Now I get it! It’s sad that when it comes to passion, hysteria (evoked by true passion) has gone out of style. The world has become superficial. There are no more “masters.” Your work has an ability to grab folks where they live and “shake” them. It’s edgy and it’s in-your-face. Most people can’t deal. It either brings out their worst traits (greed, avarice, envy…) or makes them feel as though someone/thing has been thrown into them, crawled through their psyche and swum through their soul…either way, your “derangement” is totally wasted –ends up bringing you grief, misery or abject “pissed-off-itude” until you find a way back to “sanity” by telling them to fuck-off and the project becomes a way to keep the creative genius alive…to verify he exists… to feed the spirit…and it gets better (I did see the difference between earlier and later episodes.)
What you also need (well, what I need)…what I’ve always needed…is to find a soul somewhere with whom to share something in common. I’m beginning to fear that I’ll be forced to live out my life alone…in a dreamlike state, yearning for more than is really there. I can’t allow myself to believe that’s true yet.
Sanity, while over-rated, I suppose, does have its own rewards. With a little serenity (as I prefer to call it,) you can take on a new client or task and remain in control. When that becomes burdensome, you can always lose your mind for a second or two. I do it all of the time (that is one of my stabilizers!) When you get back, rest assured, the ingrates are waiting because while you’ve been gone and they’ve had to do it on their own they’ve discovered, if they have a keen business sense, where their talents really lie.
Unfortunately, a keen business sense seems to go hand-in-hand with having a knack for discovering a weakness in others and preying on it for personal gain.
you recognize that trait in them and are beyond their control. So, they can’t get to you now (well, maybe a little, but only in the weaker moments) or cause you any lasting damage. You just might find a way to turn the tables on them. True talent MUST prevail.
And you have true talent, Harry. –r
Aug 9, 2011 at 12:54 PM,
…the ideas of lunchtime poker and after-work tactical seductions while wearing the mask is something I’ve never considered! I can see that, indeed, there are bountiful opportunities to be explored…but let the mask down? when would I? and why? or would I allow it to be removed for me? –is the thought of removing it titillating? Well, I’m wearing it now, but I’m thinking I might take it off later…if I notice there’s two of me.
I have a new mask made every so often because whether we see it or not, we’re deteriorating minute by minute. I don’t like that, so I simply decided to put a stop to it! I’d rather decay in occasional chunks than constantly, bit by bit…
Did you know that I was once committed to a home for incurable romantics?
Tell me more about you. Who you are…what you are…Where you’ve been. Do you wear a mask? –r
August 09, 2011 4:12 PM
You push all the male buttons with those opening questions. Not a gambler, nor a predator. That would provide ample reason for the mask in a corporate work farm. Crucial for self-preservation. But the thought of exploration and the possibilities of bounty therein…ahhh there is a thought to flare the nostrils of the mind. To question with mask or without is never an issue. The mask belongs where it is though all else may find itself revealed and even ravaged. What counts remains safe and secure. Scratches heal. Scars, not so much. But the next question shows the promise of the bounty within. “Is the thought of removing it titillating?” Oh, I felt that. Would you allow it to be removed? Why would you? There is no form of life outside the mask to relate to. Who would dare to enter the mask in search of you? Why would they ever need to leave? If you were both identical. Both decaying in occasional chunks, but not really noticing any more. Too busy searching for a difference in each other. Deeper. And deeper.
I heard they had found a cure for that. They call it marriage. I tried it a few times. Didn’t work. Romance still alive and uncured.
I would tell about myself but then you would run screaming from the room. Suffice to say, nothing easy this way comes. I do exactly what I want. I am more or less self-indulgent. I have been called “The Legend,” but I am so much more than that. I have an ever-changing repertoire of masks, much like the street magicians of Han Ku District of the Forbidden City. Hundreds upon hundreds of masks for the delight of each of my audiences. I can honestly say that I do not know what I would find if I looked behind my last mask. It takes so much to keep each of the many masks in play. I am totally directed towards the needs of my audience. How to slip out their darkest secrets. How to play to their deeply hidden vices. This is tiresome work. What I am is exhausted. But I shall rise again. In another form. Without need of mask.
Aug 12, 2011 at 6:03 PM
I have a knack for pushing male buttons even when I’m not trying to. That’s seems to be a female trait more so than a male one.
