Innuendo

As usual, it starts with gratitude.

I have some people in my life who really, really rock. Not all of them know it.

Judy, my conjoined twin- she took care of me while I was very sick, and came through an intensely stressful prank of the universe retaining a grace and wisdom that most people never reach. It’s not if you scream under the hammer- it’s the shape you come out of the forge. As always, you have emerged beautiful.

Soulhuntre- who may well be a better friend than I deserve. I have been laughing for two days straight- since he hauled out to the airport at an obscene hour in the morning to pick me up and keep me company while we waited for my boi to get off hir flight two hours later. I really needed the perspective and friendship while I got my feet back under me- and there is no better man alive to watch hours of the Anna Nicole Show with. I’m still laughing.

My Boi- who really came through with flying colors in being a friend and companion when that’s what I needed, and all I needed. He may still be afraid of the water- but he was swimming pretty damn strong when I was with hir.

Tinkerbell and the Samoan- who may be the most generous people alive.

I had a mindbending and surreal visit to Las vegas on their dime, and they asked noting in return but my company. I have NO idea what’s wrong with them, but I hope they never wise up. Coupla freaks, those two.

J.K., my “stalker” – Having halloween gifts waiting for me when I returned was an unexpected and surreal bonus. Thanks for the branding iron. (How often do you get to say that?)

My friends at home- I am glad to be back, and looking forward to seeing these bastards. In particular, I need to make a shout out to Sierra and Little H, who are a couple of the most entertaining sumbitches alive. Go here and see why.

My Mother- for doing the most loving thing She does, because some of us are too stupid to learn any other way.

Thank You all.

It’s all about our Mother.

About sacrament, about sacrifice, about the ability to show that you belong in the temple by the blood in your mouth and on your hands.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair to anybody… not any menber of my family. And my only guess is that it’s not supposed to be. Everybody pays. And the only reason I can see it all going down this way is a challenge, a gauntlet. Maybe the only challenge I’ll ever get from Mother that I can look right at and say “I can do that.”

So maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s not my faith being tested, this time. Only my resolve.

And compared to faith, resolve is easy.

In other news…

There have been a few experiences as of late that have shown me that I am not alone in something – something I have always felt lost in, abandoned – pariah. But like attracts like, that the Mark of Cain shines true, like a beacon. We can smell each other on the street, sitting next to each other at the movies. You just… know.

Sometimes it’s nice just to feel understood.

I could have lost a friend… but she took the time to understand; and she can understand.,.. because she’s Marked too. Thank you.

Judy saw me through that- then felt the shadow of it herself. That quiet voice that says “burn it down burn it down burn it down…and oh, isn’t that so sweet so sweet so sweet… because nothing… and I mean nothing tastes as good as that.”

And so she whispered her elliptical threats, her opaque menace.

Arson. Abandonment. Ruin.

Speaking my language, the secret language of twins. And it was coming Home. It was a dangerous intimacy, keen with duality, kissing with razors in our mouths; sleeping like angels with knives under our pillows. Children of Kali, the devouring Mother, creator and destroyer. We have our fishhooks in each other now, and the music has just started. Let’s rock.

It’s good not to be alone.

So lately I have been noting some of the cycles… metacycles, really… which have defined things in my life. I’m talking about recurring themes.

In many ways, the lessons of my life have come together in one particular set of challenges. I’ve gone on about what they are, and I’m sure I will again.

But one thought has been banging around in my head all day, so I thought if I can just say it once, maybe I can come to terms with it.

There have been a few defining relationships in my life, and they all have a few things in common. Most of those things are great. this one just… well… bites.

I was in one of these jams before – with the Swamp Witch, and was faced with something similar; the relationship I was in with my boy was lifechanging – but the same question came up.

With the Swamp Witch, I had no idea of the real power I posessed, and even when she told me, I did not believe it. She had to go, prioritize her life above service to me. I let her go and do that. Ten years later I was requested to come give her away, so she could get on with her life for real… it was a powerful statement on how much authority I still had, even after a decade.

My boy needed to move on, try his hand at the new strengths, goals and standards which I had worked so hard to teach. I had to let him. I did not want to.

An opportunity has emerged for someone in my service; it intereres with service to me and aspirations to the Estate. But this opportunity may well be once-in-a- lifetime.

It inteferes with my goals and her service to me for years to come.

She is a creature of honor- should I decide to say “No.” she’ll comply. I’ll have what I am supposed to want. What I do want.

The problem is with what I prioritize above what I want.

