La Phalene

September 26, 2009

Crumpets and Screaming

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 3:08 pm

A crumpet is apparently an intellgent but attractive person as well as a delicious breakfast pastry much like a pancake. The screaming is because I have two midterms on the 29th, when I thought I had one midterm. However in the name of being organized I typed up a full overview of my schedule because I was feeling paranoid.

AIIIIE, quoth I. “AIIIIIE!”

Because I’ve lost weight and my underthing drawer was looking shockingly tattered, I splurged on new underpants and a bra. And I coveted the pretty silk pjamas at the same store, but frugality means choosing only what I need (ie something I’m not ashamed to show in a gym changing room). My splurge for this week was a big bunch of yellow grocery store flowers, three sunflowers, lots of daisies and one single carnation. With the weather all nippy I put on a pot of soup to cook for stock and tonight I skip off happily to a 1920’s party.

now I’m going to nip out and buy carrots, and call my mother, while chanting genetic code in my head.

September 24, 2009

Need a clocky…

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 3:27 pm

I set my alarm very carefully, and cuddled up to sleep early, for my 8:30 AM class. My alarm went off and I woke up and started getting ready for the day. I was having a bad hair day and I went to class and… Oh crap I was dreaming! Crap, crap, crap. Memo to self, set cell volume to ‘ring’ not ‘vibrate’.

This day is ruined. :P

September 17, 2009

Fanny and Alexander

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 3:03 pm

I’ve only seen two thirds of this movie and it already managed to scare the pants off of me more than any zombie film or slasher flick. While my movie cuddle-buddy was remarking on the kinkiness of the punishment scene, I was hiding my face in terror at the truly screwed up family dynamic.

Here is where I wonder if I should turn this entry private. The Bishop’s house reminds me of everything that scares me about home and my family, so much so that after my companion had gone to sleep I curled up in a little ball and cried self pitying tears.

It’s the united front of crazy, that my family tends to be good at, where one behaviour that outside the home garners shock and horror, becomes something to be accepted and even embraced within the family. Awkward, especially when A is very quick to put me in the role of the fragile sad girl, so tears are the last thing I need. I’m not the fragile sad girl, I’m bitter and curious and needy, three things of which I only try to express the second, and often allow the first and thrd to rule.

I left his hotel room at 7:15 AM, with furry teeth (gotta start carryng a toothbrush!) and a class at 8:30, thus doing a better job of rendering me alert than any alarm clock I’ve ever set. Now the professor is droning on about the types of soul Plato believed in, which I think are the ancestors of the Id, Ego and Super Ego. Which feels like learning about the history of WWII by starting with stone age hunters in Africa and the Roman Empire.

September 16, 2009

Slow

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 3:30 pm

My apartment is cleaner, and I’m listening to the dreamy croons of Bat for Lashes as I try to get the rest of my life running smoothly. She’s overly dramatic and a little bit sad, fitting how I’m feeling right now, as I deal with a surfit of emotion.

I miss my ex’s presence, but having him around makes boundaries break and strain. And I’m as infatuated with a new person as you can be after 28 days of knowing them. As a result I’m crooning made up songs to myself.

Any price I’d pay for you, any price I’d pay for you
Any price I’d pay for you, oh how I want you
Oh how I want you
Any price would be my soul, Any price would be my blood
Any price would be my soul, Oh how I want you
Oh how I want you, Oh how I want you
Any price would be too much, Any price would be too much,
Any price would be too much, oh how I want you
oh how I want you, oh how I want you
You’d never let me pay that price, you’d never let me pay that price
You’d never let me pay the price- That’s why I want you
That’s why I want you, That’s why I want you
Oh how I want you!

(It sounds cooler belted out in the kitchen while you cut up melon, I swear)

September 15, 2009

Procrastinate!