Interestingly, while the mask preserves those parts of me that, otherwise, deteriorate minute by minute, it doesn’t seem to contribute greatly to total self-preservation, I have wondered if that’s because it is an exact likeness? On the other hand, I wore it to work as an experiment…I felt empowered to know that my essence was behind a mask and that I wore a red thong underneath my black corporate attire… and none of the other “suits” were the wiser. It was delicious…my own little secret. I just might make that a habit.
But most all of the time, the mask seems only to solve the problem of minute-by-minute deterioration. A man sees only what he needs to (that’s usually only the “wrapper”) — not realizing (or caring) that it’s only half (or less) of who I am…Perhaps, in a momentary flash of illumination, he gets a hint that he has barely scratched the surface and attempts to fill in the other half ..during which time he appears to be concentrating on no one but me…only he’s not. He’s still preoccupied by the “half-woman” in his mind’s eye…saying and doing all the wrong things. It’s annoying and you eventually have a melt-down, but the romantic remains alive and well.
That’s what got me committed. I must say that I was shocked by the rules that were strictly enforced. Such as residents could never gather in pairs!
Still, the hardened romantics managed. Outbreaks of passion took place in steam vents and crawl spaces…and once in an abandoned water tank (that one was me.) it so happened he was one of the staff; an obedience trainee. A reformed romantic who regressed when he met me. I got off easy with solitary confinement, but he was forced onto an all-starch diet for punishment. It completely destroyed the rest of his life. he slowly turned into a practicing psychologist named Guy Motanky. I made the mistake of marrying him, divorcing him and then letting him back into my life TWICE only to discover that his sensual side was entirely erased! Romantically speaking, he was never heard from again. So, marriage is definitely NOT a cure.
This brings to the surface a bleak period in my life. Up to now, I’ve been able to block most of it out. I remember that the worst part of all was my sense of helplessness. Muscle groups void. Hand-eye coordination, a joke. Psychologically, it left me with scars. A lack of self-confidence. A deep-seated feeling of no-can-do. It’s a shame we’re so weak when it matters the most… we are reduced to functional failures. Quite a pity. (Sometimes it’s good to dig these things up… I think it’s called “self-discovery.”)
Oh well… I did, eventually, find my self — I left him and his/my entire family of 13 years and grew a wart (in each case of a sad love that’s what happens to me…some warts are larger and darker than others…depends on the man, but only while forming. Then after a while I’m basically numb. Until the next one… or until I cut it off. The ones you have to cut off leave very deep scars. Others simply diminish on their own over time…becoming mere freckles.
Of one thing I am certain — love is dangerous –leaves its mark, for sure! But the romantic remains alive and well… what’s up with that?
I’ve shared so much. Please tell me about yourself… do you want me to beg for it? Do you want me to promise I won’t scream or run out of the room? –r
August 12, 2011 11:00 PM
Secrets you can feel. Now there is a wonderful self-indulgence. Only you can feel the tightness of the cord in between you. Only you can imagine the muscular reaction in those “suites” if they could but glimpse what you alone feel. The tightness. The warmth. The yielding flesh of it all. How their fingers would tingle at just the sight of it. But never the touch.
But most all of the time, the mask seems only to solve the problem of minute-by-minute deterioration. A man sees only what he needs to (that’s usually only the “wrapper”) — not realizing (or caring) that it’s only half (or less) of who I am…
Now we get to the raison d’être of the mask itself. To hide that which is misleading. The “Wrapper.” The magnet that drives the man to be everyone but himself. If he could only “have” the “Wrapper.” If he could only seduce the “Wrapper” with the right selection of words or random acts of flattery. I f he could just make her submit to his need for “Wrapper” dominance. If any two of these achievements could be his he could truly consider himself to be “wrapper” dapper.
Idiot. There is too much here for your small mind to comprehend. You are blinded by the trophy-ness of the first thing you see. And when period bloat or Thanksgiving Dinner pushes out an extra 5/16ths of an inch to your Trophy you are ready to ship her off to Gold’s Gym. A Mask can stop a lot of that madness right in its tracks. An extra layer of cool.
August 13, 2011 7:00 PM
Perhaps, in a momentary flash of illumination, he gets a hint that he has barely scratched the surface and attempts to fill in the other half…during which time he appears to be concentrating on no one but me…only he’s not. He’s still preoccupied by the “half-woman” in his mind’s eye…saying and doing all the wrong things.
Control requires attention. “Oh my God, that body comes with a brain. I gotta work for this,” is usually how it is expressed. You are absolutely right. He (and his boys) call it the “Mind Fuck.” But they still think
the shortest way to a woman’s mind is through her pantyhose. They say and do the wrong things because they want the wrong things. They want to be on top. Dominance of the Prize. “I want men to judge me by this woman so I must bring her under my command,” is what they are thinking when they feign sensitivity. The “Half-Woman” is all that counts.
