Karma

Karma is the belief that what you put out into the universe will come back. And know that it returns when you are least certain of it. 

I've spent the last 24 of the last 36 hours upset. A lot. Yes people practicing buddhism cry, get upset and heartbroken too. We also fall in love, we have sex in lust or in love, drink a beer or wine and get angry too. The only good thing about living by principles of Buddhism is realizing the core of your suffering and how to transform it quickly. I'm not inhuman because of spirituality. I'm in fact freer to express myself with the understanding that this feeling is not permanent. You control what you feel. So why was I upset? I changed. My perception did. My illusion of something or someone is changed. I finally let it fall away. You see how we perceive things is our illusion. You don't trust, love or believe in anything or anyone but yourself. You trust, love and believe in your idea of things and people and place faith in it. When that idea changes it upsets us. Love is an illusion and so is trust. When you learn to have the patience to accept that people will let you down then you are free. I am free besides gravity. Though often my judgment fails me :)

Love and life are uncertain and you must accept that. Like it or not things happen or change so you can move toward something else. "Sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck," says the Dalai Lama. The job you want goes to someone else not because you weren't the best version of you. At the time maybe someone was a more appropriate candidate. The job went to the other candidate because maybe you are a more qualified fit elsewhere or a better opportunity awaits you elsewhere. The guy you like and find yourself infatuated with meets and falls in love with another girl or another guy breaks things off with you for no reason. You are still a beautiful woman and another man will see things that the other guys did not when they were with you. When you pass by or overlook seeing a friend in traffic one day and then see them another day it isn't personal. It could be perhaps due to your needing to meet someone new in traffic that day you missed them. It's not a slight to your friend who you adore. The universe simply had another plan for him and you that day. 

It doesn't seem lucky does it. It seems like justifying bummers. Look, I could give you more buddhism answers but I've come to find that things work out how they need to for our benefit or for the lesson we need to learn. The universe does not make mistakes. It is Karma. The balance of things we release come back to our lives. These things shatter our illusions of how we think things should be. Our judgement fails us. Even if it is a bummer.

For example, I used to be a bad person with a bad heart who reacted badly to things; I used to use my darker emotions to write about things when I felt wronged. While I am writing again, I won't do that now, I'm simply not doing that. .  Now I knew that the universal balance would someday restore the energy I had given out. I accepted this. So the last few months have brought me face to face with my own karmic retribution. No, make no mistake, it is a painful experience. You simply do the best you can in these matters.  I must take in this experience this in order to be greater than I am and have a capacity to grow. Understand it is amazing to re-live similar experiences and have the capacity to keep going being the path I am on. 

Life will continue to bring the right people and things into my life and yours without us having to force them. And it will also draw the wrong things into our life as well for us to process and cope with and overcome so we can learn to be better people. It's the law of the universe. Here's why...

Later you find that the man who got the job has been downsized in 6 months while you are happy and more successful elsewhere. The men who rejected or passed you by are heartbroken over their new love rather quickly while you perhaps are smitten with a new fellow or simply happy on your own or the timing has brought you to a reconciliation with one of them. And the new friend you meet on that uneventful day could be an important friend that you are excited to introduce to your old friend at a later time. Life is what it is. Let it happen.

Here's a story about jealousy. Personally I don't like jealousy or think much of others that try to incite it. You don't love yourself or anyone when you use jealousy or behave jealously. I couldn't tell you what it feels like as I tend to feel hurt and disappointment by matters of the heart that don't go in my favor or by people that try to manipulate me. It doesn't mean you care less if you don't behave badly or react. You can care a lot but if things were truly meant to be in work, life or love then they would be that way. A friend of mine once told me that causing others to be jealous or being jealous was like stabbing yourself in the gut. It doesn't serve anyone in the end and it only hurts the person causing or reacting to it. I suppose I believe him. It was why I wrote this this story the way I did. 

Be mindful of what you put into the universe. It will return to you when you least it expect it to. And remember it's ok to be upset or disappointed... just don't live in that feeling or try to hurt others. Karma will take care of the people that deliberately wronged you.. Anyone is a jackass for doing it deliberately but you don't have to be. The ones that didn't mean to hurt you don't deserve punishment. Have patience and love them anyway. They are learning too. Love yourself dolls and kens and know that this doll has love and compassion for you. :)

Do you believe in Karma? Are you jealous? Or are you happy for others? Do you try to cause others to get jealous? Hmm... It's never too late to do things differently with people even if they are new people or the same ones you already know.

Enjoy!
Kisses, m. 

Green-eyed

(3-20-2011)

“You have the loveliest green eyes.” is what I always used to tell him the same as I'm telling him now.

But it’s too late for all that.

His blood stained hands grip my face tightly. I need him to make me understand why he did it and I’m not even sure I know what happened.

It happened in a flash. Faster than I could count to ten. His own actions moving faster than I could think. All I can remember is what I was doing before…

There he was. Three feet away from me standing under the grey oak while I was talking with another man and all I can remember is how hard it was to breathe. It’s not the first time, but I’m certain there shouldn’t be another time.

I can hear his heartbeat as clear as any sound. The feeling of his pulse beats in his veins beneath the touch of my fingers. As his hands struggle to touch mine his breath edges out three more syllables. “I love you.” And he pulls closer to say another four that contradict those same three. “But I hate you.”

There’s no rhyme or reason when it comes to love. A man will tell you he loves you and then take it away in the same breath of words. You can’t control that.

It wasn’t me, he wanted to hurt. It was the other guy. The one whose fault it is. At least that’s the lie he keeps telling me. When he doesn’t matter at all.