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 2:55 pm

I’m moving as slowly as the tan markings on my chest are fading (ugly, ugly, ugly) and I should be scampering around getting ready, but I want to go back to bed. My hair needs to be washed and I have classes waiting for me, a mess in my apartment to square away and laundry to do. I need to go to class soon. I feel cranky and I need to focus and be useful. More sleep? *Stretch*

Okay, pick out my clothes for today. Phew, what chaos my closet is in! Loose brown sweater, once a mystifying gift from my mother, now one of my favourite pieces, short ruffled tutu skirt, last seen as part of a costume (I wore it with a bikini top and stockings, and sticky gems on my body for a cute club outfit), brown kitten heels. As usual my best outfits come when I have nothing else to wear. Shower time, shed everything into a little heap and take a towel, remembering a wash cloth so I can scrub my cranky complexion into something passing for okay. Two minutes in front of the mirror, tweezers, better leave my eyebrows for the professional. I get them done in a high, ‘natural’ look about once a month and tip one third of the actual cost of the service. It’s something that the little nail parlour/waxing joint insists should be done with relaxation tapes on in the background, which being what I’m used to listening to my mother play, comes across as less soothing then they intended. I keep expecting to find a woman playing Civ II or typing secrets into word documents and tracing her health in excell.

Boards of Canada playing on my speakers. Wet hair. Need tea, so I’d better put the kettle on. Well, I don’t -need- tea, but it makes me feel good to prepare it, like a little morning sacrifice.

I feel deeply uncomfortable going to class when I’m in the same building as my ex, and I have two classes, back to back, in that building. The problem is that whenever I see him looking strained and suffering I want to come and put my arms around him, and if I do that, it won’t end well. I’m honestly pretty glad that after we broke up he proceeded to cut a swathe through the various casually inclined women in his social network because at least that reminds me that distance is good. I got accused of being detached about this by A, which in all fairness I am, but being around Mothboy IV spoils my detachment, as does thinking about him now. It was easier when he was being an asshole.

My mother’s birthday is coming up, and flush with cash, I intend to make a nice donation to her favourite web comic, SPQR Blues. I have another birthday, for another Virgo, which will probably involve baking a small cake. I also have another project in mind, more complicated, for when said Virgo leaves.

Hair is still all wet, but the rest of my is dry, with that nice, smooth clean feeling. Let’s talk about school- At least there isn’t much by way of textbook requirements. Cheap is good.

Tea. Yum. Now what? I’d like to get the mess out of my sink, because it’s getting nippy enough that closing the window is a good idea and that can cause bad smells. But I need to go study. So I finish my tea, brush my teeth and then it’s time to pay close attention.

Cheese toast

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 4:11 am

First times: Whiskey (tastes like really good grape juice and paint thinner), a nude beach (completely non-sexual and very, very relaxing) turning down a softcore porn career. I’m feeling strangely optimistic and refreshed, and good about my life.

Part of it’s the head cold’s just about cleared up, and all the good sun on my bare but heavily sun screened skin, and interesting conversation, but I also feel like life is manageable. Second guessing my happiness is pretty much normal for me, so I have nagging concerns that this is really the rewards of being head over heels with puppy.

I find myself unsure about how much I should babble on about this, but I arrived home after night of cuddling and then sleeping with feet touching (my favourite position by far) and a conversation where A explained that though tempted to extend his time here by another three months, he declined (and I agreed that this was good- he’s very home sick, and I have my reasons) and we continued from the premise that mid October ends things. Somehow, when I left that morning, instead of slinking off at dawn, while he still slept, I let him make me breakfast (fruit, soy milk, walnuts) and walked home feeling warm, without a bit of the usual achy regret I feel after we’ve spent time together.

September 10, 2009

School- Because That’s What Really Matters

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 2:35 pm

It’s two weeks into a new school year, and as well as a heavy cold (swine flu?) and the busy social whirl, I actually have classes. At risk of giving you enough information to identify and stalk me, I’m taking a scattering of political science and psychology, heavily weighted towards history of one kind or another.

History of psychology, history of Canadian external relations, politics of the middle east, causes of major wars, genetics and behaviour. All very interesting, though I need to make sure I collect all my readings and get over this miserable cold. I’m sick of trying to study with sapped energy.