I want her to be her best. I want her to shine. I would never tell anyone I respected to turn down such an opportunity, and I respect her. I want to count on the idea that her service to me, her being subject to me, will stay strong, and investing time and effort into this will be an investment that will return to me in time.

So I put her first. So I do what I have done with the Swamp Witch and with my boy.

Does it make me less of a Sir? Am I being weak, not simply flexing the power that I have to get the gratification I want? Am I failing to be true to my vision by allowing this? Am I investing in anything, or just giving away my rights, allowing myself to be less of a priority? Am I not expected to prioritize my wants above those in my service, as a defining act?

Does not really matter. I made my decision, I stand by it, I’d do it again… and I suspect I will. It may not be right by the standards of other people, by objective standards of “Dominance”. Maybe it’s the wrong decision. But it’s the only one that I can make and still be the man I want to be, if not the idealized Dominant that we all talk about.

So why talk about it here?

I need to be through with the doublethink. I need to say”this is right.”, so when the doubts come creeping back, I have made my position clear. I know exactly what I am doing, I am aware of what the costs may be, and what I may end up paying. But hey: everybody pays.

So here it is; I’ll say it and get this over with:

This bites. This is the right thing to do… biut this bites.

Done.

Nothing to see here, please move along.

.

A friend of a friend died. I met him for maybe 2 minutes. I can honestly say

that I am pretty ambivalent about it. He was on a mailing list I am on, then I

found out he was Ken’s old friend. Ambivalent. Words on a screen.

Intangible. Like a news report. But watching my friend – one of the best

friends I have ever had- grieve… that matters.

I’d like you to read it.

I have things I have been thinking about writing

circle gone, and I will never get it back. How did I use it?

Recently I have become aware that a lot of

his… for whatever that is worth.

If I am chasing my dream, in the end I may not

succeed – but I do not think that is wasting my time.

We need our contract, we need to get to work, we

to go around.

My friends are drifting apart; entering a new

a little sad… but it’s not wrong.

The Second Coming

 TURNING and turning in the widening gyre

 The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

 Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

 Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

 The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

 The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

 The best lack all conviction, while the worst

 Are full of passionate intensity.

 Surely some revelation is at hand;

 Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

 The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

 When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

 Troubles my sight:  somewhere in sands of the desert

 A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

 A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

 Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

 Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

 The darkness drops again; but now I know

 That twenty centuries of stony sleep

 Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

 Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

W.B. Yeats

But it's not bad. It's just Kali come to claim her own.

I'm simply not done yet, and had better get a goddamn move on.

“..made it dangerous;

And forget.”

Kate Bush – Cloudbursting

Welcome Home

So.

I tend not to speak directly about anything here… or anywhere. But I don’t know how else to approach this.

Epiphanies are like that. I was confronted with a truth. I was confronted with all I ever wanted, so primal and basic I never saw it.
I could never have guessed it. But it’s been there, staring me in the eye for my whole fucking life. All I ever wanted.

So- I never think about it. I don’t remember it. My life is a blur before I was sixteen. But I’m talking with Antigone, and an idea comes out of my mouth.
“There’s someplace I’d like to visit.” She looks at me oddly, and says she’d be happy to go there with me, on the way back from a camping trip. On the way back, we are running out of time, so I start to suggest that it might not be a good idea- that there may be other places we should go, other things we should do. That look comes back to her face. She says she thinks we should go.
I start checking the atlas, and navigating. My agitation increases.

As we draw closer, I am getting genuinely freaked. “Why did I want to do this? I don’t want to do this. I never wanted to do this. Why am I here?”
As we approach, I start feeling… odd. Displaced. Dispossessed. I start to recognize landmarks, I start feeling an unsettling duality. Things are getting to familiar. My flesh is crawling.
Then I know where we are. The town I grew up in. The place I never think about. The place I don’t remember.

I find the road- Marsh Hill Road, a long. winding half-mile uphill. We pass a stone column, this odd, mute sentry outdating my family. Maybe every other house on the hill.
I recognize it, and the reality begins to sink in. My lips are numb. I have pictured this town every time I read about a small town. It’s Derry, Maine. Salem’s Lot. Our Town. But I never think about it. I don’t remember it.

I don’t.

Then we pull into the driveway. I see the house. I can’t talk.
She pulls us in and we get out of the car. My legs are weak. My hands shake, my head buzzes. I notice what has changed, what is different- and the overwhelming details which are the same.
It’s so much smaller. Giant stone walls which have dwarfed me in my memory are now beneath the line of my shoulders. Vast expanses, impenatrable distances- reduced. But I still see them huge, surrounding me, the whole world laying out in all directions. I see it both ways. We walk up the stone steps to the flagstone patio. Buried beneath my feet is my father’s storage and workroom, his sanctuary. I knock on the door. It’s the same door- black, solid wood- peaked, like a temple or a mausoleum. I knock. I am prepared for anything. I try to find my game face, although I want to cry. My body is humming, like I’m standing on a dynamo, or a ley line. I am ready. The door opens, and a kindly man with a beard answers. I am ready.

