“I am Great Nature, consciousness, bliss, the quintessence, devotedly
praised. Where I am, there are no Brahma, Hara, Shambhu or other
devas, nor is there creation, maintenance or dissolution. Where I am,
there is no attachment, happiness, sadness, liberation, goodness,
faith, atheism, guru or disciple.” — Kulachudamani

In specific, the self-identification of one person as a non-consentual emotional sadist. It’s relevant right now because of a situation in my life.

I know five different people who are attracted to me because I am a sadist. Not in a hot, whip–in-hand All Dominants are Sadists kind of way- but because part of me is genuinely fucked up. Two of these people told me that I am the only genuine sadist they have met. A photographer spotted it too. It’s not… comfortable to think about.

This situation- the details are irrelevant. But I find myself within a hair of putting the torch to the lives of three people. Just- fucking their lives up. Ruin for the sake of ruin. One has a clue how bad this could get. The other two… just keep inviting me in. Trusting me.

Today I had to get my head on straight. Get my priorities in order. Not let the snake in my head keep whispering that I’m not responsible…and pretend that I don’t know what I’m doing.

I wrote a confession, an exorcism. Just to put it in writing, just to admit what I want, just to make sure I am not able to draw a curtain of “plausible deniability” about myself… because, after all this time, that’s still very tempting.

So here it is:

I want to just turn off the part that cares.

To FUCK them where it hurts.

:shift, crack neck, focus:

Right.

Now that’s done, maybe I can get about being a better man than that.

So it brings me to the mailing list- and how deeply that pompous, aggrandizing title really offends me.

This isn’t cute. This is not cool. This fucking sucks.

It sucks to have a good, wise, and above all close friend say I trust Flagg… but I watch him. Because he knows. He has faith in me that I won’t give in to these urges- but he knows they are there. He should. Years ago, I hurt him badly… and I still regret it. Just like I am tempted to do to someone else now.

This does not make me a big bad predator. This makes me a fuck.

I need to vent. This is not aimed at the person in question- this is just- anger. It’s going to read as a personal attack. It’s not. I am just… raging. And I have to say something, for once.

Sadism. Beasts. This is what I am talking about. You like to play cops and robbers on a mailing list and take potshots at the trolls and idiots- you do that. But don’t fucking kid yourself that it’s sadism. I resent it. Fuck you mailing list people, you ignorant, arrogant sheep.

So fuck you.

Emotional sadism? Read Dangerous Liasons. Even see the movie. Wrecking lives and reputations just cause you can, because it gets you off, it feeds your beast. It does not matter who they are… they are just sheep. Even your nearest and dearest. Even those you love. And if you are not careful. If you are not watching yourself. If you are not honest with yourself about what you do and why you do it… you’ll bite them. Every single one. No-one is sacred. No-one is above it. No-one is immune.

I don’t even want to get into how these urges- much less the realities, just the fucking urges- make one feel about himself. What kind of person he is.

What kind of man.

You have NO idea.

You can turn your back on a person- but never turn your back on a drug. – Hunter S. Thompson

What is your favorite word?

Cruelty.

– Dangerous Liasons

In the heat of the day

When I close my eyes

When I look your way

When I meet the fear that lies inside

When I hear you say

In the heat of the moment

Say, say, say

Some day, some day, some day, — Dominion

Come a time

Some day, some day, some day, — Dominion

Some say prayers

I say mine

In the light of the fact

On the lone and level

Sand stretch far away

In the heat of the action

In the settled dust

Hold hold and sway

In the meeting of mined

Down in the streets of shame

On the betting of names on gold to rust

In the land of the blind

Be…..king, king, king, king

Some day, some day, some day, — Dominion

Come a time

Some day, some day, some day, — Dominion

Some say prayers

I say mine

Some day, some day, some day, — Dominion

Some say prayers

I say mine

In the heat of the night

In the heat of the day

When I close my eyes

When I look your way

When I meet the fear that lies inside

When I hear you say

In the heat of the moment

Say, say, say

Some day, some day, some day, — Dominion

Some say prayers

I say mine

Dominion./ Mother Russia

Sisters of Mercy

same thing.

There has been only one symbol which sums up my feelings of faith, of how the

universe works. Kali, the Devouring Mother. The answer to why bad things

happen: To pay for the good things. All beauty is paid for in blood.

Everybody pays.

She has always made herself known in my life, but that’s the sort of thing you

only see in retrospect.

First in art. In my kink, in my needs- but disguised. As time has gone on, She

has made herself much more apparent. I do not see Her as an entity, as a

Goddess. Not exactly. But She is the symbol for things that not only resonate

with me- but things I revere. Things that are holy. There is no

name for these things- so I have given a symbol all that that I can. She is a

Goddess, a figure built on the foundation of ancient reverence, by people far

wiser than I who felt her touch in their lives, in the tides of their blood, in

the ruin of their bodies, in the sand of their time. She is divine. All that I

find miraculous and terrifying. The things that remind me I am a fool, grateful

that I am at all, for as long as I am allowed to stay.

I walked into the Metropolitan Museum, For the first time, I was left cold. I

found nothing which inspired me. I ended up wandering among the Egyptians, tall

and impassive, regal, sexless, glacial, graceful, enigmatic, but ultimately

antiseptic. Dust and ashes in my mouth. Then I turned the corner.

India.

They were dancing. They were fucking and crying and raging and blazing and

curvy and sexual and angry and happy and alive. I sat there, staring. I

don’t know how long. I think my mouth was open.

I have written about the cost all my life. The cost of leaving home,

the cost of going home. I am looking down the barrel of the latter now.

She is the cost of all things.

