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Previous - this entry written on March 16, 2002 at 11:48 am - Next Just a few things... ( -1- ) You have to become a sensualist, for this. There isn't any way to really take control, enjoy it, savor it, and not learn to accept and even revel in sensation... not your own, but the feelings and expressions of feeling that your partner shows. Empathy isn't enough. It's a great tool but it is just one of many tools; you will have better luck if you train yourself to use all the things at your disposal. Look at your playtoy, actually look, take it all in. Draw your finger over your toy's skin. What sounds does he make? What expressions cross his face? Does he arch up into the touch or pull away, does he shift to the left or the right? Lick at his skin, taste him as you touch him... then take your hand away, let him rest a moment, and taste him again. Can you taste a difference? Every sense is a tool. You can use his senses to guide his emotions and sensations, to draw him deeper into subspace, to leave him breathless or aching or tearful or laughing. You can use your senses to become more completely aware of him and his reactions. Seal yourself off empathically, if you can. Put up a wall. Only use the five basic senses for a little while. Kiss him, look into his eyes while you do so. Can you see the changes there? If you can't see his eyes, put your hands on his flesh, feel the muscles shift. If you can't touch him, then listen, learn each sound he makes until you can judge his mood purely by those sounds. ( -2- ) she always wanted to be alice lost down some distant rabbit hole wandering on the other side of the mirror finding herself anywhere but here she wanted to be the white rabbit too running busily from place to place with important things to do not just another mindless day sometimes she wanted to be the cat with a cheshire grin on a cheshire face the knowledge to walk through walls and insanity so pure it burns but every now and then when it rained outside and the fire in the fireplace was warm and there were marshmallows in her hot chocolate on those days she was happy to be herself ( -3- ) 5-9-2000 12:08 pm I�m going to pick up a strange, strange boy in just a little while. We�re going shopping for clothing to suit his darker side. I wish that more people would let their dark sides out... not all the way, but enough to keep the pressure off themselves and enough to keep me amused. Yes, I�m a self-centered bitch. But remember I�ve been telling you that all along. There�s no excuse for disbelieving me � wouldn�t I know myself at least that much? You�d think so. Goddess, I want him. 5-11-2000 6:01 pm I�m online and listening to my Soundtrack � Poe, �Hello� � and I�m wondering if I am waiting for Scott or just waiting to wake up. I�m not depressed... I�m not, I�m NOT. I�m just curious. Has he even thought about what I offer? Will I get to spend time with Justin before game? I need it. Part of me (the part that wouldn�t get to spend the time with Justin anyway) really wants it. Part of me (the part that WOULD spend time) doesn�t want it... but accepts that it�s necessary. Damn, I hate being confused. Am I going to get anything out of life today? Rie-est is here and I�m downstairs being anti-social again. Bad Jax. I�ll have to go upstairs soon... but I�m gonna wait for a few minutes. I want to talk to Scott. I want to fix myself, and right now that means dealing with him. And I WANT MY CALEB. You�re so cute... but you�ve been distant lately. I need to spend more time with you. I need to remind you why it is that you fell in love with me, why you like being with me and like ME. It�s not easy to do that � I haven�t liked myself much lately. Oh, well... duty calls. ( -4- ) Howling in the darkness, Tryin' to find her way home, Runnin' through the shadows, Callin' to the moon; Silky mane of dark hair, Gleaming teeth, bone white, Eyes are shining bright now, Tail an ancient rune. Pretty girl, Wolfgirl, Prowling the forest, all alone, Lost girl, Wolfgirl, Tryin' to find her way back home. Wild girl, Wolfgirl, Hunting underneath the trees, Lone girl, Wolfgirl, Running swifter than the breeze Gorgeous soft-furred hunter, Deadly, still she's perfect, Stalking by the moonlight Whoever is her prey Dark as shadowed forests, Full of unspoiled wildness, A fire burns within her, She will have her way. Pretty girl, Wolfgirl, Hunting all the night; Lost girl, Wolfgirl, Can't take me without a fight. Wild girl, Wolfgirl, Leading me to die; Lone girl, Wolfgirl, The price for life is high. ( -5- ) ...A quiet studio. The walls are dark-stained wood, dusty; mellow comfort pours from them. Set midway along the west wall is a large window. The glass is streaked with age, specked with stray paint flecks, and brushed with the dust of late nights and early mornings spent in the madness of creation. On the floor: more wood, but this polished to a golden glow by the pacing of feet, the scuffing of easels and tables, the buffing of hand-woven sisal rugs. The boards here are soft, smooth. They reflect the morning light, seeming to steal some of its brightness. In every corner there are signs of habitation, of life. Paintings mingled unashamedly with sketches, marble statues rubbing elbows with plaster casts and cheap clay forms, and everywhere rainbows of color and graceful lines of form. In the center of this quiet room there are three things: first, a great easel surrounded by small stands, each with its attendant paint pot or tin can full of charcoals and leads or tray of pastels; second, a chair and stool, placed against the backdrop of sunlight that is leaping in through the large window; and lastly, a small table, covered with rough sketches and scraps of images, waiting for inspiration to bring them fully to life. Over everything the morning sun is working its magic, laying down gold and copper highlights on the venerable wood and the still-drying paint on the canvas. The xanthan light bathes everything in its brightness, lending a sense of wonder and fantasy to the quiet studio. On the great easel there is a half-finished sketch of a young man, done in pastels. He is unashamedly sky-clad, unashamed because he has no need for shame; he is a child of the gods. Dark hair, skin bronzed by the same sun that gilds the quiet room, giving it a vitality and a brightness that seems to be defying light, mocking it with its brilliance. The young woman who has essayed to paint this vision stands entranced. It is not in her to notice as the pale gold pastel she holds slips softly from her hand and falls on the wood beneath her feet. It is not in her to see anything but the young man she is portraying, the soft curve of his smile, the harder ripples of his chest and stomach, the fiery spark in his dark eyes. Breathing quickened, reveling secretly in the sudden flash of beauty she has seen, she retrieves her magic wand, bends down to recapture the pale gold pastel she has let fall into a patch of morning sunlight. She returns almost reluctantly to her picture; seeing, not the vellum sheet and chalked image, but the many and many possibilities traced by the perfection of the young man with dark hair and dark eyes who sits so calmly in the chair before her. The morning sun has lent its gilt to him as well, turning him for a fleeting moment into the god he seems to be, dusting him for a few precious seconds with the gift of immortality, giving her a beautiful glance into what could be, and what has always been. I'm REALLY spaced out right now thanks to the medications. I don't think I will make it to Rocky, although I will try... mostly I won't make it because I'm not sure I'll have a ride home. *shrugs* ...and stuff... ...that's all. Go home. Hosted by Diaryland - All Rights Reserved - Image, Layout, and Content copyright Jax Raven - - Do Not Feed The Moose - |
