It might be just this

18 08 2010

One cannot describe the act of submitting properly, nor the act of submitting willingly to pain for someone else pleasure.
I suppose the main reason for this is quite simple, the whole thing is based on a very strong oxymoron, as mm beautifully and simply said: you want it but you don’t want it, you like it but you don’t like it. There is no escape from this dynamic, and the deeper you go, the stronger it becomes, it’s eros and thanatos at his best.
What I did failed to realize is that it needs a large dose of strength (and this  post here was instrumental in this epiphany)… an act of submission is ultimately an act of will, even in the extreme cases where you give up that will, even in there there is the constant need for a sort of will, the need to please and obey and suffer.
It is beautiful indeed and strong too, and I didn’t realize completely how deep that need runs in my veins, how deep hides in my soul. I still can’t face it completely and that is why I often end up being miserable.
It is very difficult so far because I never manage to confront myself and accept myself for what I am. I should realize that the secret lies in me more than everything else and that even if my owner can help me a lot in this process, there is nothing but my ego to dissolve to finally reach another state of being, a state of total ownership.

What I feel and want to be is quite simple and easy to describe although it’s utterly difficult to achieve, next to impossible for me at the moment having this brain that never stop thinking lol
The beauty of being pure pleasure always and ever, the intensity of having no bounds and no will but the one that direct you completely, the relieve in leaving behind a mountain of masks and lies and being free in being totally controlled.
Again, as we saw earlier, a contradiction in terms: freedom found in the lack of any freedom, an endless desire bound only by someone’s else will.
Is it possible to achieve? Is it safe to achieve? Is it healthy? That is quite what my paranoid self asks every time and maybe there is no answer so far.

Where lies that answer is something I have to find. But I am not broken and I’ll do whatever I can because I must.

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O! what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

15 08 2010

The smell of incense is strong, floating in the room like mist. It supposed to help concentration an relaxation although so far it effect is next to non existent. I suppose relaxing is not what I am best at, quite the opposite to be true. And trying with incense and classical music is not helping.
I like classical music though, a lot, for a number of reasons and a lot of them are related to nice memories from my childhood.

Today I found myself writing about myself as an object. It was quite fun. I suppose that certain dynamics are involved in a feeling of ownership and feeling as an object is one of them? Possibly. Of course the easy step is to compare object vs human being: one supposedly has a degree of will while the other one is simply passive. Is that passivity the lure? Or is more the thought of being owned totally, like an object that one states as belonging to oneself?

Object or human being, that is the question. The first precludes any will while the second involves action and thinking and maybe even something like stating a preference and claiming to have its own peculiar tastes.
Am I ready for that? Am I ready to give up my free will and be just “used”, giving up control in every possible way?
The answer is, of course, no. Although I might like it as a fantasy, and like it a lot as that, I can’t stand it for real.

Interesting finding, boring post. I like, I don’t like, It’s boring, is not boring.
This is the stuff of human being, isn’t it? Good slaves should say only “Thank you Sir” and that’s it.
I can’t.
I guess that makes of me, somehow, rather a failure.

What a novelty, anyway.

That is a sweet memory. I loved that album when I was young, very young, and foolish and even if I wasn’t happy, the music was just making its magic on me and everything seemed possible and everything was true.
Then what happened? When I lost the faith in the future?
That is the question.
If you’ll ever find that question, you’ll find what holds me back.
You’ll free me from myself.





Explanation time, maybe

8 08 2010

Although today I feel a bit better, there are still a lot of issues I have to address and I don’t know how to address properly. I had another of my small crises just now so is worth to write down something to calm myself and be sure to understand a bit more what’s going on.

A few of this issues are worth a mention today, as a form of simple explanation of that happened a few days ago and what’s happening now as well.
The first, and probably the uncanny mother of all, is that I think too much. “Thinking too much” goes directly into the realm of logic, quite far from the feeling one, and hence starts to overcomplicate things. Thinking is not “logical” per see though… it might be some for of very fantastical or paranoid thinking – usually, in my case, the latter above the first – but it does indeed proceed with logical steps, highly distorted of course by the sense of reality I might have in that moment… a very easy example is that sometimes, when I’m playing with myself in a painful way, I start to think that I might get an infection or something like that and hence in a couple of minutes I will think I will die of some horrible sickness. There is of course no logical connection between placing some pegs for 15 minutes on a nipple and gangrene BUT that doesn’t mean I can avoid to think the worst. Over thinking comes also in play when, like now, I try to analyse myself.
Of course trying to stop the process of thinking is nearly impossible right now… the amount of pain that I would need to inflict myself to do that, is far from my pleasure threshold so I certainly cannot reach that alone… and I’m not even sure is the right method anyway.
In this process of over-thinking of course I need guidance but I feel sometimes is useless to ask question if the answer is that I think too much or that is my fault. It’s pretty much a tautology asking me to stop thinking when I am obviously obsessed by it. I live in a world where everything must have a meaning and must have a place. I am not apt to deal with the chaos of uncertainty or the chaos of my soul.

