November 2006 Archives

I have been thinking a lot about the nature of my writing here.

A. Lot.

This place has been such a refuge at times. It has been a lover and a confidant.

I think about the huge amounts of time I have spent here and wonder sometimes if it's for naught.

It makes some sense if I do it out of a sense of community, camaraderie, or friendship. Are you my friends and my comrades? Are you lovers and confidants?

Or… As I fear greatly from the work I have been doing proofing and categorizing old posts… Am I a spectacle and you're waiting for the crash-and-burn?

I have to admit I am of a split disposition where Black As My Soul is concerned.

One train of thought is that it's complete. I can't make it any more of what it was to me when I began. I don't hate myself like I did when I began, so I am less comfortable calling myself "Soulless," You know?

Another train of thought is to do nothing. Keep the site alive. Don't say anything unless you can say something nice. And when I'm ready to write again I can pick up where I left off.

I love this place. Although sometimes I feel I have outgrown it, it is still very comfortable like an old favorite blanket that I can pull around myself for comfort when I need it.

And finally, what if it's a really good tool to continually urge my personal development forward? What if I need it to keep some amount of creativity and expression in my life?

You see, I don't have any answers to these questions yet.

Just a few days ago I thought to myself, "I'm never writing here again. Just let it fade away."

But I can't let go.

I read a lot of things online that really make me think and feel.

I realize that I have not been an excellent friend to those who have written to me here. I have done a terrible job of maintaining contact. I have terrible guilt about that. I have tried in some cases to communicate… but I fear the moment is gone. What *was* is not what *is.* People have moved along and circumstances have changed.

Suffice it to say, I miss you.

I hope you are well.

Have I mentioned I work in a vast facility with a vast parking lot?

At any rate, only two things were on my mind whilst I hurried to the shelter of the building.

1. It's really annoying, when you're "going commando," when the seam between the legs of your pants chafes your testicles with each step.
2. Holy fuck is it cold. The temperature when I left my house was 8 degrees Fahrenheit. Add wind and you have one hell of a chill. Welcome to Winter in Minnesota.

I ache for contact with you.

Touching you is joy.

Nothing on the web ever really dies.

Things move from server to server, page to page.

Words and images wax and wane in popularity.

But when you want them, and even when you're not looking, they come back.

Here's looking at you.

If you honestly make a list of your desires and write them down, if you honestly ask for what you want, it will come to pass.

Reading through my old posts…

I have everything I asked for.

I'm finding a lot of spelling and grammar errors in my old posts. But still you kept reading.

You're really a trooper.

Thanks for sticking with me.

Every now and again I go looking for this, online—on blogs.

I don't know that I'm looking for religion, per se, as much as I'm looking for validation that I am not wrong (and of course satisfying prurient desires). But I am also looking for belief, conviction, or practice. I am looking for personal experience.

I have run across blogs written by folks who claim that what they do is fulfilling and part of fulfilling sacred work. In name they call themselves sacred. But the blogs are not about those things. They are about politics and sex-workers rights. Frankly, I'm so not interested in reading about that. I believe that (an it harm none) there is nothing about sexuality that should be illegal between consenting parties. In my case, they are preaching to the choir.

But where it concerns sex and the sacred, all I want to know is what it feels like to you. Are there rituals? What do you do? How did you arrive where you are? What happened in your life that tells you without a shadow of a doubt that you are on the right path?

Those are the things that convince me. That matters to me much more than reportage of events. That matters to me more than erotica. That matters to me more than litanies of the offenses of western civilization. I know these histories. Tell me what I don't know. What I can't know is your experience. That is what will bring me back.

I've tried to keep my links up-to-date. I went through them one-by-one just now. I killed links to blogs that were "members only" and to blogs that don't seem to exist any longer.

If I got your URL wrong, or if your link is missing, or if you want me to change the name of your link, just let me know. I'm an easy-going guy. I'll fix it or change it.

Likewise, if you think there are sites I should know about that I do not already link, I'd want to know that, too.

Thank you for reading, my dears.

She wanted ACDSee installed on her laptop, like I have.

Mmmm. Flower.

Incidentally, It's one of the best tools I know of for browsing your porn collection. Er, your photos.

Is it just me?

It seems like going to check out a "goth" website is a lot like checking out an "alternative" web site which is a lot like what I see on so-called "fetish" sites.

Now, sexy is good, and more sexy is better… but which is which anymore? There is so much cross-talk. I realize that often interest in one of those scenes implies interest in the others, but it's not always or necessarily even generally the case. So… why is it so diffuse?

Who carries the Goth torch highest? What does it mean anymore?

And why does anyone who wears all-black think they are part of a subculture?

Maybe I'm just being catty. I just don't know what's really different anymore. I see so much variety and I've seen so many shapes and sizes that I don't see sharp divisions.

Or really, I don't want to see the same pictures on every third web site.

What flavor are you?

Hmm… That red velvet interior of the coach…

In my mind's eye I see restraints and blindfolds.

Today, the weather in the south-east of the metropolitan area in which I live is foggy and cloudy.

It looks much like a moody period mystery piece. The trees all seem silhouetted black against a deeply-grey sky.

Perfect for a carriage ride through a haunted wood.

The coach, naturally would be lacquered black and have a red velvet interior.

The horses would be uneasy.

The coachmen would raise their collars against the chill.

Too many short drunk girls complaining about me standing in front of them.

I don't give a fuck.

I don't care who you are or why you decided you needed to squeeze in front of me. You're just rude.

But you win. I left my choice spot three feet from the stage. I decided my empty pint glass should be refilled.

The second beer helped.

Blogging this helped.

I'll calm down in a bit.

I'm so not into this show.

This guy has a huge following. He's a sweet man. He's a handsome devil. He loves his audience. He writes clever lyrics. But I had more fun watching the opening band.

Even the cute tatted girls in the front row were no fun to watch. They were just singing along and throwing the occasional devil horns. Yay!

This is why I am quiet a lot. Because I'm bitter and angry. I don't feel a part at all of what's happening. It all started when he started skipping lines and letting the audience sing. Um, Ok… I definitely didn't pay to hear them. He let the audience sing an entire song at one point. Well shame on me I guess for not pre-familiarizing myself with his oeuvre prior to my arriving this evening.

OK. Thanks for listening. I had to get that out. And for those of you who had a really wild time at the show… well, my hat's off. I don't get it.