It’s annoying and you eventually have a melt-down, but the romantic remains alive and well.
The romantic is kept alive by the hope…the promise…of something better ahead. That’s why disposing of the disappointments gets easier and easier as time goes by.
That’s what got me committed. I must say that I was shocked by the rules that were strictly enforced. Such as residents could never gather in pairs!
One person screaming in the void is a lunatic. Two people whispering in the dark is a conspiracy. The first rule of gaining power.
Still, the hardened romantics managed. Outbreaks of passion took place in steam vents and crawl spaces…and once in an abandoned water tank (that one was me.)
There you are. The risk of the climb, high over the rooftops of sleeping nobodies. There you are. A black knife cutting through the midnight fog to a pre-destined rendezvous. Will he dare show? For you? Of course he would brave anything. Everything. To touch what he can only dream of knowing.
August 14, 2011 1:45 PM
It so happened he was one of the staff; an obedience trainee. A reformed romantic who regressed when he met me. –r
August 14, 2011 2:00 PM
Of course he regressed. Young nubile cannot compare with well-studies techniques of seduction. They have no idea. And neither did he….Until you.
August 14, 2011 2:30 PM
I got off easy with solitary confinement, but he was forced onto an all-starch diet for punishment. It completely destroyed the rest of his life. It would have been “easy” if it ended there. You thought there was more to be had. Absence may have lead to the destruction.
He slowly turned into a practicing psychologist named Guy Motanky. I made the mistake of marrying him, divorcing him and then letting him back into my life TWICE only to discover that his sensual side was entirely erased! Romantically speaking, he was never heard from again. So, marriage is definitely NOT a cure. –r
“It’s almost certain that one of us will fall short of that promise and that will cause me to grieve.” Let us start at this moment. The moment one of us falls short of the promise. Let us start with the promise. –r
Aug 17, 2011 at 4:36 PM,
The only promise that counts. Being together until death us do part. That is the most romantic commitment anyone can make to another person. Anything short of that is a half promise. So we need to resolve between ourselves, what it would take for us to make such a promise and stand by it through thick and thin, year after year. Not a marriage vow. We have both broken too many of those for another one to mean anything. A much stronger bond. Something sealed in a common endeavor so powerful, that once it is consummated no one else on the planet can gain access to the areas and emotions involved. What is that endeavor? What do we have to do to each other so well that neither of us can endure the thought of not doing it to each other from now on? Period. An obsession. Perhaps even an addiction. What is missing in our day that would make our lives complete? What craving would it satisfy that would put every single move… in its shadow?
Does the need for such a mutual interaction exist between us? What do you think you want above all else? What would you do to get it? This is a test.
Aug 21, 2011 at 4:36 PM,
I am wearing the mask today. I like the idea that it adds “an extra layer of cool.” I like it a lot, in fact, and now embrace its value even more with this added perspective. I do still cleave to the hope…the promise… of something better ahead. And, I now also understand, as you’ve pointed out, that self improvement has resulted from these years of trial and tribulation. The lessons were taught and have been internalized. So yes, disposing of the disappointments has become easier, but only because I do so much more quickly. I’ve become adept at spotting the “hopeless” case…that not entirely bad man (of whom there are legions,) who doesn’t get “it.” It helps my complexion and I now understand those men can never be, as Shakespeare wrote, “true lovers.”
But, despite so many irksome, absurd, troublesome behaviors, symptoms and inconveniences, phantasmagorical fits and passions which seem incidental to most men, it is those few good and graceful qualities in a “true lover” that keep me going…and the quest for THOSE qualities keeps the romantic in me alive and well.
You’ve grown so wise since I first knew you. Much has transpired in… how many years has it been?
Once I dreamed that I offered my wisdom to misguided men as you have offered your wisdom to me. I thought it might help other women too. These men were pathetic, alright. But I could help them, so I did. It was the least I could do. I made appointments and had groups of them meet me in a lecture hall.