The second issue would be my general and constant state of sadness. I might be depressed, I might be bipolar… that would easily solve the issue… a pill or two and I would be fine. But is that all? Or there is something else? My case of constant bad moods is dating up a few years ago… so is that related to the fact I am not expressing my “sub” side or is just related to the fact that I can’t deal with it, that I feel deeply and constantly ashamed of what I am and of what I like? Or maybe is something lost in the memories of time, an episode forgotten long time ago, a small thing that left on my breath a token of constant doom? Questions questions again and I don’t have any answers. And the search for those answer just brought me too far from my usual beaches. Itaca is far from being seen on the horizon, isn’t it?
And when I am sad or depressed and hence I am confused why I cannot explain anything about it, why I cannot talk about it? My over-thinking obsession get stuck and “it doesn’t do any good” to explain sometimes. So again is a path to neurosis?

Now, here, in this precise and effective moment I don’t like what’s happening to me, I don’t like what’s going on, I don’t like the person I am becoming. This should be enough for stopping the whole “slave process” thing, because it’s clear that something is wrong – in the process per see? in my head? in my reaction to the process? who knows?.
The focal point is “feeling” now, against thinking… (or is this a kind of thinking, bad paranoid thinking, masked as feeling?) and that’s the feeling that this is wrong and is not doing me any good. I shouldn’t feel like this, I shouldn’t experience this deep despair, I shouldn’t feel so miserable…
What though really impresses me is the depth of this feelings (being they bad feelings of despair of joyfudl feelings of servitude)… they are not easy to describe because there is no words for certain deepness of the soul… or maybe they comes from a realm so far and different from speech that there would be no sense in describing it… the only things that comes to my mind, beside the impossibility of an expression, is the comparison to an idea of death, death as a metaphor of something unreachable or something that avoid any form of explanation: is not there and you can’t explain, is there and you’re not any more.

I put myself in this stupid situation and I cannot escape and now I have to deal with it but I don’t know how.
I’m just too desperate to think of something right now. And after all this wall-of-text, still everything seems so ridiculous and meaningless.
My joy, my pains, my thoughts, my good days, my bad ones… everything seems just too ridiculous to be true. I am but a caricature of myself.
I wonder where it is the switch to light the room and realize that I was just dreaming.

And what if tomorrow I’ll wake up and all this will be another silly rant and the cycle of silliness will start over again? Isn’t this a bit ridiculous as well? Repetita iuvant, they said in latin. I’m not so sure it’s helping me very much, so far.





Subject is lacking understanding

3 08 2010

Let’s be honest: this blog is quite lacking material to define it as a “slave” discovery journey. I suppose the main reason for that it’s just the fact I don’t go too much into details… but details are annoying and details have the very funny habit of fixing thing, to make them clear. Just hiding everything under a curtain of missing information sounds easier or if not easier at least safer.
These two last days have been horrible, honestly. I’ll probably have to write something about later on but I never felt so bad and so alone and so sad like today.
When I need help the most, it seems is impossible for me to get that help and hence I feel alone, so deeply alone I can’t even explain with words.
It’s funny the realm of feelings, especially the bad ones. They elude me, they create a complicated setting in which I am lost and ignorant and I can’t help myself nor I can be helped.
And with this sort of pain, bad thoughts are coming, joint togheter in a marriage of despair… self destruction has never been so sweet.
Yet I am still here, somehow, with a burden of pain I cannot explain or share or even barely show.
What’s walking under my skin, what’s breathing with me is a deep pit of desperation that is soothed by nothing and revived by everything.
One little thought is making me hold onto this mockery of life, it’s a deep thought as deep anything must be in this cases and it’s making me cry now but for good and maybe with its help I will be able to resist all my demons… maybe.

I am not strong enough now to share it and it’s not meant to be shared. I am not strong enough though for this pain as well.
Lost into a dark forest of missing meanings and lost connections, a forest of lost hope, I feel like a child with not path and all the fears in the world behind the shoulders. Waiting for the wolf maybe. Or for the grace of an unforgiving sun.