Calling the Moon Closer

“All at once
I find her taking root
in the soft earth beside me.
It’s hard to wake her.
Even when her eyes are open
she cannot decide
how to breathe—
whether to draw her breath
like a young girl
or let her leaves absorb
the light.
Still
she calls the moon closer,
and lets me hold her
in my arms,
and all the while she shelters me,
the branches are filled
with a silver light,
as if the moon had slipped
inside.”

—  Howard Schwartz, “Calling the Moon Closer,” from The Library of Dreams (BkMk Press, 2013)
Published in: on March 15, 2014 at 12:21 pm  Leave a Comment  
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“You have 6 ta…

“You have 6 tattoos.
Full lips. Good, strong hands.
You have 7 freckles on your back,
they map out the big dipper.

You have a scar on your left arm
you carved in high school.
The first time you pulled off your t shirt
I traced the line with my fingers and fell in love
with your strength.

You are a hero
for living from that moment
to this one. You never need to apologize
for how you chose to survive

Your body is a map I know every inch of
and if anyone else
were to kiss me, all they would taste
is your name.”

—      Clementine von Radics

Published in: on August 7, 2013 at 12:04 pm  Comments (1)  
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Damn.

Damn.

Published in: on June 1, 2013 at 9:36 am  Leave a Comment  
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Farewell Sophie

I remember the day you came home. Mom was wearing her winter coat (which was as big as she was!) and holding her belly. I was 16 & sitting at the kitchen table. Startled I got up and asked “MOM ARE YOU OK!?” and she went “shhhhh” and unzipped her jacket a little. The tiniest tan nose I ever did see popped out! I wanted to name you “Clue” because of the adorable paw print on the back of your head, but Sophie won.

 

13 years later I am grateful I could say my goodbyes on Easter. We’ve had some incredible times together. Thank you for the memories, the tail wags, the laughter, the kisses. Hell, I’ll even miss the incessant howling and barking. I take peace in knowing that your last day was, although chilly, perfect.

 

Mom wanted to wait a little longer, but you were tired. I could see that your body was ready to rest. You were having issues with walking; even the tiniest stair step was a struggle. Getting outside in time was becoming more and more infrequent between the time it took you to move and the nerve damage going on in your back legs. I’m glad you were able to make it to Cape May; it was always your favorite place. Mom sat and ate lunch with you in the sun before taking you to the vets office. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through right now. I hope you understand she always wanted the best for you.

 

Farewell Sophie. Say hi to your big brother Max when you get to the summerlands.Image(Little baby Sophie cuddling up next to her big brother Max)

 

Published in: on April 2, 2013 at 5:52 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Thing About Crotch Shots…

I love the sexy bits. I am not here to rant about how genitals are gross. I’m here post my opinion on the crotch shot. The cock shot, you’ve been accosted by it. you get a message in your inbox from someone you’ve been chatting up and BAH! there’s a shotty pic of an unwanted hard on in.your.fucking.face.
But wait, there’s more!

There’s the profile that is empty sans a sentence or two, and only one photo… what is that pic? RUN FOR THE HILLS ITS A COCK! Or you’re looking through someones profile, nice and happy, oh look, there is a picture of them on the beach -next- what a lovely photo. Oh they went to London, how great for them -next- oh here’s a..GOD DAMNIT! -close-

I did not ask to be assaulted by your junk.

I understand that your personal profile is what you want to put on it. But for the love of Gods I can’t figure out why someone would think putting a photo of their cock up is a good idea? Are there any persons out there who enjoy seeing this? I’m less upset when there are other photos of persons daily life up as well, but I personally lose a little respect for someone if they post a close up of their junk for no other reason than its a close up of their junk.

I am aware that I am bitching mostly about penis havers, and their belief that their penis is a god and must be photographed in a public bathroom with poor lighting and lotsa shadow with shaky hands as fast as possible before they get caught. I have the same issue for those with vaginae, and with those with breasts. I bitch less about them not because I prefer them, but because said havers often DON’T post without a purpose.

When their bits are posted its either more than just bits, or its showing off a tie/piercing/enhancement/scene where it is no longer bits for bits sake. Yes I’m generalizing. I’ll pull randomly 100 profiles of people identifying as male, and 100 profiles of people identifying as female and show you the results if you like. I assure you, as an avid perver of adult oriented social networks, the ratio to gratuitous cock shots to tit/cooter shots is crazy.

I love seeing photos people post of nudity, of art, of scenes from their kink or daily life. I enjoy genitorture photos, pics of implants or crotch ties… If you did something you’re proud of show it off regardless of if your crotch is in it. There are photos even in my profile of my nude body, breasts, and of play partners nude body. But in all of those shots, the focus isn’t intended to be “OMG TITS!” or “PENIS!” its showing a tie, bruising, or other moments of “look what I did!”

I guess one could make the argument that showing off your crotch for nothing more than a crotch shot could be identified as something you are proud of or something you can do. But really it come off, to me anyhow, as “Puberty treated me well” or as “look, my penis does what it is designed to do”. There really isn’t a level of skill or talent involved in either scenario.

