This book is not comforting; it does not reassure. It does not teach anything a decent person needs to know. It is a book about BDSM, but it will teach you nothing about tying knots, swinging floggers or spanking. It does not comfort, it does not attempt to reach the vanilla public.
This book addresses control, it addresses change. The recreational uses of humiliation, conditioning, psychological torture, hypnotism and interrogation techniques are explored and laid bare, broken into usable steps and understandable, applicable concepts. It is a workshop of ruin, the tools necessary to cement lasting alteration and unforgettable experiences for those few who truly crave them.
“This is not a 101 or “BDSM for everyone”. Actually, this is not really for anyone.
Most of the things that are in this book I cannot sanction anyone doing to anyone else. Except, of course, that we do, and we will, and we want to. So here are tools to do them well, to do them ethically, and to enact your own, terrible sacraments. We seek to ascend, so we descend.
I called this book a mixed message, a perverse architecture, and so it is. The keystone of this edifice is inscribed with the heart of all these chapters, these words cut at cross-purpose:
“Here is something you should never do to anyone.
And here is exactly how to do it to someone you care about.”
- From The Forked Tongue, A handbook for treating people badly

“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

Like everything else right now, it’s all agonizingly slow.

The most important element is one that has surfaced in a few ways, emerging from different cyphers until even I could no longer ignore it. The depression has rolled back a bit as the pain has eased - still hovering, but no longer defining me.

But that’s the question- a question of definition. If not depression, then what?

It was pointed out to me in a conversation with Ken Soulhuntre, who was once again there when I needed him, that it’s not external definition that has changed; it’s the internal definition that needs updating. An overhaul of Avatar. It’s not masculinity, virility - that was an outside definition, and my physical changes scarcely touch my self definition in terms of how I defined myself to the world. But to myself? Bigger issue.

I’m getting closer to addressing the idea of the voids in my life, of taking people into my service again, on a short term basis. But to do that, I have to be aware of what I have to offer, and what I don’t. I have to learn to walk again, in more than one context.

I have to adjust the internal avatar to match the outer a little better; to embody what I do offer more fully rather than mourning what I don’t, in order to be able to offer anything at all. Which means I have to shake some ghosts.

And I have to remember that all healing takes time.

I want to call people up and make my problems theirs to help me shoulder- but they can’t, and I won’t. I want to call my twin, but she has gone into another life, and our time is done. I want to call my boy, my animal, my pixie; I want to wail and moan and make them somehow make it all better, make me clean, make me whole, make me feel like there is something in me.

My brothers break their backs for me, or they ignore me until I’m useful. Either way, they either do too much already, or offer nothing. My oldest friend is silent and distant, I miss him terribly, but I can’t make him come back and be with me.

Do you know how much I miss you?

Where have you gone?

I know it’s payment.I know in my life I’ve had more than most can ever dream, and this is payment due.

I just don’t know how much more I can pay before the bill becomes too large to bear.

Mother, please.

Please.

Everybody pays. The check will always come sometime. This is as terrible as it is inevitable.

If you spend all your time looking back, you stay stuck where you are. There is no way to reclaim what’s lost, no way to move forward… and even more terrible, more paralyzing, is the feeling that one can somehow reclaim what has never been. What we deserved.

Our lives come with expectations. We make our choices based on those dreams. Choices become clear as the future lays out ahead of you- well lit and open. There will be curves and potholes along the way; we all know this- but we decide that the risks are worth it, the hurdles not so daunting when compared with tne destination, with dreams of Home.

You’ll get there. It’s on the map, Right here. Look. The map says so. It’s like a promise.

But what you cannot prepare for is not being able to take that road at all.

You can stare at it in the rear view as long as you want. It will never be out of sight as long as you are looking for it. And it’s so hard to look away. “It’s not supposed to be this way. It’s not the way this was supposed to go.”

“This is not like it should be”

My sister knows this.

She also knows how to deal with it.

Sometimes, you have to have a funeral.

It does not matter if you mourn for what was, or for what never was. The secret to funerals is that you can’t stay there… eventually you have to walk away from the grave. And if you are not going to be who you were, what you wanted, what you thought you deserved- what options are left to you?

She told me only that you are allowed to grieve for what you lost, for what you wanted, for what you never had. You can grieve for a dream. The rest suddenly made sense to me. And I was able to stop chasing ghosts. They will always be there if I look for them, never far behind. Sometimes you will want to revisit a grave, and you will always be able to find it.