“Hello- this is a little odd, but I used to live here thirty years ago, and-”
“I remember you.”

I am not ready for this.

“We bought the house from your mother, twenty three years ago. I remember you. I have been expecting one of you kids for a while now. I would have recognized you even if you had not told me.”
I am not ready for this.

“Would you like to come in and look around?”
I am not ready for this.

I keep it together, shake hands, introduce myself, introduce Antigone. We make some small talk, but I can’t really hear it. My head is filled with roaring. It throbs.
I take a walk around the grounds, and dart away hastily. I need someplace to fall apart.

I can’t talk about the tour. there’s too much, it’s too wierd, and it’s too personal. but I learned some interesting things.
This house has passed between my family and the current owners’ family two or three times. Buying and selling this property back and forth, keeping it in this “family”
He wants to sell it. It’s my turn.

I have no way of buying it.

I have never stopped thinking about this place. Never.
No place has been home since I left here. Nothing else was EVER home. I think about the idea of home, I write about it. I obsess on the duality of home, it’s dangers and it’s glories. I have been praying to this house my whole life. I have never stopped thinking about it. I have never wanted any home but this. I thought I had no particular dreams, no visions. I also told myself that I never thought about this place. I told myself I did not remember it.

I remember everything.

I can’t afford it. Unless DotPublishing takes off- and takes off in a truly spectacular way, I have no chance.
Today Soulhuntre and Tatsumi and I were in the car, and a facetious conversation came up. “If you had Bill Gates’ money- last counted at 50 billion in personal assets, what would you do? What about 1 billion? What about 10 million? What about 5? What about 1?

I couldn’t tell them what I was thinking. It was a lighthearted conversation, and I had no way of expressing the depth of my obsession. How important this is to me. How everything else pales in comparison. How haunted I am by this, how I have not stopped thinking about it, how I can’t stop thinking about it. Right now, when things are tough and I just don’t have the bandwidth to distance myself from my visions, I lay awake and bleed it. I’ve bought lottery tickets for the first time in my life. I suddenly understand things which have mystified me my whole life: What I want. What I’ve always wanted.

I want to go home.

Having caught up on my sleep, there are a few things that need saying, publically:

My staff was amazing.
Soulhuntre, Tatsumi, Sierra, Tink, Kimiko and Mosquito Pete all went well past what I could have hoped for. If anything went well at all, it is simply because they worked so unspeakably hard, so well together, and with such a deliberate intent to make certain things were done RIGHT.

While I ran around madly trying to wrangle the necessary items and co-operation from Upper management (Lolita, Dov, Catelynn: Thank you- the three of you were impeccable, at least as far as my department ws concerned)
A great deal of managerial responsibility fell to Tatsumi and Sierra, especially while I was presenting at the hotel a couple of times on saturday. They were TREMENDOUS. Every crisis that raised it’s head, they handled. There were a few snags, NOTHING went without a hitch- but in the vast majority of these cases, our presenters felt well taken care of. (To those that did not, I apologize for any oversights or inconvenience I may have caused.) A few people OUTSIDE my department lent a hand without even being asked: Dov, Sensei, Sir C and her girl Gardenia, Midori’s boi Puck, two strangers and a fine gentleman from the Men’s Dinner come to mind. Thank you as well, there was always more work to be done.

Many of the presenters are deserving of thanks as well- after some unexpected changes to the curriculum, many handled things with a grace and ability to accomodate the changes and crises without complaint- and often quite helpfully. Midori, Angelover, and David and Kate come to mind, among others. Thank you all.

So:
For my staff, thank you. For the others who pitched in, thank you.
For those I had to work with and under- thank you.

The list of people who need to go to hell is also long- but this is simply not the time.

Flagg

For a friend who is visiting Japan:

As your attorney, I advise you to arm yourself heavily.

First and foremost, it would be ill-concived for you to reveal your true occupation to anyone: mild mannered though they may be, the average bespectacled salaryman has connertions with thugs and brutes of the vilest sort, teams of twisted syphilitics living in hangars by the airports, just waiting to pounce on a foriegner whose business at hand might be the corruption of a culture so ancient and decadent that they have raised flower arranging to a high art because they have exhausted every other vice beyond the imagining of a red blooded American.

