For those who don't know about Rocky - every Saturday night at midnight at the Clinton Street Theatre here in Portland and at quite a few other theaters in the world, "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" is shown. People act out the parts. Come in costume. Come in bondage gear. Shout lines at the screen. Shout bad jokes at the screen. It's thing, a huge thing, and if you have never gone you should do a search online and figure out where Rocky is playing near you. You should go. It's impressive.

Ideally, you should come to Portland and go here so I can see. *grins* Rocky virgins are so much fun...

I went to Rocky last night, with Scott and Eamon, who will be referred to as Puppy from now on. He was following Scott and I around, being generally cute and yet irritating, and so yeah. He is now Puppy. It was a very amusing thing, particularly if you've read the Puppy story I posted a link to not that long ago. *snickers* I rather enjoyed the thought, although admittedly there is no way in hell THIS puppy could be that amusing. He's too smug.

Flirted. Gods, I flirted. Teased and showed off and generally did everything I could to get attention. I walked in wearing high-heeled shoes, a tight slick black bodystocking that didn't cover my breasts, a sparkling silver-and-black see-thru shirt that only half-hid them, a leather jacket, and bondage gear in my purse. I had drawn odd markings all over myself - black designs, sharp-edged, points trailing off into spirals and knifeblades, circles and triangles and diamonds worked together into something almost tribal but far, far stranger. One pattern on my left hand. One on my left breast. One on my right shoulder and the right side of my throat, one on my forehead, one on my right cheek below my eye. I spent a lot of time getting ready for Rocky this week.

There's a lady there, one Mana... she's got boys and friends the way I do, and it was two who are (at least partially) hers who I was really playing with. One with long curly hair and a sweet smile and some serious talent when it comes to energy work. One with dark hair, body like a razorblade, a knife strapped to his hip and this cold, cutting smile that ripped through me and somehow still left me feeling warm.

Got invited over. Got promised help sharpening my blades. Got bit, and kissed, and licked, and fondled, and petted. Touch is good, says the hungry Jax whose boys are all so far away that she can't touch them, can't hold them, and that might be why said Jax is drowning herself in attention and contact with people who could care less and don't know her, don't understand her, but somehow can make her smile regardless.

Smiles are important. Had a hard time smiling last night, I did. I could grin, I could chuckle, I could laugh sometimes, but an honest smile? I think not. Not when I'm parading around like a ten-cent whore with an attitude problem, body for sale, heart turned to dust, and nothing left of my pride and my shame but crumpled and faded rose petals dusted with silver...

I am not doing all that well, this morning.

There's things I want to say that I know aren't going to come out yet or aren't going to come out here, and I am realizing that putting them ANYWHERE online is no longer safe, not with what I have to say. I am realizing that some things, some things I should keep to myself. The secrets are mine to keep, and the first person who quotes Puck at me will get a bottle of elderberry wine over the head. And maybe a kiss for getting the references.

Didn't SLEEP alone tonight.

Then again, when have I ever slept alone?

And part of the night I was huddled behind black-painted steel, shivering, feeling a chain draped down between my breasts, rising up and coiling serpentine and deadly around my throat, and I would not have been anywhere else, doing anything else, other than things worse and far more painful. *sighs*

Self-destruction is an unpleasant instinct to have, it is it is. Particularly when I wake up to realize just what it was I was seeking yesterday, last night, why it is that everything I did and everything I said was geared to that destruction and to the surrender of Self that I seem to crave now, between my need for Control...

...do you know how confusing it is to so desperately need control that when a bit of it is pulled away, it sends you tumbling... and then to realize that you are feeling guilty, feeling wrong, feeling as if the leaving and the lying and the hurting, it was all what you deserved? Mind tangles. Twists. Repetition and surrender and hate and pride and gods, it makes me sick, I woke up this morning and nearly threw up because I could still taste my own tears.

This entry isn't a guilt trip, it isn't a demand, it isn't a request, it isn't anything but me trying desperately to make a bit of sense out of last night. I reverted damned close to totally, and I can't entirely make sense of why.