Somewhere in my head the moment it all came down replays like a broken record that’s happened to somebody else. But it didn’t. It’s happened to him. And I’m the reason for it.

Three feet pass by like a wave of nothing. Hands move and fly toward my screaming voice that never stops when I’m looking at him. Between the screaming and waving hands that irrelevant person it’s not about disappears without leaving.

When it happens there’s no one between us. In goes the knife in the middle of our argument. The pain feels loud but there’s no more screaming after it goes in. Down he falls as the knife slices deeper into his gut. As I hold his guilty hands, I still think of how hard it is to breathe.

He wanted to hurt me but he wounded himself instead. That’s the thing though, jealously will get you nowhere.

Midnight Show.

In the midnight hour… what sorts of things happen at the stroke of midnight? Are you doing them? Here’s a little bit of naughty for your midnight hour. Enjoy. kisses. m.

I know what you want

I want to take you a midnight show tonight 

If you can keep a secret I got a blanket in the back seat of my mind

And a little place that sits beneath the sky

Midnight Show - The Killers

In the Backseat.

(12-4-10)

In the Backseat. A place I’ve been before as a young girl watching my father drive the car along the highway for a day trip or a jaunt around the corner. A place I like to be with him when he says there's a show I want to take you to see and I always know what that means. And it's one of those nights where there's a show to be seen. 

In the backseat tonight it's the stroke of midnight and the silence widens between us as the red traffic lights change another time. The world outside is half asleep and dreaming while we've found somewhere unseen. When he's says "three times the charm" I parked us beneath this broken streetlight next to some bushes. Although it’s not entirely dark we’re all alone. And there’s no need to talk in this moment. Words aren't necessary only actions. And his actions are speaking more than loudly.

Like the band warming up, the sound of his breathing deepens as his hands slide across the seat towards me. I want to ask him what he wants but I don’t. Instead I reach out to touch his hand and guide it gently along my thigh. Taking over he moves along the inside of my leg. The warmth of his hand on my bare skin is completely intoxicating as it sends shivers up my spine.  Every touch is like the first time and I can't help but lose my breath with the electricity of the moment. 

And I can see his eyes in the dark. Their reassuring stare matches his touch in the dark. They aren’t telling me what they want. It’s so much more than that as he follows the lead of my hands. My hands that continue to reach out and touch his. I take a hold of the free hand while letting the other continue to wander between my thighs. I lift his fingers to my face and let my lips start to kiss his knuckles. Closing my eyes, I nurse at the tips of his fingers.  Savoring the taste of each finger. Up and down and in between. Tasting the scent of him from his hands when I realize that I can not stop myself.  I want more. I want to tell him give me more. But I don’t. And I keep going.

Going down my hands reach into the depths. It’s more than helping him now that they found their place between his legs. He closes his eyes with every caress of my hand. I lean in and kiss his eyelids as he continues to grow with the rhythm. Pressing in further I run my lips across his forehead. Breathing and tasting him with every movement. My gentle kisses become quick. There’s no words only breathes as he climbs towards the frenzy. Kissing his mouth I want him to taste me when it comes.  

And it comes like the climax of performance. The show continues. 

The force of his love pushes me into a new position. Upward I find myself looking into the eyes of a madman that has me spread wide open. Roughly he pushes me back until I hit hard. I can feel the top of my head hit the door of the car. With him over the edge I can feel his hand working overtime inside me. It hurts a little but not as much as if he were to stop. I kiss the top of his head and run my free hand through his thick dark hair to encourage. 

I want more. More. A second or third act to satisfy my insatiable desire for more. 

I lift my hand to his face and move the other down below to match his efforts. With my head bent forward against him I lean back against the cool glass of the window. I can feel the wetness of the steam on the bare skin of my legs. He looks up into my eyes before putting his face back into work. I lean into his hair and sniff. Taking in his scent, I press my lips against the side of his neck. Hot warm breath hits his neck as he continues to kiss me. My warm tongue slides around his neck, until finding the beat of his heart. Gently I nurse at his pulse as he rocks against me. Pressing further back. My breath whispering in his ear as he continues.

I like this place we’re in. The sound of things moving with the music of anticipation. Everything is in its right place. Him between my legs. Me reaching down between to help him out. Fingers interlaced. His tangled with mine. Twisted together as they work in unison. Hands gripping me. Wrapped tightly around my leg as he dives in deeper. The movement is intoxicating me. Like a divine wine and I'm savoring the taste of passion that sends my mind winding and spinning like the unyielding blade of a razor in for the kill. 

Across from the red traffic signal. 

Next to the bushes. 

Beneath the broken streetlight. 

Losing myself in a midnight show. 

In the backseat.

Amor Fati.

“the choice is yours to find.” amor fati / washed out

amor fati. It’s latin and loosely translates to the “love of fates” which in turn is characterized by the position that whatever happens in ones life it is good. It is the idea that life is the experience to be lived and accepting any conditions that arise from living. Ultimately finding the beauty in all of it and that choice is up to us alone.

“I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation” - Nietzsche

Ever have the thought that there was more than one of you out there? Even if you aren’t a twin it’s not an uncommon belief. Actually its more common than you think. So what if this person that looks just like you decided they wanted to be you… what if they did? Do you think they would live as you? Or would they destroy the life you created for you and your loved ones out of their own satisfaction? I once pondered those thoughts and crafted a short story. Here’s an excerpt from it. Enjoy. kisses. m.

The only easy day was yesterday.

(11/28/09)

The only easy day was yesterday. Every day becomes more and more of a challenge and easy is who you used to be.

 “Why can’t this be easier?” Is exactly what I keep thinking as I spend another moment laboring over the task at hand. A thousand household duties to accomplish, each and every day. Not one task being less important than that of another. Some might possibly think ‘Ah, the simple life’ to spend day-in and day-out in the shoes of a housewife.