The Burroughs principle maintains that language is a virus, therefore, what could be more dangerous than an “english teacher” to these jaded asians? Bill knew, the old junkie had seen their work, and knew what their plans for microelectronics were all about. And look what happened to HIM. Beware. Best, when looked in the eye by a customs official, to remember that he is even now wondering what you did to the delicate blossom who accompanies you- and that cultural infection ranks higher then mopery on the hierarchy of roundeye sin to these xenophobic swine. When he asks your business, reach into your carry-on and produce the heaviest firearm you were able to smuggle through the airport, don’t blink, and maintain eye contact.

“Skag baron” may be your best answer.

While he blinks and takes a moment to assess this affront to the way things are done, sieze the moment: Explain that you are here to ice a competitor, a swede by the name of Savage Henry. Spare no expense on embellishing his nordic features- painting a picture of aryan vileness so perfidious that he will be unable to react to the sheer effrontery of your actions. The japanese do not process rude and unexpected well- these are your only weapons in this strange and alien culture- use them with abandon. While your cases of Wild Turkey and bags of grapefruit finish their trip through customs, ask your new best friend where one might obtain some ammunition for the fine sidearm which lies gleaming on the desk between you. At this point, offer him a business card. Cultural conditioning will take over, and, helpless in the grip of good manners, he will offer you a card of his own, study yours (Skag Imports and Sweatshop Management), offer you a compliment, and realizing that he is dealing with a civilized man after all, direct you to the kind of hotel where the bellman can get you ANYTHING. Hole up and do not open your door until your return ticket tells you it is safe to leave. Above all, do not sightsee, and eat only food which can be shoved under the door. If you leave your room even once, you will be expected to change shoes- and we are all aware of the kind of trouble that can bring. Expect no interference from the local authorities- if you are going to remove another foriegn influence, they will watch and wait- occidentals killing each other is the Nipponese equivalent of a cockfight. Once done, they will swoop down and put the survivor in a cage, allowing japanese schoolgirls to poke him with sharp sticks on field trips. As appealing as this might be, resist.

At the very least, expect that they will assign someone to lay down paper plates where you step, and swing a blackjack to the back of your neck should you attempt to speak to the locals.

“Maintain a sense of calm.” – RZS

There is not enough salvation to go around…

A long time ago, I lost a friend.
Not because of an argument… he just dissapeared. Gone.

A long time ago, I lost another friend.
We treated each other badly, with a cruelty I can only look back on with wonder.

A long time ago, I treated somebody shamefully.
Someone who did not deserve it, someone who deserved better.

This spring, things have happened.
The person I treated badly offered me forgiveness. No strings, no conditions. Forgiveness. Grace.
A memory of shame so deep it made me wince every time I allowed the shadow of my behavior to slither to the front of my mind, gone- absolved. I met her at a party a friend was throwing, and realized that during all these years of guilt and recrimination, I had never sought her out to apologize.

Apologies have to be done a certain way in my world. No conditions, explainations or excuses. Just a flat out apology for the inappropriate behavior- and if the wronged party cares enough, they’ll ask about the details. That’s what I offered:

It’s been years, and you deserved better.

I have spent a long time grappling with the shame of how I behaved that evening. But seeing you made me acutely aware that I had never, ever done the most important thing. I’ve never forgotten- but I allowed time and distance to make it convenient for me to never face up to this.

You deserved far better from me.
I’m very, very sorry.

From this, I made a friend where once there was guilt and cancer.

An old friend and I parted on the worst of terms. The way we savaged each other over a long, long friendship was childish and brutal. The sorts of wrong you only do people you love. The sorts of things which make up regrets of the most lasting type. The kind that scars.

A coincidence brought my email to his attention. He sent me a letter- a mature, accountable, strong letter from the man he had become, which allowed me to understand that it was time for me to stop listening to the angry little boy who would not forgive or forget, because his anger made him feel justified, righteous- empowered as only the indignantly wronged could be.

I sent him this:

I’ve never been a “forgiving” sort (big shock there)- but in retrospect, I was a very different person then- and, I expect, so were you.

There are a few things I find hard to let go. Don’t get me wrong, I am painfully aware of what a bag of shit I was to you- someone I loved, someone that I still do love. Don’t think I only feel one way about this- it would not be so difficult if, despite it all, you were not one of the best friends I ever had. That I was unable to let go of, even when I wanted to.

Fuck. This really should not be so hard. After eight years, you’d think I’d either love you, hate you or forgotten you. Be much simpler.

