most recently as I dragged a razor blade against shins for the first time in weeks. Do I shave for me or for the idea of him later? The answer is both, and then of course the feminist in me asks is that okay? And you know something? I think the answer is yes and here is why:
I already know he finds me beautiful and desirable with healthy active hair follicles. 
While I enjoy the phenomenon of being smooth, trim, and together, frequently there are other items that take precedence like sleep, work, Lionel Vincent, Ron Swanson, or Baby Beluga. But the anticipation of being touched, with skin as soft as a baby’s, is exciting and I am happy (especially in this sluggish snotty slump I’m in) to indulge in self-care, especially if I know it will add an extra oomph to my delight in being delighted in. It gets to happen for me because it could be for him because I would like to be in such a way should he decide to shuffle his stuff to be in my life. And even if he doesn’t, I’m still one sexy beast. So there. 

Catharsis, Come Relieve These Weary Bones

I have fallen out of writing about myself.
I have fallen out of writing about myself, for myself, and for no one else.
I started this blog as a space to tell someone else all the things I couldn’t tell PM
(even though I may have been entirely in denial about that at the time)
and I realize now that the loss of such dedication, such maintenance, of a private journal is one of the relics of this relationship.
He and I have just started talking again. I can’t tell anyone who knows all that we’re civil because they will think I’m softening my constitution, I can’t tell anyone who partially knows because they don’t care enough to want to listen, and I don’t feel like telling any more strangers. I’m tired of being that girl, who has that baggage, such that I’ve even stopped mentioning it to playmates except in the context of “What, you don’t want commitment either? Great! I’m toting around all this emotional baggage; let’s definitely not date; do not worry about me as clingy.” … which is so much better than being that hot mess of feelings, even if they refrain from including ‘weepy’.

I am still so angry at myself.
My roommate my junior year knew it; she watched and she spoke out and still I didn’t listen. God, all that feminist spine just crumpled. Wilted at the sight of beautiful big brown cow eyes that I got a jolt of electricity, deja vu even, the first time I ever made eye contact with. Is that just what I’m destined to carry as a curse; the ability to fall in love at first sight? See, while I tote around a whimsical mental list of future fiancés, I’d never had someone reciprocate. Or even respond to my pursuits.
What occurs to me now is that perhaps I misinterpreted his general ambivalent tone to mean compliance, or even interest. Did I think I snagged the world’s biggest procrastinator, the world’s biggest shmoozer, the world’s best politician (oh my goodness if he ran and had good political stances I’d be his domestic partner in a heartbeat. he’d actually be getting stuff done and I could do plenty of “culture” to give him mad bonus points and I’d get lots of funding in return! For the arts! … this entire idea, for the uninformed, is ludicrous because PM is about the least actively ambitious people; he is all talk and no walk. Unless it’s to the fridge to get a Diet Pepsi … or a beer. And so when I say that I’d be the wife to his politician, I actually mean it. Because his pursuit of something like that (while of course a popularity contest and pats on the back all around if you were picked team captain for kickball!) would mean that he was … getting something done. For someone, maybe, just maybe, other than himself.

So what am I doing for other people that’s not for myself? Isn’t an unpaid internship, rather than merely being free labor, a complete and total desperate attempt to say PAY ATTENTION TO ME PLEASE I WILL DO ANYTHING EVEN BARTER MY GOD GIVEN TIME AND TALENT TO YOU FOR NO RETURN EXCEPT THE VAGUE PROMISE OF TOMORROW IT BECOMING BETTER?? (Mind you I just wrote an article for an up-and-coming socio-political blog about this. See if you can find it.) … I don’t want to get into that now, except to say that both of the design jobs I’m doing are for theatre companies whose missions I believe in aka they produce new work potentially by people like me, ergo one day me if I keep sucking cock. Does the cock taste good? This time better than last time, but ain’t that always the way when you know what you’re doing…

My handsome harem, whom I can’t quite call my stable mainly because they are not all my subordinates I mean my submissives … they are good.
My one sub seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth, making me surprisingly glad I didn’t take him up on his offer for cyber-commitment … a sliver of my devil pries as to whether it was that lack of affirmation and public posession that has caused him to disappear but then I remember that his mother is dying and … that is probably why he hasn’t been in touch. Sometimes Lady Ray can remember her place. As a person. In the context of other people, rather than as Princess.

Some of them are swarming. I am overwhelmed, mainly because while I enjoy the attention, I want the commitment. Honey Jay, let’s call my ballerino sub, stood out (I think I’ve mentioned this right here before) at the beginning because he was paying attention and called me out. I stated what I wanted and he retaliated calling me out on fallacy. Which is funny, mainly because no one had ever questioned me. Probably because I’m trying to want what I can, in fact, have? Or is it I am finally wanted by the men who can’t or shouldn’t or oughn’t have me, but want me and pursue me anyways? Those guys are fun as playmates but I don’t want to be by myself all the other times…

My friends are busy and popular. And I keep trying to invite new friends into my space, but they are all busy and popular too so I either need to go out and keep them company in these spaces where they go for social world and networking, but I don’t need any more extension time out in to social space — I need the introvert’s Claritin — the one-on-one or maybe a group of three. And I know I could have it with someone I’m related to, many of them are just a phone call away but the phone is not the same.

I’m hoping the presence of this roommate will improve this, because it will be realfacetime with someone else. I’m apprehensive because she has stated she wants to keep all things separate, which is fine with me for food and toiletries, but for cookware too? We’ll have to clarify when she gets here but I was hoping to live with a buddy. When will my casserole dinner living partner come in? I think that’s living with someone you love. Whether you are also (sexually) naked with them is a different question. Or want to be, anyway. I’d like that, please. Whether it be friend, or honey. No more foes. No more discomfort in the home space. I am apprehensive but not without benefit of the doubt.

It is with heavy lids (after two early mornings for open calls where non union were dismissed after many hours of waiting idly by … I am also feeling discouraged in the world of one of my professions. It may be about time to start working on a very exciting, very ambitious project that I will be writing that I hope will embody everything that is to Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues AND Lin-Manuel Miranda’s In the Heights. Plus they both starred in theirs. Rock on.

I would like to start imagining my celebrity doppelgänger is Lucy Lawless.
Lucy Lawless in Xena: Warrior Princess. MCA
My first reaction: A girl can dream
My real reaction: …oh wait, except there are so many reasons why it’s okay and no one will actually bat an eye so calm your titties Lady Ray, you’re awesome.

It’s kind of awesome to be your own cheerleader.

The cure to cooking food you’re bored of is to make something that you do not know what the taste will be.

Then Get A More Precise Vocabulary.

[ i just think that more words means less meaning per word, but it’s been hard to make a full story without enough words ] he says.