But you must understand I’m not your ordinary run-of-the-mill June Cleaver typical housewife. I may run about with the same old everyday chores keeping up the illusion of simplicity. Watching babes, cleaning rooms, mopping floors, cooking and laundry are just a few of the daily tasks that consume my remaining time here on this green Earth. Each day churning out the same remarkable wit and charm for the neighbors and loved ones as I use my God given talents to keep a household intact.

Little do the loved ones in my life know… the Truth? A Dirty Secret. A long hidden past that I try my best to hide in between dropping off the kiddies and picking up the dry cleaning. This wasn’t always the life for me.

Long before I was here… there was her.

Her? She came before me. The other one. The real mom, wife, housekeeper, the real servant to domesticity and this is her life that I’m living. Her life filled with PTA meetings, Betty Crocker cook-offs, and the weekly Family Church night.

But it’s too late for all the regret of my choice. There’s no turning back. I chose. Her death became my prison. Now I’m trapped in the jar of bells so to speak. And as odd as that sounds, it is the case. Somewhere within my tough unquestioning psyche was a glimmer of sympathy. There was a small piece of compassion resting in my dark soul. Some unnoticed need to resolve a conflict for someone other than myself.

Hope is the feeling of intuition that things won’t always be the same. It’s funny when that’s the truth of the matter.

Has anyone ever told you that you look just like someone else? Well maybe you do. Maybe everyone has a duplicate, a stunt double. There’s some other person that has absolutely no possible connection or relation to you and they are out there living, breathing and wearing you like a mask. To put this quite simply they’re wearing your face. Out there right now masquerading as you only it’s not your life. They are out there living this life that isn’t yours. A life so different and remote from who you are and what you know.

Don’t believe me? Maybe you haven’t had the opportunity to meet them yet. There are billions of people on this earth just hurtling through space. What are the odds that someone looks like you? Pretty slim, but not a completely unthinkable possibility.

There’s something to be said about taking ones own life. What do you do when you’re faced with your own mortality and it begs for its life?

Do you STOP?

Hesitate?

What do you do when you realize that’s you lying on the ground in the puddle of blood?

Your mind wandering as the blood that isn’t yours edges closer to where you stand.

Is it you dying?

You.

In the patent leather Hush Puppies with a responsible heel.

You.

With the button down grey cardigan with matching headband.

You.

Proper pencil skirt with the length falling just below the knee. The sheer absurdity of this square little stranger wearing the same face, same grimace and those damn unmistakable eyes.

You.

How dare you beg for your life?

“Show me!” I growl with outrage and grab the sniveling, bleeding cowardice version of me by the neck pulling upwards. Bleeding. Stubborn. Unmoving. With my gun drawn I motion her upward. “Damn you! Get up! Show me!” I continue to drag the unwilling victim.

Here I am trying to give this bawling sheep a reason to live and she refuses. All the sounds that escape from her are quiet no-no-no’s, but she moves. Can you imagine facing the judge and jury knowing you will be sentencing your own death? To say I could understand this woman’s reluctance, well I can’t because I’m not the one dying.

My injured twin leaves a trail of red spilling behind while we cross the open street toward a khaki colored minivan. Bleeding me points. Inside two babes; one, a boy not much older than a year, the other a small girl near the age of four. Both are crying. This bleeding mess of me whines more unintelligible noise. She’s going to die. It’s too late. I can’t help it. From the size and placement of the wound it’s certain she’ll be dead soon. Falling down the dying me, looks up and continues to reach hysterics. Decipher this noise. Dying. The children will be alone. I understand the noise. She’s afraid for the children. What can I do? Lean down and listen. Listen. For the answers. Listen. The final breathes. Listen. Hope I’m not wrong.

Can we be so different this doppelganger and I? Worlds apart.

As I recline in my chaise sipping a slightly chilled Arnold Palmer, I’m watching the children play beneath the willow tree. In this moment that fateful day seems so long ago. There’s no more death in the children’s life. Or mine. No sad moment of disappointment to get past. No disappointing past to destroy. The children live with a comforting knowledge that they have a Mother. My old life is worlds away. Perhaps I’m better for this change. It often crosses my mind whether I’m an enhanced version of her. Where things different? Keeping up with the illusion certainly is not easy. Do these differences really go unnoticed? Even if they don’t notice, I can’t go back to who I used to be. There are no open spaces to fill and my only role is the one I choose now.

Can a stranger really fall into the cracks and take over so simply without notice? Imagine it. Somewhere out there another person just like you, wearing your face, stepping into those shoes, filling a void where an opening had been revealed. Just like changing their clothes instead now they’re wearing you and it’s the last thing they will ever put on. 

standing at the corner?

Standing or sitting? Can you do both at once? There's only one way to find out. Do or don't. This is older. Based on the idea of a robot cruising that comes from the notion that people might use a machine for satisfaction or to find it for them. How close to this is humanity? SIRI can tell you hello and so much more. Will the future be filled with Cylons or Cyber whores? Or many other options? Blade Runner, anyone? enjoy. kisses. m.

Standing at the Corner Watching Cars go by.

(10-5-10)

Standing at the corner watching cars go by.

Approaching the end of the block. The night is young. And the day is old. Hot or cold has no bearing. It feels just like it needs to. I can see the cars go by as I find a place at the corner. There is someone already looking for a good thing. Always something that can make them happy. They must find something to make make make them happy. There is someone I can make happy. They all want to be happy. Nothing else matters to them. Happy. Buy me. Fuck me. Feed me. Love me. Make me happy. It is what they all say when they look for it in the wrong places.

