FETISH

Posts Tagged ‘joy’

En Route..happicattin.

In D/s, Bdsm, Daily news update..art,writing, collaborations, upcoming events, My journal on June 1, 2009 at 6:49 pm

En Route. My wingback has finally lifted..NYC and Jersystan , here I come!

Few words tonight, the  cat DOES have my tongue, the quiet before travel..

travel is always life altering in ways unexpected..

I am so happy about this trip..

have been waiting..with Lucifer shortly, collaboration, romance, friendship…I will be blogging my trip and taking photos,  check it out..

catdancin as always,

the cat xo

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The radical power of D/s and S/m as threat to commodification of the sexual self.

In D/s, Bdsm on May 26, 2009 at 11:07 am

How can one possibly write briefly about Bdsm and the plethora of arts, symbolism, rich history and eros that it evokes?

At a certain point words simply fail. Despite the physicality of much of the sadomasochistic arts for example, these acts remain profoundly psychological..that is the desire to engage finds its genesis in the body/mind/soul self..

S/m IS an art form. D/s is IS intimately relational and pyscho/emotional.

The mind is theatre, Bdsm is theatre and those of us who taste and become more than here on a seasonal pass..have a capacity for imagination and a desire to have that capacity fed in ways perhaps others lack..

Some of us are adrenalin junkies, some of us find deep nurture in this world, some of us have a penchant for outside the box self expression, a driving need to convey to others and to mirror to self the originality that arises from our cores..

Many of us approach this theatre from all these angles.

Whatever our original portal into this world was..whether whispers of persuasions and tastes in childhood or discoveries thru involvments as adults..discoveries of something wanting in our relationships or discoveries of deep satisfactions previously unknown, Once awakened, it becomes a journey of self as unique, of self as social being, of mores and values, and choice and appetite.

Our appetites change as we evolve, and our appetites change with age.

In midlife, there seems a stopping point, a transition for many, a reawakening of the sexual identity questions that first emerged in adolescence, typically..

and the world of Bdsm spreads before us, expotentially increasing our capacities to find nuance and art form in the expression of our erotic selves beyond the normative vanilla scripting.

Why do so many keep what is essentially a photo journal here?

We could claim narcsissm, or exhibitionism as defined by current sociomedical techofuks, but I think something else is at play …

We live in a culture soaked in sexual imagery as commodity..sex as a means to sell..something else, product X or product Y.

It is NOT expression of sexuality for its own erotic sake…

We are surrounded by sex, and yet, we are a curiously desexualized culture, irony there, the true longing, that to express our sexual selves simply for the joy and pleasures, dark and light of such expression untied to commodification is a radical act, an act of taking back our eros as unfettered, free and innately OURS.

True eros IS untameable, and like art rather than science, it is messy, capricious, unpredictable, and dangerous.

It contains the mysteries of birth, death, liminal passageways, initiations, rites, esoteric mastery.

D/s and S/m’s powerful and haunting pull are hard to explain to the uniniated or unawakened..perhaps those that make it here to this world and take up residence have a deeper need to dream while awake, the stuff of nightmares AND rapture, the transformational..

Perhaps from the outside we are shunned as evil or outcasts because it is so powerful opening Pandora’s box, and like all that is innately spiritual and radical there have always been those who would seek to contain and control the mystical..

Simply because you cannot OWN mystical experience, you cannot force it, it is power spitting in so called power’s face..

Just some thoughts from the cat. Have a great day..thoughts back on this musing?

I'd love for you to engage me with YOUR ideas on this..
              cat

Javajetstream dreams.

In On Art/writing/creativity on May 17, 2009 at 10:59 am

The morning broke, hot sun splitting the beached boulders

 marmeladebacked cat white pawed past
   tangerine swirl purring to the peripheral
         look to the sky
      blu on blu on blu volving up and out

cross of jetstream trails spun sugar like joy

flights out of here to
 anywhere
   anywhere else
    gull against the updraft

hugging my knees
  sandalled feet happi

new york has never seen me before
  11 more dawns

      poecattin little dance

  ten toes tappin
  yes!

Red on red on red/backed by blu caffeine

Red on red on red/backed by blu caffeine

Writer’s mess

In photo gallery on May 15, 2009 at 10:51 pm

To see the Words dance, the body speak..

In My journal, On Art/writing/creativity on May 15, 2009 at 10:10 am

Listening to William Orbit and Beth Orton’s Dice this morning, an oceanic remix, trance, it’s beautiful how it waves like the swell of a roller at sea.

I’m feeling some poignancy,  an ache,  excitement about the day …but struggling to focus crisply and with clarity on the manuscript on masochism as a way of life, a life aesthetic, that is completed, but that I am organizing and pulling together..

I am so excited about this manuscript, it was an odd project, it did not begin with intent, I realized it had cohesion as a work after a year’s worth of musings were pulled together and in the hand.