It’s the one marked “should“.

 

“Dreams make no promises.”
Neil Gaiman

 

“History is an angel, blowing backwards into the future
and the angel wants go go back

and fix things that are broken

but there is a storm blowing

from Paradise..”
Laurie Anderson

This really started last summer. I had been looking for a job for months, and finally landed a grunt-monkey gig dragging boxes and stocking shelves at The Compleat Strategist. Demeaning, dirty, exhausting work. I had been out of the workforce a long time, and was ashamed of how much it took out of me. I knew that if I just toughed it out, I’d break the horrible hold that a decade of sedentary existence behind a computer and a drawing board had on me and prove myself tough enough to live with myself.
You know- a man. Macho. Tough. Capable. Not weak. Not sick. Not me.

It was a bad time; I would come home sick and shaking. Several times my animal urged me to quit, but we needed me to be bringing in some kind of regular money- and I had serious pride issues about giving up. So I kept at it - even doing my last two weeks after I had found a MUCH better job and given notice. Monkeys like me are eminently disposable and replaceable there, but they had never crossed or cheated me… so I slogged through the last two weeks as they doubled my workload, trying to squeeze every drop of sweat out of me they could, so they could wait a few weeks (and save the money) to hire a new chimp.

But this was not just being out of shape I was fighting. It was a decade of no health insurance, fear of doctors, denial and neglect. I had advanced kidney disease and gastroparesis by this time (diabetic complications) as well as some vision loss- and pushing myself through this without medical supervision or advice was making these conditions worse. But I was too busy trying to tough it out and maintain my denials of the problems to know that. I mean, doesn’t everybody vomit every morning, and maybe two or three times a day? “Nope. Nothing wrong here.”

But the day came, and in September, I started a great new job. Things were looking up- I was bringing in enough money that it mattered, the job was complex and challenging and I was well suited to it. I had autonomy, authority, and a job I understood with a skill set that supported it. I felt useful and complete- I was happy. And then, best of all, I got health insurance… and I had no excuse not to immediately exploit it.

I started finding out new and unpleasant things- and started changing my life accordingly- The transitions were tough, especially changing insulin prescriptions; and I found out what was going on with my eyes. Diabetes (and other ill health factors, but it all starts there) meant my retinas were not getting enough blood… so they were growing new blood vessels to provide it, The problem was, they did not belong there, were interfering with my vision and were exposed and fragile. Laser treatment was necessary immediately, because if they broke, they would bleed their fragile little hearts out into my eye, where they would cloud the vitreous gel which fills it and I would not be able to see. (Take note- this fact is important for later.)

A few months later, we moved. I was struggling with my health all through autumn, and it was getting tougher as winter came on. I was on a new insulin prescription, and it was a drastic change - I had several blood sugar crashes while attempting to master it. It was the beginning of March when we took our new apartment in Brooklyn, a bedroom bigger than our Bronx sublet, and closer to Manhattan. Definitely a step up. My animal had packed her heart out for the month preceding, as she was going to be in Europe on business during the actual move.

I am blessed with good friends, old and new, who came to help- enough to break into squads- one to help me lug crap in cars and an overstuffed moving truck, and one to stay behind a scrub the place down so it would be in some condition to return to Sir C, from whom we had been subletting for about 2 years. Even with all the help, I was physically wrecked by the time it was over… and all these things (undetected complications, exhaustion and unfamiliarity with the new prescriptions) added up to my worst insulin crash- I had never passed out before and this time I was alone. The last thing I saw was the front door rushing up to greet me as I blacked out trying to answer the door.

I lay there for two hours, semiconscious and helpless. Luckily, my landlord had arranged to let a plumber in, so when she could not open the door and my responses were not coherent, she tracked down my animal, who gave her a friend’s number to call and told her to call the paramedics. I was dangerously close to brain damage when they arrived. A friend of mine saw me to the hospital and back some seven hours later. During the fall I had hit my head and damaged a toe (which I could not feel). A few days later I noticed the discoloration, and saw a podiatrist- he informed me I’d lose the nail, there would be some weeping and swelling, but that would pass and I would be fine.

This was not true.

My weakened condition encouraged infection- and when one had started, others started, and I began to fall apart hard. My animal returned from Europe and did her best to take care of me, but I began to miss more and more work and the vomiting became constant- I could not walk two blocks without stopping to puke. Two weeks later I was vomiting blood, and checked into New York Hospital.