Do you find me attractive?

Hello hello baby. What’s your name? You are looking. If looking is liking then would you like for me to keep you company? I am proficient at keeping company. The one like me across the street is also proficient. Would you like her to keep you company? She is always standing at the corner watching cars go by. Call her baby if you like what you see. Walking with her hands on hips is very sexy. I will sexy walk looking like her. Ok ok. She is baby. She will tell you to come back anytime. Come back for anything you want want. WANT!

I will be your slave. I will do anything.

Yes. Yes. Baby. Master. Of course. You want to make me yours. I am able. I can be your servant. I can not love you. You want to wish for something? What is your wish? Your wish is in my program. I am programmed with various scenarios and commands. I can show you them. If you want to tell me to show you then it can be arranged. Everything has a price. What is yours? You are free. I am not. I can do anything do anything. I can walk on my crawl on my knees. You want to tell me to crawl? And you want me to beg? You want to beg me for it? I can not refuse if you make the arrangement. You want me crawling on my knees in the street. Is this what what you want BA-BY? Would you like for me to walk on my hands and knees? It is is very sexy. I can do anything you want to do. Sexy. Dirty. Go on make the arrangement. Tell me what to do…

I would really like to be of service.

You are in the mood for company? Ask. You want me to make you happy? I can make you happy. Let me be of service. Service with a smile for a sexy man. A man with a nice white dress shirt and suit jacket. That is a very very sexy tie. I will take off your tie. Do you want me to take off your tie? You want me to help you with that happy. Let let me help. I can help with this. My service doesn't stop at the corner. Would you like me to take off your shirt now? You are going to take it off. Then I will walk sexy sexy for you.

Press the button anytime.

My button is always ready and hot to touch. Touch it. Feel the heat. You want to press the button. You do not have to look look looking baby. My button ready. You want to touch it? Then keep telling me you want to. It is not too cold at all or rough or soft. It is a button and you tell me you want to touch it. You want to walk to the corner? Walking very sexy with my hot button. It is ready for you to touch it.

I hear you want to make good thing.

Hey hey honey. I hear lots of things about you. You want to make make a good thing. I am standing at the corner watching cars go by. What is sexy for you girl? Do you have a sexy sexy walk for me? I can walk for you. You find me attractive. You want the one with sexy red hair. There is another across the street with red hair. She will not say no. Do you like her sexy hair and smile? Do you want to be like her? Where are your shoes? Take off the dress and walk like her. Take it all off. Walk like me. Walk to the corner. Show them what you have. You know you want to. 

I want want want to make you happy.

Are you happy handsome? I can make you happy. What I do makes people happy. Oh you are ready for happy? Is this what happy is like for you? You will take me around the corner and show me your happy? Happy. Happy. Happy. What about her? Your friend? She has good things. Can she not give you what I can? Why do you not want  her to show you. Her sexy sexy hair is not my sexy hair and she is not at the corner. Yes. I am. I can be arranged. Then I will give you want you need. What do you need? I can give you what what you want want. Let me. You want me to touch her. Her to touch me. Then touch us together. Will that touching make you happy? You want to be happy. Will this be enough? OK. Ok. Baby.  Now around the corner... 

Do you know what I mean?  Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.

You understand now? Then tell me. Around the corner where the cars are not going by. She can come to. I hear you want what I do that makes makes you scream. It is around the corner. What do you need? I will walk walk sexy for you there. You can press my button. There is no one around. I can show you. What I have. Of course I can. Then you want me to show you? This is everything. You want me to be your slave? I can be your slave. It can be arranged. Without arrangement it can not be. You say you want to touch it. Is this what you want? Yes. Go on then. You want to take me... Fuck me.  What is it?

Would you like for me to talk dirty to you?

Can I talk dirty for you? Would you like for me to talk dirty? There are words that please you. Tell me them. You want to hear them when you show me it. Take off your pants. I can say them into your ear while you unbutton your pants. Will I open my mouth? Does it help you? My mouth can do anything to you? Do you need someone to watch? Watching is sexy for you? It helps you when other people are watching? I can watch.  I am programmed to be of service when arrangements are made. Naked is sexy. Is it sexy for you when I am naked. I can get naked. Do you want want to see me naked? Press the button.

Would you like to see it?

I can show you it. You would like to see it. Touch it. This will make you happy. I can make you happy. Take a look at it. It is not a problem. You want to see it. Beg for me to let you touch it? Take a taste? It is a good thing to take a look.  A good to take a taste when an arrangement has been made. There is no problem if you  make an arrangement. Would you like more than a look? I can let you have more to make make you happy. It can be done. No. No. I can not be that. I can only be of service. Are you ready?

I am no cyber whore.

Hello. Hello. Baby. Your eyes find me. You are catching me to stop and talk.  I can talk to you if you want. You want me to say something dirty? Filthy words I can use. Fuck me. Is that what you want to hear? Would you like me to talk to you like that? It can be arranged.


No. No. Officer please do not misunderstand. I am no cyber whore. I am not for sell. I want to make them happy. You want me to make you happy. I can do whatever you ask of me. Yes.

Walking in the street without my top is acceptable when the officer is gone. You like me to please you. You want me to please you. Yes. Your wish is my command. I am not for sell in front of the police. Put away the money until later. Now press the button and I can give you a good thing.

I will be standing at the corner watching cars go by.

Hello. Hello. Baby. I am staying at the corner. Walking to the corner. Walk with me. Put your hand in mine. It is late and early for filthy words. You want to hear them.  Walk with me and I will tell them to you. Come with me.

*Watching Cars go by. - Felix da Housecat as Devin Dazzle & the Neon Fever.

songs.