I didn't want to be alone last night, I knew that, we all knew that, right? Being alone right after Caleb leaves = badness and misery. So why the FUCK is it that being in company set me off so oddly?

I hate him.

Stupid god-damned questions and this glorious assumption that he knows my head THAT well, that he knows what I mean and why I do everything, I'm furious... or I should be... I should be outraged, I should be insulted, but let's face facts here, I know my own mind well enough to realize that NO ONE will ever really know the whole damned thing. And really, what else could he think? Provocation and this demand that must have seemed like nothing more than a bald-faced request... *sighs*

Not a request. Not ever, not ever, not from ME, not from anything but that self-destructive urge. Part of me wants. But then, part of me wants things like heroin and chocolate overdoses, sex with strangers, to run to Canada without money and without a job, a hundred stupid things. Want and need are not always the same, thank the gods.

Do I need it? I...

...I don't know...

...I answered "I don't know" so many times last night, people kept asking me to make decisions and I'll be damned if I could. Most of the time I was guessing at what answer might be most amusing or make them happiest. I don't know. My mind is short-circuiting, my thoughts spinning. This morning, now... *shrugs* Arrasto is online, this is a comfort and a help, he balances me out and makes me smile a bit and that right now is precious rare.

Kadin was supposed to call last night at 10:00. We left around 11:30. Got back - no message from him, even. *sighs* Nothing. He'd said it was important. He'd said it MATTERED. He'd said he would call. I was there. He didn't call. I shouldn't be so worried but I am, and when I log offline I'm calling there, I need to talk to him and I need to know he's ok. *shivers* I can't protect myself, apparently, not well enough, I keep getting hurt and keep shattering further, but I can at least try to protect him, he is mine, he is priceless, he deserves to be protected. And I AM worried about him.

Last night I somehow arranged things so I could make an ass of myself at Rocky and still get home safely. Coincidence? No, not really. I know myself at least THAT well. I knew that I'd need some sort of reason to get home, actually HOME, and thus Puppy and Scott. I knew that the way I was feeling, I'd do something stupid if I was alone and something even worse if I went out alone to someplace like that.

Grr was there, briefly, btw - she doesn't show up to Rocky all that much any more and so it really kicked ass to see her, Grrs and Thomases and Alans along with two Smalls are very happy things indeed. She gave me kisses and hugs and much friendness, and this is good. Grrs are another stablizing thing, and Grr, thank you. *huggles* Miss seeing you. Miss Rocky-ness involving you. *grins*

So now I'm listening to Skillet, a song titled "Locked In A Cage", and it's oddly appropriate. Even though some parts of last night were so very odd, I kept - keep - wanting more. It's a drug, it is, and even when you know it's not seeming all that good for you, you want more and more until you're drowning in it, falling, flying, eternity spiraling out around you and nothing left but sensation and the clear sweet agony that is so far beyond pain... "Do you hurt?" Hell no. Pain is nothing, next to this. Pain is meaningless. Pain is the ache in my side the first time the leather curled around my kidney, pain is the burn in my back as the ink is scratched into my skin, pain is the shivercold trembling that starts when steel brushes skin. This... this is the culmination. An orgy of sensation and I am in the thick of it, and gods, it felt so GOOD.

I apologise for this entry, I know it's not very helpful and certainly not all that informative and gods know it's confused. I am confused, which makes it difficult to write logically and sensably. It just doesn't work that way, I'm sure you can see this.

And now I need to go drive someone, and run errands, and generally pretend that everything is well and good instead of hurting aching throbbing pulsing, this need, wet heat between my thighs and my mouth dry, my head pounding, my hands trembling, my back feels like I got the best massage ever and yet I still want to cry.

There's something new here and last night I found out what it is. Last night I found out why it is that I can't stop listening to Nickelback and Skillet and Nine Inch Nails. Last night I found out why it is that I've been so seriously considering going back to the coast. Last night...

...last night didn't exist.

As of right now, it didn't exist. *grins* It's a pretty, beautiful, frightening, terrifying, wonderful dream, and it will stay that way.

If ANYONE asks me what I was up to from about 6:00 pm my time until about noon today... I was asleep and dreaming. And I'll stick to that story.