September 9, 2009

Sick again

Filed under: Uncategorized — admin @ 5:27 pm

I’m tired! This cold has drained all my energy and all I feel like doing is napping and eating. I’m not in the mood to work or pay attention or do chores, I jst want to go back to sleeeeeep. :(

More Kink (All I seem to think about these days really)

Filed under: kink — Tags: , — admin @ 3:35 pm

Growing up, my mother always put a strong emphasis on the fact that there’s a monster in all of us. Her own fascination with torture bled into the philosophy she imparted, that hurting people could feel good.

So the question for me is not why I’m a sadist, or puzzling out the duality that seeing most examples of suffering pulls up the maternal care taking, while hearing a guy go ‘please don’t!’ about torture makes me smile like the Cheshire cat. The question is why is the glee I feel in torturing someone attached to my libido.

Various theories are posited. Mine is that this stuff is genetic. My mother theorizes that she accidentally traumatized me as a child, triggering masochism and awareness of how truly good seeing a person in distress can feel. Other people suggest I’m working on my psychological issues through a safe filter. But sex is a very, very odd place for things to end up when it could have easily gotten stored with competitive enthusiasm for violent sports (which I have, but I like to participate, not watch and there’s a sexual component that many people don’t have) or fascism.

Maybe what I’m looking at is basically a female desire to rape people. Not all sex is sensual, by candle light and with rose petals, and if you posit that there’s a feedback system that positively rewards organisms for unkindness, to risk hauling in that bastard child of fuzzy science and cultural ideals: evolutionary psychology, this kink encourages me to screw people I’m victimizing so I can harvest their genetics. While people natter on about good providers, and wanting a man to look after me ‘cuz I’m a poor weak woman, maybe one of my reproductive strategies is to go the rounds with the tribe’s war captives or hunt out myself a nice male who might otherwise be unobtainable to me, and ravish him.

Except evidence suggests that some of us kinky folk are getting something emotional out of it, but carnally speaking, there’s nothing going on downstairs. This is a quick reminder about the fallacious tendency to assume what is true for you is true for everybody else. And the evolutionary reproductive strategy falls flat when a partner may just be in it to feel cozily possessed. That, and masochists and men who actively seek this dynamic thrill me and make my preferred target, even as they’re begging for the pain to stop (please?). So I’m not really set up to go out and rape some poor young man unless he happens to be wandering around with the expectation that the women of my tribe are vicious amazons and sort of likes it.

New hypothesis- human brains are very fluid and flexible, violence is an inherent part of being human, and dealing with it successfully as a perpetrator or victim gives you an advantage in this reproduction of genetics game.

Still, I’d love to see how my brain is firing when I’m taking pain (endorphin rush, release of anxiety, arousal, anger) or giving it (glee, endorphin rush, love). I need an MRI system in my dungeon.

September 7, 2009

Gender & Kink

Filed under: kink — Tags: , , — admin @ 9:49 pm

There’s a lot in this kink business to make the feminist in me froth at the mouth. And no, I’m not talking about the images of pretty girls tied up, or the way that rape is dressed up as a perfect fantasy or that rad-fem line about how many sex acts are degrading to women. Rather it’s things like the two opposing camps, the female supremacists and the people who announce women are inherently submissive, and little things about how gender in constructed in the scene and in the archetypes. This is not a different world than vanilla, it’s all the baggage of the rest of my life seen through a somewhat tasteless spooky-goth lense that dresses people up in shiny black and involves a lot of smacking.

Bitchy Jones and Maymay both did beautifully calling kink to task for this sort of thing, for me, the very striking way that this makes me feel uncomfortable is that my sexuality is still treated like a commodity.

I spent a fantastic few days at the Montreal fetish weekend, awash in a sea of pretty peacocks and charming images. I’m going to be going glassy eyed over several public performances of F/m with good chemistry for weeks after this and there were truly pretty men in imaginative costumes. If you looked at the official pictures from the events though (taken by a swarm of pushy men with expensive cameras), you’d think I attended a lesbian separatist fetish weekend in which a scant few men snuck in. Hundreds of snaps of pretty girls; face shots, provocative poses. Couple portraits, with pictures of men the exception, not the rule.