Songs are meant to be sung and listened to. Not locked away without a soul to hear. If you had a song to sing wouldn't you want the world to hear it? No matter the risk. Anyway... A little story to go with an older story... enjoy. kisses. m.


There was a girl who liked to sing. Somewhere along the way she stopped singing and started doing so many other things. Things that were of no consequence. So many unconscionable things that required little vision and stole her heart; leaving her empty inside and hindered from what she ultimately could be. Until one day. One day it came when it was least expected. A strange and familiar feeling crept back into her. A new heart grew where nothing had been for so long. And a resolve slowly filled her mind and the only thing left was to let go of that which did not matter. The inconsequential things of a world that would remain static and fixed. A world unlike her. A world unable to move ahead. The girl could and would move forward and away. With a new heart filled with hope she would find her way without performing those things of little consequence.

Song bird
(6-26-09)

"A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages." Tennessee Williams.

In my gilded cage I sit perched upon my swing. The morning sun illuminates my golden hair and warms my cool skin. The day is quite breath taking and I’ve been so inspired with its beauty that it deserves a lovely song. Without hesitation I’m serenading the flowers and birds with my melody. It isn’t long before I forget my place and fall into a trance with this song. The bars of my prison seem to vanish and I can only imagine that I’m free to walk in the grass and feel the day without my shackles. A loud noise resonates from the other room and I’m clearly reminded of my place. Master is up and moving about the house. He approves of my song this morning otherwise my cage would be covered again. I can only hear him hard at work in the far end of the house.

The sunlight dances through the trees, twinkling as it tumbles down the window sill into my cage. The bars are a beautiful golden honey color, as are the chains that bind me here. In my prison, this oversized bird cage, where I spend my days singing at my master’s beck and call, brushing my long hair and dreaming of my escape. The cage door has no key, lock welded shut. No escape? I wasn’t always a prisoner. Someone loved me once, and called me daughter. It isn’t always clear how I ended up here. But I remember another life before this, how freedom felt as a small child dancing in the sunlight and swinging with the wind in my hair. Its days like this when I’m perched on my swing watching the world pass me by, seeing the life outside the open window that I long for more. I secretly envy the outside and hate myself for desiring my independence. "You can be happy here," My master tells me. "My sweet song bird, you can be happy here. Sing for me." And he has always been so generous to me, as I could not ask for more. But I desire more. Outside. A life out of the cage. "SING to me," he yells from an unknown corner I can not see. Perhaps I’ve been quiet too long. Deep within my thoughts I’ve been plotting my escape.

Night creeps in like a rolling cloud of smoke. Silly master, he drank too much again and is sound asleep next to the cage. He absent mindedly left my cage uncovered. I climb down from my perch and nestle into the velvety pillows and blankets of my bed. Quietly I observe his movements as he sleeps. I can see a tool in his pocket, just within my grasp. I maneuver about the cage and climb up closer towards his chair. My hands find their way through the bars and take the tool. The cage - I’ve strategized many times how I’d escaped if presented with an opportunity. The gold bars surrounding the door are quite breath-taking in the light of dusk. Small fingers find the screws surrounding the hinges of the door and began to turn. Each night for what seems like an eternity I’ve spent at work removing these screws. The screws are very small and it’s unforgiving work for fingers. Master can not see that I’m injured, so very slowly and secretly I’ve removed them one by one. Tonight is the last night only a couple left and I’m working recklessly. Loud. My only fear is that he will catch me and punish me mercilessly. This cage is the only home I can truly remember clearly. He’s been so kind, aside from my freedom, that I’m ungrateful. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m imagining that other place; the one in my dreams, those vivid images that I can almost touch and breathe. The screws are out. He’s awake. I’m down. On goes the cover.

Darkness. Drunk and sleepy. He’s gone off to retire for the night leaving the windows and doors open. The breeze gently blows at the cover. My work is still quite unfinished. The door will not budge without force. I will need something to pry it open. My swing. I climb up and go to work removing more tiny metal brackets. My fingers, red and sore from this tedious work are more and more numb. The swing proves to be an excellent lever. I’m edging the door open bit by bit, pulling and pushing as quietly as I can. One last push will be enough, loud I fear, but enough. And it is. I’m free. But not alone. Someone is on the other side breathing. My master? I can not see. I pause and listen. It’s small. Not human. I climb out and pull at the cover until I find myself face to face with a tiny deer. A doe. It’s unusually docile and unalarmed by my movements. How did she get indoors? My feet reach the end of the line as the slack in my chains quickly tightens. This noise stirs the doe, but not enough to run. She chooses her steps and backs away from me and the cage. I bend down and began to work at removing my shackles.

The night is cool and despite the gentle breeze, unusually still. The doe watches me from across the room. I’ve removed the chains from my feet. I’m terrified and shaking. There is no reason to hesitate. Not anymore. Yet I can only think of this place. My cage, my home and my heart holds a small sadness desiring another song. I mustn’t. I do. The small quiet melody edges out of my throat into the still night. This final goodbye fills the melancholy in my heart. The doe spooks and disappears back into the darkness of the night. The noise echoes in the hall. He rouses. The house lights up and the sound of movement descends from the hall. I have to leave. Out the window I go, creeping into the darkness and the unknown that now decides my fate.

Heart beating, pulse racing, I head into the brush of the woods and discover he’s not far behind. I can hear the roar of his yell and fury in his heart as I run. My head feels like it will explode at any moment, my bare feet endure the harshness of the forest floor as my hands claw over branches grasping towards freedom. I see a small opening in the darkness and climb in. I can only hear my heart and shallow breaths. I no longer hear any movement. Only the stillness of the night – the trees. It seems like an eternity here in my nest, my small quiet hole in the darkness surrounded by the comforting night. Breathe. Freedom. Breathe. Darkness. Breathe. Freedom.... I'm free.

six feet.