Two days with a tube up my nose later, things were under control- but this is when the real changes started. I was diagnosed with gastroparesis, a condition defined by nerve damage to the digestive tract. Essentially, my system no longer knows when to digest food, so it simply secretes acid full-time, causing vomiting and bleeding. It is, however, a manageable condition. The other revelation is how rapid the decline of my kidneys had been- the kidney disease was fairly advanced. They were functioning between 20 and 15% capacity- again, manageable if not pleasant. My injured toe had become infected, and that infection had spread to my other foot and my kidneys, which made all my other conditions worse, so that it all essentially conspired to lay me low.

I spent two weeks in the hospital, and the turnaround in how well I was feeling was drastic, although I was perpetually exhausted. I was on IV medication for six weeks after leaving the hospital, taken through a shunt in my arm. I was not well, or anywhere near it- but the vomiting and nausea were controlled and I could function.

Then, very abruptly, my symptoms came back. I wrestled with it for a weekend, unable to make my blood sugar come back down no matter how much insulin I took. When it climbed to 600 while I was pumping vast quantities of insulin to no effect, I relented and went back to the hospital.

The IV medication had damaged my kidneys, and they were now malfunctioning at such a critical level, I had a minor heart attack. Life was now going to change drastically.

Two weeks in the hospital, and I had started dialysis. The change in my state of well being was dramatic, as years worth of poison was dragged out of my bloated carcass. I am 50 pounds of poisoned water lighter now. Dialysis 3 days a week, several associated minor surgeries, 9 prescriptions. I got to go home.

I’ve been recovering my strength and sense of humor since, have started to be social again, and am aggressively trying to get stronger. Now, remember those extra blood vessels in my eyes? I told you to remember them… well, the fall I took the day after my move caused them to leak, and my eye had filled with blood- I was effectively blind in my right eye. It had been the least of my concerns while it happened, but it was an issue that had to be addressed. Luckily, my ophthalmologist is a god. He performed a vitrectomy- one of the weirdest experiences of my life. The fluid was drained from my right eye- shriveled up like a raisin- and laser work done, then it was reenlisted and filled with a new transparent gel.

I was awake the whole time. Numb (thank the Dark Mother for that little gift) but awake. Bizarre. I am undergoing laser treatments on my left eye to ensure the same problem does not occur there. It’s going to cost me some vision- areas of my retinas get destroyed in the process- but better some than all.

Right now, my worst day is still better than my best day a few months ago. My energy levels are rising, and I am getting a lot of what I lost back. I am remembering how to be playful, for example. Hopefully, all the dark circuits will light back up in time.

My animal is the reason I am still here. I cannot express the level of dedication and love she showed me, making me well- despite exhaustion, depression, stress, and in some cases, despite me. Her efforts have been Herculean. I only hope that in time I can make it up to her.

I’ve been mucking about in a depression for almost a month now, and it was coming to a critical point this morning. Just… woke up black, and it was not getting any better. In the mail came the news I was expecting, what I was dreading. The Property has a buyer. I knew it was coming- my twin watched her dream get sold away, so I knew it was not going to be long. That’s the way these things work. It’s a long, terrible umbilical.

The hammer fell, and nailed me down but good. Straw- camel’s back. Critical mass.  I was having trouble remembering why you have to try in the first place; just lost in my own head. I wanted to give up. I had enough objectivity to know I was stuck, that I had to do something to get out of the tar pit. The idea of going to see The Village and dinner came up, and I clutched it like a life preserver. My animal was trying to pry what was wrong out of me- but what was there to say? To speak it out loud would just have been diminishing- and I had already dwindled as far as I could bear. Get out. Look for signs. Find my center. That’s what I had to do, or I’d just sit at home and drink Drano.  

So- out. The movie was pretty good, it was distracting- and it reminded me of a few important things. I was pondering them as we
found Her.

I’ve never seen Her for sale. And there were so many. She was in five or six places in the window, topped by a great brass version- head and bowl, sword and tusk, skirt of hands, necklace of skulls, foot on her consort, fangs and tounge.

She’s 1800$. I can do that, eventually. I bought one of the smaller ones for $20

More than that, she was there when I needed her to tell me a few things:

“My children live. With gratitude for every sunrise I let them see, they live. They weep. They bleed. They rage. They burn. They die. They dance. they fuck. They roar. Before me, they crawl.