Yeah. I’d like to try. At least, I’m willing to do the work to try. Someone recently forgave me for what I consider one of the worst things I ever did- a person who in no way deserved it.
No strings, no recriminations- just let it go. Apparently, the universe is smacking me upside the head with a honking big trout. (Magical Thinking, remember?)I suppose it’s time to just let it go.

A long time ago, a friend dissapeared.
He was exactly the sort of man you’d expect to dissapear. Secretive, complex, private.

He moved away- then vanished.
It’s been close to ten years.
The friend I made up with found him, and I wrote him, seeing if he wanted to put it all together again.
What I received back was very uniquely him. My friend, still. I sent him this:

It’s been a long time, and a longer road from where we were to where we are. Moving you out and bidding you goodbye in the rain was an unsatisfactory conclusion, and about the ill fated trip to Boston, the less said the better.

I have dreamed of you several times since then.

Once, when asked who you are, I found myself at a loss to explain. “He taught me about Shakespeare” was the best answer I felt I could give- You were a private man, and I have made it my business to keep your nature as shrouded as you might have done. Least I could do. A more insightful soul noticed the game, and asked a more pointed question:
“Who is he to YOU?”

The answer was:
“In many ways, he was the best of me.”

I declined further explaination.

I have always missed you.

Right now, my life is at the lowest ebb I can remember. I really thought that times this dark were behind me. But due to a series of catastrophic descisions and risks, it’s really pretty dark… not just for me, but for someone who depends on me. Someone else who deserves better. Someone else I’ve wronged.

But then I look at what just happened this spring.
I have no real right to complain. All my errors can be fixed- and look at the pocket miracles my life has given me.

Miracles.

There’s not enough salvation to go around… but I have gotten more than my share. If that does not keep me going, then I am not viewing my life wth the right degree of gratitude.

You don’t want what I have…

I spend a lot of time NOT talking about what I feel. Leading a trail of breadcrumbs at best, I’ll hint, I’ll refer, I’ll insinuate… but rarely will I come out and say what I mean. There’s a reason that I call the blog Innuendo; really the whole website is like that- enigmatic puzzles, saying a great deal about me, but never directly.

Then there’s THIS.

My best friend blogged something which took an incredible amount of guts. A straightforward, no nonsense accounting of a painfully intimate and difficult situation. There are people out there who compulsively read every word he says JUST to give him shit, and he still posts unflinchingly about something that hurts.

The reason I mention this is not just because he deserves credit, but because what he wrote about was very intimate and personal to me as well. He and I spend a great deal of time defining the ways we are different- yet here he defines something in which we are very much the same. No, I’m not gonna stand here and declare that my pain is just like his, but I have to tell you- they are close enough for rock and roll, and then some. I’m not gong to describe it, if you read this than you’ve probably read this already. But if you have not, you may want to. Or you may not.

Ken posted some lyrics of a song by a band called “Staind” which hit this on a very specific note. I had noticed the same song, for what is probably the same reason: a specific lyric-

“Inside you’re ugly; ugly like me.”

I am going to offer a few song lyrics to him in return- it’s where we are alike, as well as where we differ.

“you can have it all, my empire of dirt;
I will break you down, I will make you hurt.”
NIN – hurt

“I am just a worthless liar.
I am just an imbicile.
I will only complicate you.
Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find the center in you;
I will chew you up and leave;

Trust me
Trust me
Trust me
Trust me“

Tool – Sober

“If I were twice the man I could be,
I’d still be half of what you need.”

NIN – Ringfinger

“It’s your Uncle Bingo; time to pay the check.”

I am currently living in a very stressful time, a place where all my mistakes and fears have come back to me. Well, you know what? Everybody pays. I may have made a thousand mistakes, but if I can have the even a fraction of the strength of character that Ken has, then I can sleep at night, get up in the morning, and set about setting the errors of my life right- and be profoundly grateful for every day I have to do it. There are a few people I am very proud to have as friends- Sir C and Ken are high on that list; but even more, I am occasionally overwhelmed that they see me as a friend and a peer. Daniel-San, Tom, Dave… you should know who you are by now.

I have a lot to be grateful for. Ugly inside or not.
You “may not want what I have”- but I would not trade it for anything.
I want what I have.

That should be enough to keep me going.
And I hope that a few words from me to a man I genuinely respect and admire, a man who taught me more than he knows might remind him that he is worth all that has been invested in him by those around him, and more.

PS:the Gap Series- Stephen R. Donaldson – read them.
Ken’s key is Angus, mine is Nick. The unpleasant similarities are… uncanny.
Sir C, on the other hand is Min Donner.
Read it and it will make sense. I LOVE these books.