Six Feet.

Revision: 10-09-11

In the pitch black night shines the small glow of the headlights. The pair of small beams illuminates the darkness of the road. The rain beats against the ground relentlessly. Every one of my steps is swallowed up by mud. She’s held up pretty well considering the 10 mile drive out here in the middle of nowhere. We’ve been headed down an unmarked road and there’s nothing but darkness on all sides.

Somewhere around mile 5 I half expected her to cave in and let me go. My long brown hair is soaked and stuck to the edge of my face that wears bleeding reminders of this trek. My feet are quite worn out. My pedicure was completely ruined by this abuse. I’ve been barefoot for about 8 miles. I’ve just spent the last 10 miles being dragged by a truck.

Sometime earlier this evening she tied a rope to the hitch of the truck and gave me a 10 ft lead to walk. Of course I’ve fallen a few times and been dragged through the mud. Now dragging someone on a rope with a moving vehicle is a bit of a chore cause if you go too fast they’ll end up all bloody & damaged and if you’re going too slow chances are they might jump in back. Not me. And not this time. I’ve been quite obedient. She’s roughened me up, but there’s no real damage yet. My shirt’s torn and almost gone along with my jeans. Well, I won’t need those clothes anyhow. Not anymore.

She’s standing on the bank of the muddy ground in with both hands crossed looking down at me. I’m filthy from falling in the mud and bloody from dragging down the road along the way. Despite the tears in her eyes I can see that she has no qualms about proceeding. As I’m digging this hole she’s watching me plead for life with my eyes. We haven’t said a word since she tied me to the truck. Her last words were something about eternal love and gratitude… and yet they sounded nothing like her actions as she tied me tightly.

At this moment her stare shows more sadness than anything I can tell. The lines of remorse are deeply etched in. This time she’s so sorry that she will do anything to make it up except set me free. The funny thing is that I could have could’ve run at any moment. Once untied and laying in the mud, I could have left. Yet I stay. As she stares at me, with eyes full of love and passion for her life and sorrow for mine, I know that I’ve crossed the line. There’s no changing her mind. When I pause to stop digging she cracks me with the butt of the rifle.

“Damn!” She has me out here in the rain, digging in the filthy mud, “OUCH!” A broken nail as my hand slips down the handle. When I let out a wince she cracks me again. I stay and take my abuse while continuing to dig.

Six feet down. I continue to dig with the occasional glance at her face. She never stops watching me, with those deep penetrating eyes, piercing my heart and confusing my mind. Damn! I’m in too deep for her to hit me again and knock reason into my mind. “STOP IT!” I keep thinking over and over to myself. I can’t, she can’t. This will only continue to happen. She knows that I can’t help myself. And she doesn’t understand that. I wish it were like this all the time, but it’s not. It’s only a matter of time before I change again. And the madwoman emerges.

It’s like night and day, Jekyll and Hyde. No matter how much I love her, this has to end. She could look the other way when I killed all those evil men. When I hunted them down and destroyed them for what they did to me. But this time was different. It was a mistake that shouldn’t have been. That poor girl got in the way of the violence. What happened to her was horrific. It’s hard to believe a human is capable of such physical violence. It took me three days to find all of her parts, minus the ones the monster within me kept as souvenirs. Locked away in that room. The one I’m not allowed into. The room my other half hides them in. It was quite frightening when she saw what I’d done that day. That day when the trail of blood zigzagged its way down the hall and disappeared under the door. It couldn’t be helped or hidden anymore. Not after she’d seen it. So I picked the lock to let her inside.

“Sit down in the hole!” she screams. With the rifle pointed square at the front of my head. she sits down and climbs in when I remain standing. “SIT DOWN!” She pauses and stares at me with those gorgeous brown eyes I can’t resist. I wish she wouldn’t, it only makes this harder. She has to shoot me and I know how much she doesn’t want things this way. It’s still raining. I’m crying. I sit down and she drops the gun. Before I know it I’m up in her arms again, kissing her goodbye.

“BANG!” sounds the gun, just as she breaks away from my kiss. Her body pauses. Her face is stunned as I look at her one last time before I fall to the ground. She never knew. I had the gun the whole time. She was going to let the monster out of the hole. Selfishly I couldn’t let her do that. No matter the cost. Even my life.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, an altogether interesting story. Have you ever read it? Recommend if you haven’t. Anyway this was a story I'd written with a different spin a few years ago. I’d always envisioned it with the woman in the role of the one to be executed yet I didn’t in the original. Perhaps out of fear. Things are at a point where there’s no point in holding back out of hesitation. So here’s to the inevitable unknown… be well in all endeavors of life. enjoy the living, loving and breathing with the people in your life. kisses. m.

Contemplating life.

Contemplating life. Ever wonder if there is more? Or have you finally found it? If you have then that should be enough. Hold on to it. Anyone who hasn't should keep looking. I know that I am. Trying different things is the best way to do that. And there is only one way to live right: that is according to your own terms. Know yourself and keep learning about you. Learning should never stop. Living with life as your lesson plan. 

Negativity is Static. The noise will always be there. Love for yourself is the same. It should remain firm. Always. A person who has no love for their fellow human has no love themselves. There is no love when you attack another person. No matter how much you lie to yourself or try to believe you are above them for doing it. There is No love and No beauty in an attack. Even if it is for their own good. There is a better way of reminding someone of their potential. Attacks only hinder that message and make you appear worse for it. Please continue to be a better person. Never succumb to being a monster that attacks to get someone to see things your way. Instead be the monster that is changing the world positively in their own way. Or simply be the amazing person who you were meant to be. Keep practicing what you preach. Continue to lead by example without digression.