Each one of them came to see me alone, ignoring the others who were in the group (…a function of male ego?) I noted it because women would have been socializing with each other and comparing notes. One group was all fitness instructors, quite an interesting lot…I gazed upon each one and began describing what I knew they were missing…the emotional life, the sensuous, sumptuous fulfillment…and they started to squirm…perspiring noticeably…Soon I went into graphic details, and the more I went into the more they perspired. I tell you, those tank tops were soaking! Well, at the crucial moment, I commended them on their splendid achievements…those magnificent lumps all over their bodies…which were going to waste…on display, yes, but un-grazed, un-fondled and un-cherished. In a minute or two they were out of control, gyrating right there in their seats! When they finally calmed down, they began strolling out, not many lumps still unattended. (Now that, to me, is the meaning of a mind fuck!)
The next group of men who came to see me were dentists. Now, they were, by far, the most passionate (and they were the biggest liars.) You could see it in their eyes the moment they sat down. I have yet to figure out why, but in dental school, I think they’re taught that pain is pleasure. And then they’re made to feel that which gets them aroused and eager to pass it along…I had begun to push their buttons with my opening questions…to see their nostrils begin to flare (it didn’t require too much effort on my part) when I woke up… perhaps in self-defense. –r
August 21, 2011 9:49 PM
“Once I dreamed that I offered my wisdom to misguided men as you have offered your wisdom to me.”
What a delicious, yet challenging dream for you. The ultimate male/female confrontation. One against many. Physical specimens who could easily overpower a lesser object of their will. But for you behind your mask, not even a consideration. You will take your pleasure in this dream. And your pleasure is to have them drop their male pretenses. Admit their weaknesses in the presence of your rock-hard confidence. Confidence you could give them, once they drop to their knees and open their mouths to take it from you. You have so much to feed these muscle-bound sucklings. Of course they will posture their testosterone toys but you know the truth of it. The minute the strived to get you alone, their weakness made themselves evident. Use them for your moment’s amusement, they are of no consequence. The only purpose of the dream is learning a few new moments of pornographic humor and to reinforce your primacy. The Dentists and the women were simply scouting missions for more fruitful game. Not so fixated on the physical hardness and ultimate softness that defines their total romantic resource. The Dentists all have oral fixations. Endless women on their knees. You have exactly what is needed to change their perspective. The Mask of Redundant Coolness. Guaranteed to inspire instant shrinkage whenever encountered. Instant loss of purpose and direction. Resulting in quick cover-up and hasty withdrawal from the once-dominant Dentists assembled.
Well-done. I will enjoy re-dreaming it tonight
Aug 21, 2011 at 4:59 PM
I am presented daily with the challenge not to become jaded. I’ve taken to hypnotizing myself on the weekends using the face in the mirror technique. I simply stand there and gaze at myself, until I’m in total control. I’ve perfected the art. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work on anyone else. I utter a couple of random commands and, believe me, I’m quick to obey…usually, I reveal my innermost feelings about something…someone. I need to be hypnotized because my feelings are buried too deep. I don’t even know what they are. Sometimes I have off days when hypnosis doesn’t work at all.
And sometimes I get distracted by… (mercy me!) …the picture you’ve painted. You are on your knees…prayerful…on the brink of insanity. The image enthralls; then consumes me. Knowing your anxious anticipation empowers me –such anticipation is responsible for tremors that register on the Richter scale, you know. You are hovering in such a fragile place, disoriented; teetering on the edge of a deliciously indescribable feeling.
Yet, I’ll make you wait a little longer because I know that when we swear, each to the other, still in the wake of near-violent eruptions from secret places, emanating shivers and sighs – That’s the moment we’ll feel the need to vow such passion to be infinite and undying. It’s almost certain that one of us will fall short of that promise and that will cause me to grieve. So I continue to measure.
Still, I desperately want to believe in the promise, so I’ll most certainly test you…and test you…and test you. I am thinking to myself: can he be as silly as he is passionate? It, after all, takes a “true lover” to be silly.
Ahhhhh, this will take some time. –r
Aug 21, 2011 at 5:24 PM,
The body is a fragile vessel. What enraptures is what the body contains. Minute nerve endings that pickup the slightest breath on the most slender strand of curly hidden hair. The signals of rapt anticipation. Transmitted to the intake of breath so slight, one would have to be feral to sense it. This is more exciting than anything revealed by moonlight.
Then there are those generators of shock that respond so totally to the bite of icy touch, or slippery wetness. They work where the eyes can only detect the goose bumps or the single bead of sweat racing down the middle of the back towards that delicious little sting. I enjoy the nearness of it. A time to learn what it holds prisoner. What brings out the groans and growls of animal reaction? Or even the occasional inaudible scream?
Continue with your tests. I will continue to learn from them. And you will tell me all I need to know for you to suck me into you. Right to the very last drop.