I write on napkins, yellow lined paper pads, lipstick on the mirror,  hell  on my body if this is the only place to jot a fragment of poetry, a phrase.

Metaphor is everywhere for the tongue, the eyes, the heart.

I have longed to do some performance art for a few years now, my writing in prose poetiks is for my mouth and for your ear, it is begging to release itself thru my body as text and multimedia.

Story telling, the art of, is shamanistic..and my body must speak..static photos do not feed my urge to bring motion to sound.

A leap, but one I am ready for, and I  am eager to connect with other performance artists for idea exchange, mentoring..

Art leaks, bleeds,  it is my native vernacular…

Talk to me. contact me at poecatt@luciferlazerus.com

The Hunger

In D/s, Bdsm on May 15, 2009 at 9:44 am

I want to blog tonight about the Hunger. The hunger’s an interesting thing…its larger than fucklust…it’s domain an entire cosmos.We all feel it to some degree,some of us more the so than others. It’s an assumption tho not entirely apt that if one is on a kink site it is because one feels the movements of the hunger in its true genesis..the appetites of the mind.

I’ve been cursed as a wildchild of the Hunger since birth.
I’ve sought (it can be a cruel taskmaster) to satiate it over a lifetime. In my youth I thought fuckin would lay the beast to rest but I learned this was not so…

I recall a lover in my twenties looking at me with a weird expression post coitus once, and saying slowly…fuckin you is not fuckin , babi..its like..annihilation.

Somewhere in what he mouthed was a key to the brand that has burned my ass down thru my journey. The Hunger’s a life sentence and I’m a Lifer within its velvet walls.

If the Hunger is not soothed by fuckin, what is it soothed by? I can only speak here for myself. I am drawn to the tale of Eros and Pysche…Eros being the greek god of longing and desire and Pysche being the human that fell in love with him.She stands for Mind and/or Soul. In some versions of the tale, they had a daughter whose name connotes…Pleasure.

I won’t go into the full tale here, but Pysche has been forbidden to shine her lamp upon her betrothed (he presents as beast). In a failure of faith and overcome with curiousity she does, and has a fleeting glimpse of his arresting beauty before he flees, leaving her grief stricken and searching the ends of the earth for her beloved.

The marriage of Eros and Psyche is a signpost to the Hunger, that which is larger than carnal and in its consumation we sense Heart. Heart’s latin roots are to be found in couer..for courage.

The Hunger has many manifestations, and it demands of us Heart. This earth ride is not for the weak of will.Some of us have had the luxury of becoming complacent..I don’t know but complacency is a luxury that has never set up residence in my body. I cannot brag..it is the way it has been, the cards I have been dealt.

Tonight I feel the Hunger…and I am old enough to know now it will never be satisfied and this is a Good thing because it gives me an appetite that keeps me curious, edged and alive.

Longing, desire, soul, and mind. From these Pleasure.

I lace up my sneakers, yeah, I’m restless and I go down to the asphalt and out into the night.
A car starts up beside me and even the sound of its engine is erotic, its red taillights smearing the dark air.

I surrender. I’m Hunger’s Wild Child. And you know what?

THAT is good enough for me…

Firestarter.

In D/s, Bdsm on May 15, 2009 at 9:31 am

A repost from last september…Having a peaceful morning coffee with my kinksteratti pal feeling smug wearing fetchin thin pink cami on cam hey its a kink site u guess whos wearing what when suddenly the right front burner in the kitchen ignites and the moment is channeling one of bjorks
hi pitched edge of straightjacket screams and three phone calls are coming in and my dropped cigarette on the den floor is about to start yet another fire while im seeing to the first looking like i just switched ethnicities to something italian but sounding fullblooded irish lord jesus mother of fuck have mercy speakers are stuck on repeating rendition of a tune gift from um ..the devil limp biskits i want to eat u alive in harmony with the fire alarm and the hood is being woken and the guy downstairs is loathing me initially cause yes i do play u2 sometimes but i threw my garbage out my deck 3rd floor lastweek and it landed in an improbably difficult postion on his roof i bring down property values but the kinksteratti opines that the dude probally still wants me im going to be burned at the stake at the corner of cross and main at dusk by the neighbors your all invited.
Sigh.

This mornings moment brough to you by
turretsRusdonttrythisathome.com

cat

Jonesin’ cardiaking creativity fix.

In On Art/writing/creativity on May 14, 2009 at 7:44 pm

Gawd, I feel like I’m cruisin for a kardiackin bruisin.

My energy is starting to ride high, I’m swinging up out of the winter blahs, and I feel like heliumISeye.cuhm.