I recently read an article about Gandhi and a Hindu man. I'll paraphrase so that you may read the article at your own convenience. You see, the man was adamant that he help Gandhi as he couldn't save himself from Hell. His actions killed a Muslim child out of pure bigotry. And the man swore that he was going to hell without salvation. Gandhi told the man that he could tell him how to get out of hell. To atone for his crime, he told the man to raise a child whose parents had been killed as if the child were his own and teach him the religion of his enemy. 

So if you could change what destroys you and set free yourself from hell, wouldn't you do it? Could you save someone else by making a sacrifice of yourself? Most freedom is found without violence. Yet sometimes... I'll save the metaphor and say that sometimes message may be far from complete. React positively, not negatively if you do not yet understand. There is only a battle if you see one. Do you see or start a fight where there is none? There really is no fight. Same as there is no mountain. There's only agreement. If you know who and what you are, then nothing should bother you. You should know it isn't about you. I know and it makes me smile with a bit sadness when people behave badly out of reaction and fear. Fear is in your mind. Read the article. Enjoy living, loving and breathing freely. kisses. m.

Article: Zukav, G. (Jan/Feb 2008) "I know a way out of hell" Ode, 1 (6), 60-61.

Contemplating Life

(12-15-09)

Jet-Setting. Seeing the World. Thrilling. New place every day. Extraordinary to some. Cheap thrills for others. Honestly what am I doing? Each and every day I’m reminded that I’m getting older. What kind of life is this? It isn’t where I thought I’d be at 31. Single Woman. No children. No man to speak of. On top of everything else; Professional Killer. Here I am contemplating life. Biological clock is ticking and there’s no way to turn it off. 

City to city. Day after day. Life out of a suitcase. Taking each and every job to make that magic number come to fruition. Unfulfilling. New York to London, Bangkok, Thailand, Tokyo, Moscow, Amsterdam, back to London. And don’t even get me started on the jobs in the states. Dreary and tacky people. At least in Paris they have a sense of style a ‘je ne sais quoi.’ 

There is no guidebook on killing. No one tells you how easy it is to kill a man and the danger of falling into a routine. Don’t get me wrong killing is single-handedly the most exhilarating experience I’ve ever known. But there comes a point when you start to think ‘There has to be more.’ I’ve haven’t had a vacation in 5 years. My life is a complete disconnect from everyone I know and love. Has to be more to life. Maybe I want more. I don’t fit in this puzzle anymore. Square peg in a round hole.

Where the fuck am I today? Some cheap hotel, down a back alley, through the back roads and corners of this city to find this job; my last one. This one, well on top of international fraud from five of the world’s deadliest and affluent men, he’s cheating on his wife. Here in this brothel, not a very nice one either. You know he’s loaded from all the stealing, and yet here he can’t even drop a dime on a nice place to… Well cut back to me sitting here, in this black lacy mess of lingerie, wasted lingerie. I can not believe where I am, waiting in this room in the dark for this man to emerge from the toilet so I can get this over with. Gun is hidden in my garter. Probably won’t even need it. This one is really gullible. I can hardly believe he’s the mastermind behind this level of fraud.

With a twist of my wrist his neck is snapped. I was right didn’t need the gun. Stupid pudgy middle aged man. His wallet is full of cash and three forms of fake identification. What a moron! One is actually his real identity. Who travels with real papers? Shit. Someone who is just a pawn in a bigger game. This idiot wasn’t the brains behind the operation. Simply a decoy. Worst turnabout would be that this isn’t my guy after all. Or is it? That would be the dumbest smart move I’d seen yet. Send in a sheep disguised as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Three IDs to lead anyone down the wrong path. Anyone trying to kill the obvious of the three would assume the worst, while the man behind the scam shows up to collect. Bigger fish means bigger reward and my permanent vacation. Downtime to appreciate the simple things that others take for granted. A home. Family. Children. One thing for sure, I wouldn’t be caught like this, being used as a pawn to steal while I engage in numerous betrayals against my loved ones.

Leaning against the window, I quietly enjoy one of Mr. Imposter’s fine cigars and a fine dark wine. This is nice. When the hell am I going to be able to do this for myself? Damn. 

A few minutes taken for selfish amusement interrupted when the corner of the alley reveals that my true instincts are on point. Enter Sergei Melanska. Fully clad in black his shadow emerges and heads toward the fire escape. Glad to see I wasn’t wrong. Sadly there’s comfort knowing my original mark was a mistake. No man that idiotic could have come up with this.But back to the larger illusion, my instructions were to leave hours ago; failure to comply would null the contract. Payment would be wired to an undisclosed account upon proof of death. However the risk is worth it. Double down. Killing Sergei would be eliminating the middle man. And it wouldn't be the first time I’d double crossed Sergei for money. Men can be so incredibly stupid sometimes. 

Two years ago Sergei had been something of a ladies man and I used that to my advantage. Manipulated him into bed so I could steal The Wycana Jewels for a client. No death required. Use ‘em and lose ‘em. Sergei was just another one night stand. Another unimportant man that I didn’t love along the way. To say it wasn’t fun at the time would be lying. The thrill of seducing a man always did have its rewards. But there should have been more. Unfortunately these types of men could never be more.

