| (no subject) |
[Nov. 14th, 2005|10:25 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | despondent | ] |
They all tried to tell me it would happen, and I didn't listen.
Besax has betrayed me.
He has taken total control of Kehari's mind, and is committing his worst atrocities with her, through her. I don't know which has me more angry. He is doing it, but she has allowed him to do so. Perhaps I am most upset with myself. For I am sure that this is my fault.
I thought she was strong enough not to let him in completely.
I thought she was more like me.
I believe that I have severed my mental links to each of them. Knowing is too painful; I wish only to forget. Part of me would like to return to StrangeWarp. The Creator retains no memory of me. I could live there easily. I could even take my own revenge upon the Creator, in time.
The rest of me wants to do nothing. Except lie here, on my futon. And gaze into the flames. And not feel.
My. Fault. Mai's fault.
I should have known better. They all tried to tell me. Even Kehari. Especially Kehari.
But did I listen?
This is my reaping. These tears, these recriminations are no more than I deserve for the part I have played.
For now, the flames. And the memories, good and ill. |
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| Relationships |
[Jul. 2nd, 2005|08:20 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | breathless | ] |
I have been feeling quite conflicted lately. I often take out my journal, thinking that I will write to better understand this swirl of chaotic emotions. Instead, I find myself staring at a blank page.
Kehari is my girlfriend and partner. I love her completely. I have sworn to protect her, to watch over her; she lives with me, and sleeps in my bed. But, she hates Besax, who is also my lover and mindsharer.
Kehari loves Untitled, who is my dear friend and whom I love dearly as well. My feelings for Un are hardly secret and yet still not acted upon--at least, not to the extent that I might wish. I long to submit to him as Kehari does and hunger for his touch upon me. I thrill to his kindness and despair of ever truly pleasing him; I tease and taunt him at every opportunity.
Untitled also hates Besax.
Besax doesn't pay any mind to Kehari or Untitled, one way or the other. Besax loves Besax first and foremost. I understand this; in a way, I am the same. For his part, Besax adores me, doting upon me with the intense attention and affection I crave. However, Besax would hurt me terribly if he knew he could do so without losing me. He very well may do so anyway. The tender pulse present within my tentacles tells me so, even as it throbs other murmurings--of desire, mostly...of the sweet pain of being taken and ravished unceasingly. But it does not pulse in promise of undying loyalty. Nor would I want or expect that.
I trust Kehari and Untitled with my life, and yet I have given myself over to their enemy, of sorts.
Sometimes I do not understand myself.
p.s. Sabina, Rinzen, and Frosti all bring me much needed comfort. Oh, I am so glad for toys to cuddle and stroke and kiss. I love their cute sighs and squeals and moans as they squirm against me. Just writing about it makes me feel just a little breathless. Though, perhaps that is due merely to the tight lacing of my new corset. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 2nd, 2005|06:34 am] |
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OOC Note: I'm worried about cluttering up the puzzlebox news community with my IC ramblings, so I've decided to start making them friends-only. If you want to be added to the friends list for Maichirona, just let me know. Thanks. :-) |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 8th, 2005|01:09 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  scared | ] |
I believe I have made a new friend of an old friend.
It's...something.
Something I wish to keep doing even should it become my undoing.
The fact that I can write that, after everything that has happened, alarms me.
I never knew something so bad could be so good. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 3rd, 2005|10:03 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  peaceful | ] |
It feels as if it has been a while since my last entry, but I have been reluctant to update--having not much of note to relate other than unpleasantness. Writing unpleasantness here seems to me a way to relive it twice--three times if you count the unspecified time in the future when I flip back through my notebook to read these words once more--and I have known enough misery in the past to find the idea of encouraging its current or future development both absurd and reprehensible. I am free from physical and mental bonds; I live; I love; there is much to be grateful for, and the rest is mere commentary. ( Read more... ) |
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| Yes |
[May. 16th, 2005|12:49 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  loved | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | everything | ] |
I think that I am learning how to love.
I decided that it would have more meaning if Kehari were to stay with me of her own free will instead of through coercion. I decided that it was wrong (if at times fun) to keep her as my chained captive.
I decided that her happiness was more important than my own; if she wanted to leave, then I would simply have to watch her go. It was...scary. Knowing that I had allowed myself to care enough to give her the option, to risk the pain of rejection.
But she said yes.
Kehari is going to live with me. Voluntarily. For now, and for a while. While it feels right.