This is a double edged gift..my creativity is enhanced,I’m regaining perspective..emerging from Plato’s cave..

but the mood is edged you know..

like when you are just not seeing the oncoming meteor.

fuk it, I have been here before, its part and parcel of that insane poetic curse..I have been around long enough to know how to take care of myself when it strikes..

the key has always been when friends say *cat* babe, you are just a little above terra firma,

while they smile, but with that look in their eyes that tells me..

watch for the light ..it’s about to turn red.

I miss driving. It used to smooth out the ruptures, I’d get in the car and turn on my music and head past the overpass and let the windows down. Alone, solo mio, in my own little armored vehicle.

These days, its tie up the sneakers and get out in the night air and move.

I have taken out walls with a hammer on a whim in this mood, just because I needed to “breathe”.

Too long in the garret makes Jane Doe a dull girl, and too high a leap makes Jane Doe, well, a Jane Doe..

jonesin’ but watchin’ it…

cat’s creed…when low..amp up the music, mix and mingle despite the overwhelming urge to disappear into complete obscurity, when high, take soundings on both the depth of the water, and the ceiling height, haul out the crash helmet, and disregard all desire to dance on scaffolding..

for those out there whose moods do swing occasionally above or below baseline,

what do you do for self balance? seriously, I know there are enough creative types reading this blog who occasionally feel like they are between trapezes and have dealt..

cat
(whose 9 lives have served her well}

On Island life

In 1, My journal, On Art/writing/creativity on May 13, 2009 at 7:46 am
Waking..eastern dawn light shafts..and coffee of course

Waking..eastern dawn light shafts..and coffee of course

This morning as I sat on my porch at 530 am I was floating, along the vernacular of memory, musing back to a couple of years ago, this same time of year, when I was working at a cafe on Salt spring island.

Saltspring is a magical place. There simply are no other words..

A haven for the elite, who private jet in and live in coastal homes in its wilderness, the artistic community, the back to the earthers..

A mix of those who have, and those who have of spirit. And given the dress code on saltspring there’s no telling whose who, except for talk..

I would get up at 4 am, and then walk along a country lane to the cafe in Ganges, and be the first topen , set out the heavy iron deck chairs, fill and prepare the urns for the 7 am onslought, sweep, and dance to the music.

Invariably the same old gentleman, a crusty sea captain, age indeterminable, looked to be somewhere in the vicinity of 300 years old, with twinking sea blazed eyes, would be there waiting,

“what took you so long?”

We would laugh.

I enjoy dawn, always have, the solitude of setting up solo, the physical quality of the work,…wonderful..

I miss Saltspring, it is a pleasant nostalgia, enter via the ferry to Fulford harbor, and you know you have just somehow slipped the portal to Somewhere Else, one of those places on earth that defy the norms..

Islanders are friendly the globe over, something about island living, and being island bred myself I took to it with joyful glee.

Exit via the ferry at Vesuvius, and you see the huge old tree, debarked and sculptural..a form straight from greek mythology..

Ferry travel is my favorite, I love the pace of it, one shore disappearing, another emerging, the waters between.  My time spent island hopping off the BC coast , solo, and in control of my own timetable was a precious sanctuary in time..

Topography shapes your soul, I was raised an islander, lived on the coast, have woke many mornings to the laughing Atlantic..the Pacific’s another creature.

The Atlantic will always be Neptune to me, the pacific, the goddess Venus..

Tourist season is approaching and there will be tragically missteps on our rocky beaches leading to drownings, the Atlantic gives and he takes..

and we mourn, and we respect..the sheer power of it..

and missive by message in a green glass bottle? Timeless..

grinning, poecatt

Rubber boots and not exactly American Sports illustrated swim wear.

In My journal on May 13, 2009 at 7:44 am
Wearing my rubber gum boots..haha, smiling.

catWearing my rubber gum boots..haha, smiling.

I love beach combing, clam digging, popping fat squelchy kelp,  rocky jagged shorelines, and the island aesthetic of sweaters, knitted and knotted caps, bandannas, and rubber gum boots.

A friend once said, if a girl I would like to date can’t look good and show up in rubber boots and go clam digging, I am not interested..

I laughed. We have the whole cultural thing going down around the swimsuit illustrated beach babe, but, here, it’s not that that turns the eye, it is the sight of a couple laughing, children teasetagging the rollers coming in , a woman’s face turned enigmatically to the flankers rising from a northern night bonfire fest.

I have seen some of the photoshoots of performance artists that combine the stunning backdrop of cliff and crag here, and it speaks to my own art heart..

It’s a hard life, settlement here for some 400 years, at first by stealth and then slowly by finger and foothold..

The light, the light, oh my god the light, angling madly off the shale, misting into goth under dreamy disturbed streetlampin, the light is what is unforgettable.

The light and the ocean are one, they play to one another, every shade of blue and green, 1000 moments for the soul, it si the light that is unforgettable.

This morning it dances off the harbor, all silverish saran, flicker and peak.

Happy.

cat