Month: March 2006

Class Attendance

When I first began writing for this blog a year ago, it was for one real purpose – to have an excuse to write. I love writing. I love the power of the written word. And I love what it makes of me.

It was to be an experiment. Could I post consistently for a year? Write enough, speak interesting enough, believe enough, to do it? More than a diary, it became a sampling of my private life. The things I think of, the places my mind goes.

And I have succeeded, I believe.

I’m an intensely private person, which may seem at odds with having a blog detailing my private thoughts. A blog that anyone, with the proper inclination, can read. I hoard my time and my thoughts selfishly. But sharing these words, here, with you, is different. It isn’t the anonymity, which is a thin veil at best. It is the potential of this space.

So what’s next? I’ve debated closing shop, moving on and finding other diversions. Because certain elements are so deeply ingrained in me, I fear some of my themes grow repetitive – that I’m not learning anything new in the constant examination of those ideas that fascinate me.

This blog sphere moves fast; I’ve lost count of the bloggers I’ve grown to love who came and went in the last year. And I wonder how quickly it would take for the sands of the network to wash up over my words.

But no, I don’t think I am done. Not yet.

I am going to take a small month-long break. To determine what it is I am to be in the coming year.

In the meantime, I invite you, you who read me daily or occasionally, to leave a note on the door while I am gone. You’ll see the picture just above this post. Tell me why you read my words. Tell me why you write your own. Ask me a question, or make a suggestion. Share a memory inspired by something you read. Hate me, adore me. This is your chance to speak to the wolf and the man who shares its skin.

I promise to answer each note upon my return.

And then decide who I am going to be next.

Sex Life of a Doorknob

Staying with a poetic theme, here is something I wrote in college. As you can see, I have a rather warped sense of humor.

***

The sex life of a doorknob
is a peculiar thing, indeed
I’ve never seen them having sex
yet even doorknobs must have a need

So callous people are,
when opening a door
they twist, they yank, and then it’s done
and they regard the knob no more

How must a doorknob feel
used everyday like so?
No loving caress, no soft spoken words
no tangible afterglow!

Next time you rest your hand upon a doorknob
it is possible you might find
letting your hand linger there,
is an act from you most kind.

Master

You have only this moment to decide.

Are you still thinking?

Too late. My hands are already around your neck. I can feel your breath catch under my fingers, your heartbeat against my palms, the heat of your skin a warm reminder of the life I hold. In that moment of hesitation, I saw the truth and made the decision for you.

It is dangerous, this game we play. The rules are silent and each move is made in the space of a breath (if breathing were to be allowed).

To your knees you are driven, my hands implacable, immovable. My voice has become your voice, your thoughts. I am over you, beside you, inside of you, willing your body into a state of expectancy and readiness. The gift I am to bestow on you requires complete compliance. I leave no room for regret in the process, only the determination.

Are you with me yet?

Try harder.

Put yourself in that space. It does not matter if you close your eyes. The words brand themselves into the darkness you seek to hide within. The only guideposts in a land empty of meaning, they lead you to the same place everytime. You dress yourself in the clothe of routine, the face of the familiar. You seek to numb yourself with the practiced ease in which you greet those who think they know, but it is the comfort of the condemned.

For you, my hand is steady and my knives are sharp. For you, I will cut quickly, so that the nerve endings remain intact. I want you to feel what is under your skin, under the protective lining of your beliefs.

Still not there?

You are not subliminated or subsumed. You are measured, manipulated, and made. You are the paintbrush of an artist, the words of a poet, the inspiration of a visionary. You are drawn, written, believed in.

You are a sin to indulge in, a moment to be experienced, an implement of intent. You are a skill underused, but often practiced. You are my craft in form, my faith derived, my artform, my belief, my self.

You are my mastery.

The Girl I Didn’t Marry

Everything we say is a story. The jokes we tell, the complaints we utter; our histories shared, our promises made. We unravel our lives in our heads with an audience of one. We make our friends accomplices in the fictions of our lives.