Similarly the entertainment at events suffered from the fact that if you blinked it would slip back into burlesque. Often the shows depending on an interest in seeing a woman take her clothes off or writhe sensually around. The trapeze artist and the woman who danced in the Spanish web at the ball Rococo took great effort to make sure you knew they were lovely women. That’s fantastic, but where are the lovely men?

Women dom’d women, and topped men, and men topped women, but the stage was strangely missing M/m. I know there were many gay male couples floating around, so how must they feel?

The fetish fashion show drove this home. While I’d happily mug the ladies for their outfits and skip around in them shocking the grocery store clerk and the more naive exchange students from the Midwest, there were loads of pretty clothes for me and not a stitch being shown in the lineups for men.

And it’s not like it’s hard to make masculine costumes. Hell, there were plenty on display, a black latex ram, punkish spinney creations (very popular), demon suits with wing blades operated by fishing line and historical costumes with tight breaches to match the corseted women… And so on. If I could sew well enough I’d be putting out the line right now of pretty things for men that were stylish and non-cross dressing.

But back to my point about being something to consume: Both sides of the gender superiority thing construct a very narrow definition of womanhood. For a subculture where having breasts is no proof of your genetic gender, people are pretty quick to either thrust me up onto a pedestal for qualities I might not possess or put me down as a sheep in need of a firm hand. This can be pretty awkward in either respect because it’s a narrow box to shove slightly more than half the human population into.

Classically the people who believe in gynarchy say it’s because women are warm, empathetic and emotionally intelligent, bringing wisdom that will end wars. Men who say women are submissive point to their classic social position and need for protection, talking about evolutionary biology or theology, or maybe gorean psychology. They generally phrase things in terms of a yin/yang, with female deference not as an explicit proof of male superiority but part of the natural order of things, like plug into socket.

I’m a young woman, who sort of conforms to the physical proportions desired of women in my era, fresh faced, vivacious and vicious in my interests. If you talk to vanilla people, the image ‘dominatrix’ is the closest to what I am, though not a label I embrace personally, and this symbol is what people perceive about kink. I’m bossy, aggressive and I like violence. According to the gynarchists, either I fail as a woman because I raid from the masculine side of things or my superiority is so unsupported as to be a point of religious faith. According to the man-as-patriarch, this is the flapping around of an unsatisfied woman who needs a Real Man ™ or I’m a unicorn who can be satisfied with a nice fluffy ‘female’ man. Both sides are very quick to write from the perspective of how females fit into this, either above or below. I really would like to see some f-sub writing on the perspective of gender-as-orientation, because while it seems like men write in generalizations (as do the female tops who believe their own hype enough to call their gender the best) the f-subs are all writing about personal service and the closest I’ve seen to them talking about belonging at the feet of men in general is waxing poetic about service making them feel fulfilled.

So where do I, the visual spokesperson for my kink, fit into all of this? I want a master like I want another hole in my head, but I don’t want to top someone because they believe in extreme sexual dimorphism, I want it to be submission gently coaxed (or brutally conquered) because of who I personally am, with mutual respect. And not the yin/yang separate but equal role bullshit, either. Subs aren’t subbing because this is mystical; it’s a fetish where, unlike the people who love inanimate objects, luckily the object of my desire can love me back. They might be the bolt to my nut, but to work we’ll both need to be made of the same material and my perfect opposite would probably find me dreadfully tedious and overbearing. They might get off on that, but being healthy we’d end up compromising.

Am I comfortable that this subculture, just like the mainstream culture, objectifies my body and treats it like a point of extreme interest? Well, I like being looked at. I like nice looking men too though and I’d appreciate it if men were treated like sexual acquisitions as well. I want equality in a world where people are furiously masturbating to the idea of enslavement.

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