I had a ceremony with my boy. It was about price. He wants to learn what it

is to be a man in our culture.

I paid for my part- I hate ritual, I hate telling people anything about myself

in honest terms, I hate admitting to my spiritual convictions. Talking about

this is part of the price, the things I brought to the table. I don’t ever

expect to write about it again. This is what I owe.

I took a cutting from my boy. A key. It was rubbed with the earth from my

Property, and the cigar ashes of my brothers. ("My Property". Boy, am I

ever ahead of myself. But I’ll leave it as I typed it.) My boy took the same

cutting from me, over his womb, which was rubbed with the same ashes. I have

always referred to my boy as "she". For the next year, it’s "he". He is busy

earning that every day. maybe sometime I’ll write about what it means to be a

man, what I have learned by teaching and being faced with his questions. But

that’s another time. I mentioned it because at the opening of the ceremony, I

asked Kali to be part.

Do I think a Goddess showed herself because I said a name? Not on your life.

I did it for me. I did it to try to be connected with the guiding principle of

my universe. I did it to promise myself that someday I will listen to the rain

from My House, on My Property, with the people that matter most. They may not be

there all the time- but they will have keys. It’s as close to a holy oath as I

could make. I bled on it, I scarred myself for it. I’m not yet done. I just

affirmed to myself that I am ready to pay. Kali gives us only so much time. She

is the price that is paid, the end of all things.

She is also the beginning of all things.

My boy was the beginning of this cycle, the door through which I passed to

start the cycle in earnest.

There is another- the second part. A different name, a different arrangement. It

is very, very difficult to explain. She is family, she is like my sister. The

connection is so profound, and so simple… I don’t know what else to say. I

cannot imagine this person not being in my life. Not in the future, and oddly,

not in the past. She is another part of this.

I have to assume ownership of my Property.

I cannot go on like this much longer.

We are waiting on a contract. Breathlessly awaiting rain, while Ken does his

best rainmaker dance with all of us on his back. We have clouds… but we need

rain. we are dying of thirst. We need a cloudburst.

I am waiting for the sky to crack open and make my future possible.

I have a boy who is lost, and looks to me to find himself.. I have a twin,

another child of Kali, begging for a home by my side. I have a new student who

reminds me that I have still more to teach (She looked at me and said “You have to go to India. But you will never come back.” She knew nothing of me. Yes, Mother. I am listening). I have all these things and more. I have so much to be grateful for, so many riches, despite our dry cracked lips and empty bowls. The only sound is the rattle of dice. Roll the bones and pray.

Please, Mother.

I will do anything not to fail.

Just show me how.

She is the cost of all things.

Everybody pays

So. Recently I was told on a mailing list that the Estate was not desirable to someone “because I have nothing to sell.”

Ken explained- better than I ever could- that we are not selling the Estate. Never have been, never will be. Come as you are- or not.
It was a nice reminder that The Estate started with Ken, that as integral components Sir C and I may be, it was his brainchild.

But… nothing to sell?

No. I don’t sell the Estate… but I have it on very good authority that I sell myself just fine. (“Oooooh, ELVIS!”) That’s not the same thing. Often they are in conflict. But my vanity will not let me just… let this be. Oh, no. Because when it comes to selling myself… even that person has bought a taste now and then.

It got me thinking about… funeral music.

Not funeral dirges- not mourning music- but the playlist I want going when the party REALLY starts over that box. Sympathy for the Devil, sure… I mean, who would NOT want to go out on a note like that? But I just added one to the playlist.

Pretty soon now
You know I’m gonna make a come-back.
And like the birds and the bees in the trees it’s a sure fire smash.

I’ll speak
to the masses in the media
and if you’ve got anything to say to me you can say it with cash.

’cause-
I’ve got the trash and
You’ve got the cash and
baby we can get along fine
So gimme all your money cause I know you think I’m funny
can’t you hear me laughing- can’t you see me smile?
I’m the man.
I’m the man who gave you the hula- hoop.
I’m the man-
I’m the man who gave you the yo-yo.

Kung Fu
You know that was one of my good ones-
Well what’s a few broken bones when we all know it’s good clean fun?
Skateboards.
I’ve almost made them respectable
because if I can’t always get through to you so I’ll go for your son.

I had a giant rubber shark and it really made a mark
Didja lookit lookit lookit all the blood…
So gimme all your money cause I know you think I’m funny-
Cantcha hear me laughing; cant you see me smile?
I’m the man.
I’m the man who gave you the hula- hoop.
I’m the man-
I’m the man who gave you the yo-yo.

Right now…
I think I’m gonna start a new trend-
Because the line on the graph’s getting low
and we can’t have that…
And you think you’re immune
but I can sell you anything….

-Joe Jackson – I’m the Man

Thise who already think this of me? Well, here’s your confirmation. Enjoy. I am all you’ve ever accused me of and more. You were right all along. Pretty clever.

How’s that working out for you? Being clever?

For those that know better- I’m just giving the Devil his due.
Sleep tight.

]]> http://innuendo.foolish-house.com/2002/05/08/i-am-jacks-grinning-maliceso/feed/ 0 http://innuendo.foolish-house.com/2000/10/06/i-am-the-gameyou/ http://innuendo.foolish-house.com/2000/10/06/i-am-the-gameyou/#comments Wed, 30 Nov -0001 00:00:00 +0000 Flagg I … am… The Game…

You can’t help but face the day a little more aggressively when you pump HHH‘s entrance music from a good set of speakers first thing in the morning. Admittedly, I am a far cry from the chiseled and beaked Hunter Hearst Helmsley even when emerging from the shower, but it’s the wheezing of my underused adrenaline gland that counts.