Good stories, stories with meaning, are not true or false. They contain a self-honesty that does not require belief in a system of truths. They simply exist as a voice. And if it speaks to you, you may be changed forever.

You can read the first part of how I met NE here.

***

Let me be absolutely honest here. Under normal circumstances, NE would have been way out of my league. Not only was she beautiful, she could dance (a weakness of mine). She ran in entirely different social circles than I and was well known to almost everyone in my graduating class. At that point in my life, I was still becoming the social person I wanted to be. Even with my growing self-confidence, I knew, and she knew, that I shouldn’t be able to get her. (Today, I don’t see anyone as out of my reach – but back then I still had a lot to learn about myself.)

So why did NE keep coming back every night?

I had social proof in the form of the group of people who were always hanging around my room. I had romantic proof in the close relationship and I had to another member of the group – an attractive girl who would later create upheaval for NE and I.

And she was vulnerable. Not only was she emotionally reeling from a recently broken off relationship that had been so intense she had essentially locked herself in her room for a couple weeks (this was before we met in person), she had a need to be liked by everyone.

My last semester at college was my best. During those months, NE and I became an interesting team. In the evenings, we would host card parties. At night, we would talk.

But there were complications. NE was sort-of dating her high school sweetheart, Bear. It was during our discussions about him that our initial lines were drawn. Yes, we were intimate. But there were a couple of activities that would be off-limits. I don’t think NE believed we would be able to stick with them.

She was half-right.

The first time I met Bear, we sat on the steps of the dormitory and talked for a couple of hours while NE slowly went crazy inside the lobby. I explained to Bear how close NE and I had become and then made it clear that I wasn’t going to try to take her away from him. We talked about what it is that I offered NE, what role I played in her life.

I’ve never met anyone quite like Bear. Smart, handsome, confident, and the most giving man I have ever met in my life. He was devoted to NE and wanted her happy. We were two people who shared a passion for a single person – NE – and we found common ground that has since become the foundation for the best relationship in my life.

Zen and Soda

Zen moment of the day:

Waking up in the middle of the night completely parched. The first two-three sips of a cold beverage (preferably soda) are unsuspectingly blissful.

Let’s Play a Game

The manner of seduction can take many forms. I’ve used massages, poetry, indifference, deliberate intent, teasing, a smile.

But one of the most effective has been the game of truth or dare. This game, like domination, provides freedom to misbehave. The rules of the game are structured so that the choice is not yours. The key is to provide questions and dares to match the person’s secret desires. You can lead a person down the path of temptation, but only if it is one they already built in their fevered imaginations and unspoken thoughts.

Of course, if you aren’t intuitive enough to figure out the direction of their desires, you run the risk of an unenthusiastic response or an abrupt end to the game.

But if you are sharp, if you pay attention, you will provide them an excuse to indulge…and your cleverness in being so makes you the benefactor to such indulgences.

[audio:Djaevle_MoonlightGame.mp3]
D’jaevle, Moonlight Games

Renaissance Man

One of the most basic tenents I have built my life around is this: if you were are willing to pay the price, to spend the time, to dedicate yourself – there is nothing that you cannot do.

Sounds silly, right? I mean, it’s not like we could teach ourselves to fly, even if we spent our entire lives in the effort. Unless, of course, you become a pilot, or a world-class handglider, or build a jetpack, or…

The hard part, the important part, is the cost associated with it. Time. Effort. Discipline. You can’t take shortcuts – and lets face it, at heart, most of us are lazy. It is much easier to master a few skills, enough to make a living and attract a mate, and than coast.

I was reading an article today on what it takes to be an expert, and it made an excellent point on why it is good to be good:

“Remember, being better is better. Whatever you’re better at becomes more fun, more satisfying, a richer experience, and it leads to more flow.”