control at rest

Posted in Autobiographical on September 30th, 2009 by D'jaevle

We share a stasis of sorts; a lethargy of motion. We are not meant to be standing still, and because of this, we feel it as a relentless
stirring as life brushes past us.

Unfortunately, it is not moving that is required. It is movement under the right motivation.

A dilemma, if you will: what to do when the act that began as a new challenge becomes routine? Aside from the obvious answers (approaching said challenge from new angles, finding some aspect that is exciting to re-engage interest, etc.), all of which are designed to prolong, but not ultimately fix, the issue.

Let me be honest. I do not think there is a fix. I am simply not content to be content.

Because, at heart, I require challenges in my life. When dealing with challenges, stress is applied, the ligaments of life are stretched and I am forced to react, to fight, to bare my teeth and be more than a stationary object.

Given one role, should it be so easy to face it forward? Should we write fiction to mirror what we want in life, or live our lives like the fiction we want to write?

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irreverence in place

Posted in Captured - The Spoken Word, Crimson Writ on September 21st, 2009 by D'jaevle

At heart, we are needful.

We crave life in all it’s inglorious beauty. We want to experience it stripped naked of pretense.

And we all share a fundamental desire to test ourselves against the razor-thin lines between what is safe and what is possible.

—

These are my thoughts, tonight; my desires; my needful things.

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D’jaevle, Serenity

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snack

Posted in Crimson Writ on September 10th, 2009 by D'jaevle

The bruises left against the skin wrapped from the front of her thighs to the warm curve between her legs; they were shaded purple, a dark inkwell trail that marked the passage of teeth and fingernails.

I remember heat, and fingers dragging cloth over skin, each inch a hard won victory as fingernails dug into my back and shoulder. Her nails were sharp, but my teeth teeth were sharper, and while her cries drove me deeper, my own came as low-buried growls made against the bared flesh I was feasting on.

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