Reading zen's journal

He sits wearing a collar from his dog,
now but dust,
buried under the seasons
it comforts
he assures
sitting in his room talking about
cages
leather
rope
neoprene
pulleys
clamps
spikes
collars
and a stern disapproving glance from his master.
or his mistress.

the collar pulls at his skin, chafing
making him raw beneath
biting where the glue
attaches the nylon
to the skin
of his neck

At the end of the rope
his master holds firmly
the very idea,
concept,
of Freedom
is challenged,
mocked
by the idea,
this is his choice.

we discuss the nature of freedom,
and being free to choose;
our talk is boundries,
and safe zones.

Tied to the chair
through the pulley on the collar, and the ankle restraints, through the wrist ties, wide bands of neoprene, long, black, rubberized strips of intimidating containment, content with living up to a partial potential as wrist and ankle restaints.

Tied to the chair
my body grows numb
I'm
\/poked \/
\/mocked \/
\/emasculated\/
\/feminized\/
\/intruded.

Finally:
penetrated
brutally
raped
tied,
pinned,no,
nailed to
the leather
club chair
I loved,
now bloody from the abortion
I received
with a Craftsman
loping shears.

But I asked for this.
As a transgression
against my Mistress.
My name is 4 Degrees.
I have sinned.
I seek release.

I'll bet that just took 5 years off my life--but GODDAMM if it wasn't worth every second

Eatin' My Cake Blues

The truth is I loved it
The truth is I'm so sore
livin' right next door
crawlin' on the floor
for every scrap
and crumb
you
leave.

I loved your poem... your meditation on life from one side of the sphere... been there...

Esiste anche una felicita che da un senso di paura al cuore.

Es giht auch ein Gluck, das dem Herzen Angst macht.

There is also a kind of happiness that brings a feeling of fear to the heart.

If mountain goats like living at high elevations, why do none live in high rise apartment buildings?

This post was edited by rosyxxx on Oct 03, 2004.

Speak to me only in riddles and rhymes
it is unto time, I hold my thoughts
accountable
in the knowledge that I just
have never gotten
to know my own
true feelings
about sex,
but life,
and death,
and hate,
and rage,
and technology,
and
just the simple attraction of one being to another,
that
isn't just of the animals
or
of my just curing my diseased-thinking
against
lonlieness, and being alone,
and being
with
myself.

Than it is to those moments I'm held resolute,
my determination broken
only
by a girl, half my age
(quite legal, I assure you),
and I am no longer
gay.
I want to be her
daddy,
but I want most of all
to just tell her how special
she is, that she
in fact
takes me off my game,
and I'm forced to write
of her
write
of her,
her name is Hope.

I long to tell her that she puts ripples into my life,
she ripples,
and tears
the very fabris of my soul
the very fabric of my soul
ripples
she puts ripples into my life,
so beautifully and indellibly
for days hence
with pangs of longing
to touch your face
oh-so-gently,
and just the tips of my fingers
i want to caress your neck,
and nose,
and lips,
for days hence,
in pangs of longing
of a face that would surely
turn my stony heart
to the most rendered
and tenderized morstle
for your breath to
consume.

For days hence
I can not wake
without seeing her face,
and I think even love does not purify
even my love does not purify
those thoughts that direct me
to treat her
how I have to
to get her
to think
about me

but i
just
can't

I grow
confused,
babbling i
say nothing
Fear is the mind killer.
Liquor is the mind killer.
Chronic is also a mind killer.
Not writing is my mind killer.
Not reading is too a mind killer.
Not painting and drawing kills me2.
But not telling her that her presence
ripples my life, and living without it, well,
would kill my mind most of all; i really think,
.

*******
(I can picture Her as my Mistress :) )

I'll bet that just took 5 years off my life--but GODDAMM if it wasn't worth every second