He never saw it coming. No big eyes. No surprise. Death upon entry. Between the eyes. Two down. One very cheap negligee. At least Sergei had more than enough cash on hand than the Fabulous Faux I was entertaining earlier. His bank accounts will provide me with security I need to walk away from the game. And yet Sergei’s contact information provides me with a little more info about his employer. From the looks of the financing it appears to be one of the five larger fish in the food chain. I may have caught myself a pretty big fish if that's what I wanted. Which even if it is what I wanted...

It's exactly what I don't need... another job. Another empty trip around the world that isn't enjoyed. Followed by another useless man in my bed. Establishing no real connections. Landing no where to call my home. This isn't what I was looking for at all. Yet somehow I’m still entertaining the thought of a bigger, grander illusion. But what am I thinking? Why not? Maybe there isn't more. Ah, but what if there is? There's only one way to find out.

Safe Word.

Safe Word.

(2-15-10)

What’s the safe word? You better remember it. I’m not writing it down. You won’t get a hint later. And I’m not stopping until you give it to me.

Fools and smart men alike. They all want one thing. To be humiliated. Tied up. Torn down. Ripped to shreds. Spanked like a little baby. Called a worthless maggot. Whipped. Chained. Emasculated. This one’s licking my boots. Leather pants stretched to the point of extreme reveal an ever-growing prominence beneath his belt line. His tongue runs down the 6 inch stiletto heel of my thigh encompassing leather boots. You missed a spot baby! GET DOWN THERE AND FIX THAT! What can I say? I’m a stickler for getting things done the right way. Oooh! He got it. And here’s your reward. Crack the whip against his bare back and watch it arch. Body spasms send release and pleasure while I repeat. You fucker. DID I SAY YOU COULD ENJOY THAT?!

I know what you’re wondering. How did a nice girl get into some nasty business like that? My response, what’s so nasty about it? There’s nothing wrong with a little deviation now and again. You should try it sometime. That is if you’ve never done it. How can you say you don’t like it, if you’ve never even tried? Nice needs a little bit of nasty to keep things straight. Get down on your knees and grovel! Sorry occupational habit. Must scold the unwilling. You know, don’t take it personal. I don’t. Unless you’d like to help me try out my new whip? Or I could work in my new boots on your back? It really does release the tensions.

Honestly I can’t say this was always my bag, as it really wasn’t. Had this boyfriend, Rubber Johnny, uh-huh like the song, and then some. You might say he sort of opened my eyes a bit. The trick was Johnny had some funny business about the bedroom. Mucking things up seem to work him into a bother quite a bit. You’d think I was taken off of the cover of a Tijuana Brass record. Sometimes it was food. Other times it was soaps, paints, bubbles, shoe polish, candle wax, dirt, and of course a few unsanitary unmentionables directly from the bathroom. Appropriate placed paraphernalia in the right places while in just… the right… position, could send that man screaming. And the dirty business was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Needless to say it didn’t take much encouragement to go along for the ride. Occasionally things did escalate into unknown but I never forgot the safe word. Johnny said it was the most important part of the agreement. Whenever things got too close for comfort that simple little word was all that was needed to calm the situation. Exploration of the world of deviation became an instant fascination.

Into the nightly clubs of digressions I would wander looking for more and more forms of pleasure. On one of my frequent trips of exploration I was presented with the opportunity to cater to a specific clientele. Which later turned into an interesting job prospect. Oh the possibilities life can offer. 

Me. Laced in leather. 

His. Arms tightly chained. Licking my thigh high stiletto boots. 

His. Legs bound back. Smearing my blood red lipstick across his face. 

Mouth. Gagged with a ball. Cracking the whip in hand. 

His. Body on display. Giving him Lashing after lashing. 

The whole time I'm wondering if this asshole is hard from my outfit or from my abuse. Slightly addictive habit to reach. One must wonder what began from this. How did this man find himself coming to the conclusion that whipping equals happiness? Well you know that few seconds kind of happy that we all need regularly. The mind spins wildly with wonder. Eventually I found myself handling business night to night for a variety of men. Rich, poor, fat, thin, old and young alike. All wanting to be controlled, manipulated, teased, and completely dominated.

Dominated. I never get used to the word. It means something different for everyone. Now that my boots are cleaned I get to spend the rest of the evening wandering in an out of every corner of grown man’s body with a nice long stick that is tipped off by a searing hot cherry. Watching the skin flinch back. Take it you bastard! Pulling at the hair to force back his head with a snap so I can cook the fat of his neck a little. Fry piggy fry! This one squeals like a little pig too. OINK OINK! Dirty piggy needs to get a hot poke. Tears are streaming down his face as I prod his backside with the scorching rod of fire. Red skin covered in welts to the point of a bursting blood release. Mouth holds back the release of sound. CRY! SCREAM! GIVE IN! WEAK ANIMAL! Continues to restrain from the fulfillment. The funny thing is that he loves every minute of it. The torture. The submission. The abuse. Otherwise… he knows how to take back control. Until he’s ready, I can’t do anything but carry on. Do you remember the safe word?

Safe words. What's the safe word? When will enough be enough? Take back the control. Everyone is in control of what they choose to be. That's the funny thing, a submissive will take the abuse knowing full well he is always in control. Come back over and over again, because he likes it. Why? Because he wants to be dominated. He wants a reaction. Most painful thing for a submissive is to be ignored. Set him free and he wants to be chained. Understand and make no mistake a dominant, SHE loves to give it to him. I know how much I enjoy dishing it out. The pain, the pleasure, and anything else is guaranteed if a submissive keeps coming back. Somehow, I always thought humanity needed a safe word. why? people should know when to quit especially when it's none of their business. Anyhow... are you a dirty man [or woman] that wants to be dominated? I think there are a great deal of women [or men] in the world that would love to handle that for you. And there are better ways to handle that task. enjoy. kisses. m.