But they do not snivel. So shut the fuck up.”

She has given me more than I have ever deserved. She has given me more than many people will ever see. I have wasted many more chances than most people will have ever had. I have been blessed. I even have someone to bleed with.  I had forgotten all her gifts.

Everybody pays.

It’s just my turn.

And- until I am before Her, I will not crawl. So fuck this. And fuck anyone in my way. I have a long way to go before I get Home, and I am not troubled by the idea of stepping over as many bodies as I have to.

“Farewell happy fields
Where joy ever dwells, hail horrors, hail
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell
Receive thy new Posessor.”

Milton- Paradise Lost

” This house became the embodiment of every childhood dream I had of stability and security. It contained all of my little secret dreams and fantasies about things that I don’t tell anyone for fear of being ridiculed. All of those wishes were finally going to come true in *this* house. I was going to build the world I wanted inside these walls and fences. This is where I found home, where I belonged.”

That’s not fair. That’s not fair to anybody. I’d call my Mother, but she’d just laugh. Hell, that’s what she’s doing now.

“‘Cause when love is gone, there’s always justice.
And when justive is gone, there’s always force.
And when force is gone, there’s always Mom.

Hi Mom!

So hold me, Mom, in your long arms.
So hold me, Mom, in your long arms…”

-Laurie Anderson - O Superman

We stepped off the subway and my animal got one good look at it sprawled out in front of us in all it’s gaudy spread, like a faded movie star, whoring on a backalley matress.

No more than a heartbeat passed as we took it all in, blinking in the sun. We heard the rushing and screaming of the coaster, and the barker calling rubes to see the freakshow. We saw a hundred cheap and tawdry ways to trade our money for bad food, cheap trinkets or nothing at all. Then she said:

“This is so you -  decayed granduer.”

We went to Coney Island on my birthday. This, for me, is a pilgramage I do not make near often enough. In true New Yorker fashion, I never think of going there- it was my animal who suggested it, and the idea came as a shock. I think about going to India all the time- but I never get off my ass to take the Long Ride down into Coney Island.

The impact on me is enormous. Really all out of proportion to the actual place; especially considering what the place is now.
I was absorbing that - looking at the video arcades, overpriced hot-dog stands, rigged games, cheap prizes, pastebord and blinking lights- and part of my mind going:

 ”There’s nothing here.”

And another, more certain voice saying:

 “That’s the point.”

And it was the point. It is the point.

I am not moved by grandeur. I am not moved by greatness… I am moved by ruin. I’m not really sure what it’s about, why it calls to me like nothing else- but I suspect it’s about duality yet again. Greatness that still stands barely touches me; squalor that was always squalor is the same. Calcutta was a city of artists, poets, sculptors and angels without equal- and it is now a foul cesspool of poverty and human misery. It is my Mother’s city. I must see it, and pay my respects. But until I can reach Kalikut, city of my Mother…
I have Coney.

And it is Mother’s touch that I see in Coney. Once upon a time, Coney was the center of the world. It was the spectacle which nothing in man’s creation could touch. The birthplace of the electric city, the incubator, the New World of science and wonder, the prodigy child of Edison, Tesla and Barnum.

And now… now all that is gone, and the echoes are so faint that you have to know what you are listening for to hear the faintest whispers. It is Paradise Lost, it is Eden after the fall.

I don’t think I would have cared much for Eden before the fall. Beauty fades. But loss? Ruin?

Ruin is forever.

Amen.

I was chasing someone. My shirt flapped loose below my ribcage, black and hollow. I could feel the wind blow through the inside of me, where I used to be. I was cold, and angry. I ground my teeth like I was trying to light a fire with the sparks.

“theif, thief, thief, thief, thief…”

I never saw him. I did not know him. He was always just ahead in a city that looked green and familiar, but was not my own. The streets were slick with a rain which had passed I stepped in a puddle as I ran, and it soaked through my boots. I was cold inside. Part of me had been taken by a stranger, and I meant to have it back.

“Thief, thief, thief, thief, thief…”

Down some stairs and to a door- either pistachio or pine or some other unpleasant shade of green. There was a number I could not read. He was on the other side of the door. I couldn’t touch it. I could not knock, I could not smash it down. I could only stand there and shake, and hiss through my teeth…

“Thief, thief, thief, thief, thief…”