I am very happy. |
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| Tanglewood Tree |
[May. 10th, 2005|06:33 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | enthralled | ] |
Love is an old root that creeps
through the meadows of sleep
When the long shadows cast
Thin as a vagrant young vine,
it encircles and twines
And it holds the heart fast
Catches dreamers in the wildwood with the stars in their eyes
And the moon in their tousled hair
But love is a light in the sky,
and an unspoken lie
And a half-whispered prayer
--Dave Carter |
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| sinquain |
[May. 9th, 2005|04:00 am] |
kiss ears
caress nipples
tease with licks and kisses
fuck with crop and tongue and fingers
hold close |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 8th, 2005|07:41 pm] |
À 35L95L:
Cascade Noire...
Cascade noire suspendue
Chose mystérieuse, chevaline
Plumage
Chose à tordre
Brûlant tout près de notre centre
Toison, tison, torche inversée
Flamme de la nuit dans le jour
Fer dans notre c(s)oeur.
--Philippe Jaccottet |
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| Chastity |
[May. 8th, 2005|09:38 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | predatory | ] |
When I first arrived upon the Mess, I was locked into a specific form of sexual restraint that a friend managed to break for me in exchange for some information.
Since then, I have been sexually tempted many times, by many friends, but living under a self-imposed vow of chastity. I have had my reasons. In the past, I was taught passion without mercy or restraint. I was taught to fight back, to fight with, to merge in a blending of hooves and teeth and nails that was more painful than pretty, more abusive than amiable.
I have not wanted to inflict such pain upon my friends. The one time I tried, squeezing and loving and biting and tearing...I ripped a hole in my partner's stomach. He had to be repaired. Not reinstantiated, no, thank the gods, but...fixed. Patched. I worried that some of my other friends would not be reconstructed quite so easily.
So, I have waited. Waited until my spirit sister came to tease and torment me with the promise of a new type of submission. I have ached for her lips and longed to do her bidding.
In the meantime, I have felt a wildness building within me. I have felt the call of who I am, of what I was made to do.
My self-imposed chastity is over. The wolf is loose and howling; it howls for her, and she knows who she is, and she knows that I will have her--for as long and as well as I like.
And when I am finished?
I will take her again.
I do not know if or when I will be able to let her go.
-fin- |
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| Possum and Predilection |
[May. 2nd, 2005|02:22 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  confused | ] |
I do not remember writing that last entry.
Apparently, if I look through the parts that are highlighted, I was trying to create my own poem from someone else's, someone known as Old Possum.
I will reconstruct here what it appears I was trying to say, perhaps throwing in some (liminality) transitions of my own (the space between dreaming and waking is such a 6 such a delicious time).
( poem then explanation to follow, somewhat lengthy ) |
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| found poetry, if you know where to look |
[May. 1st, 2005|12:28 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | liminal | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | only silence remains... | ] |
from the datasphere, by Old Possum (italics Mai-n)
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river.
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
...*whimpers* |
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| Visions and Revisions |
[Apr. 26th, 2005|09:00 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  giddy | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | lullaby from the datasphere, anon. | ] |
It is so long since I have written here, and even so I am not sure what to say. My head swirls with images, but in the next moment each one drifts away upon a single breath, lost. I cannot remember what has happened, what is real, what is unreal. Perhaps it would be alarming, if it were any less blissful. I do not feel bad or wrong somehow, just...Queer.
And I crave the strangest things. My old corset and tack, still latex but made shiny new. Red, gleaming crimson with the taste of cherries. Like the taste of a gloved--5,7--not now, not now. Secret. Secret except for the plastic ruffled skirt and the...the serving tray. Yes. That's it. I remember now. I must have it.
It will be just so marvellous once I do. So...blissful. Yes.
There are words, pieces of song, that have drifted to me upon the datasphere. They are most certainly not mine, but they stay even as the images fade from behind my eyes. I will record them here. They capture my current state of mind much better than I have been capable of doing in this entry.
And afterwards, after I post them here...
I dream...
***
Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence |
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| Strange Sweetness |
[Apr. 1st, 2005|03:29 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  good | ] |
I have been doing a lot of thinking since the last time I wrote, and I feel better.
The Hydra left me a psychic recording, allowing me to know on some level what happened during their confrontation with the Creator. It provided me with a certainty that their efforts were successful. And it has changed me. I feel as if some sort of cord connecting me with my former Master has now been severed completely.
Though I did not fear pursuit, I was frightened--and now I am at peace. What, exactly, did I fear before? Was it control? Or, was it the converse: I feared something within me that longed to return, that longed for enslavement and torture simply because it was what I knew?
No matter. I have moved beyond that role. I will reCreate myself.
I still may decide to avenge myself, to take advantage of the element of surprise in order to attack the Creator. But I am feeling calmer about the whole thing. Before, I felt I had to choose, had to change. I still might avail myself of mind-alterations or psychological help or healing, but I don't feel that I have to. I feel more comfortable with who I am.
I am Strange, but I am so much more. The more is what I seek to discover. |
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maichirona's journal