So what is your opinion on the (not really) obligatory crotch shot? Like, love, annoyed? Do you have one posted, and why? do you loathe them like I do for other reasons? I would love to hear others opinions on this topic.

Published in: on January 19, 2013 at 11:17 pm  Comments (1)  
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On Being Adopted

I was reading a link at Jezebel.com about a womans journey through her gender transition and her search for her bio parents. One of the first comments that popped up was from a person calling themselves Winona discussing their thoughts:

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I’m pretty fucking open about a lot of things, my family history being one of them. So I added my two cents. Midway through I realized that this was totally a blog that should happen, and well here. Here is my thoughts on being an adopted child who seeks out their biological family.

 

“My sister and I are adopted from two different families. Our parents were honest from the beginning with us, answering difficult questions, calming our fears, and doing parenty things that parents do. Although my sister and I are raised in the same house, we have two very different stories that have shaped our lives.
My bio parents are dead. They died during the adoption process, I have virtually no memory of them, and have never met my siblings. I know I have two older brothers and two older sisters that were taken away by the state before I was born. I know they are scattered in Northern California, Oregon, and Washington. I do not think they know I was ever created. I have always longed to find my family, but am held back with the fear that they will not want me in their life for whatever reason. I don’t know why I have this yearning. I think for me its both logical and curiosity. I want to hear stories of my parents. I want to see who got whose traits. I want to know medical conditions, who gave me my RA, who gave me my impeccable eyesight. I want to know if my forehead wrinkles are nature or nurture. I want to know my biofamilies experiences. Do I have my mother or fathers hands? I don’t think my biosiblings or any biorelatives I meet will ever feel like anything more than a part of my life. My mom is my mom, and even knowing I didn’t come from her blood hasn’t changed a thing.

My sister’s bio parents are alive and well. We as a family kept in touch with her biomom from birth, and with her biodad for the first few years of her life (which has its own fucked up story for another day) Thanks to the magic of the internet my sister was able to find her biodad and now has an incredible relationship with him, his wife, their children, and their family. She has also been able to maintain her relationship with her biomom and meet her husband. It’s kinda a phenomenal story. She did this all with the support of our mom and me, kept us involved every step of the way, and was willing to let it go if one of us was not comfortable with the process. My sister knew how terrifying it could be for our mom, fears of rejection and replacement and who knows what else. She also knew how sensitive this could be for me, that I could never meet my parents. Not once did anyone feel replaced, rejected, or like they weren’t part of the process. Meeting my sisters biofamilies was just like meeting estranged cousins for the first time. It felt like we all belonged together.

I can’t speak on behalf of every adopted person out there, but I can speak for my family. There is a natural curiosity of it, knowing that there is this whole other unit that gave you away… It creates questions thought up in your childhood that dwell and grow with you into adulthood. I will never stop loving my mom. I will never think of another woman as my mom. She’s the one that picked me out of a cabbage patch, taught me how to be myself, and has supported every single adventure I’ve gotten myself into. There is no way my bio-family can compare to what she has done for me.”

 

So yeah. I’ve known since I was a small child that family isn’t always blood, and have lived my life knowing this. I think being adopted has given me the heart I have; I know what it’s like to be taken in as if you were family, and it is something I strive to do with the people in my life. With that I leave you with our family christmas photo from a couple years back. Adoption: it’s serious business.

-Me

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Published in: on November 25, 2012 at 6:05 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Irrational Fears

I have them. I have a lot of them. Landing, mayonnaise, creature under my bed, creature in my closet, loud noises, going blind (i memorize walking paths and how many steps it takes to get places), million legged things….

The one that to this day though still gets me is costume events.

I love costume events. I do. However for some strange reason I am terrified they are all a prank when I get an invite. I know my friends are awesome and are an incredible clan, but the moment one throws a costume themed party I’m terrified that they’re all doing this to get me to show up in costume and mock me. Every.Damn.Time. I don’t know where this fear came from, and I don’t know how to stop it.
I’ve been working as a bartender part time now for a while and i love it. Halloween being on a Monday meant that we all could play dress up this past weekend for work; which is AWESOME. However the thought of being the only one in costume even though I talked to the other two girls on shift 18 million times was enough to make me almost show up in mundanes.
But then I’d be the only one NOT dressed up and that’s just as terrifying to me. So I dressed up and brought a change of clothes with me just in case. Logically I know that no one has any desire to do this to me, any reason to do it, and I have no rational reason to be afraid of this. I’m just being a stupid chickenshit. Doesn’t stop it from happening.
Needless to say everyone did dress up and it was an awesome weekend despite October dressing up as Christmas for Halloween. Thanks for listening to my plight.
-Me

Published in: on November 4, 2011 at 2:51 pm  Leave a Comment  

This man is an unsung hero.

Published in: on September 16, 2011 at 11:19 am  Leave a Comment  

TED: Circle of Caring

 

Published in: on August 31, 2011 at 2:50 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Living Dinosaurs

 

True Story: The first thing I ever wanted to be when I was a child was a unicorn. The second thing was an archeologist who specialized in the transition between the Triassic to Jurassic periods of the Mesozoic era. I was like 5.

Published in: on August 31, 2011 at 2:30 pm  Leave a Comment  
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