I Don’t Know What I’m Saying

Souls, so intertwined, finding each other through space and time. Again and again. They meet and fall in love. But is it meant to be, or is it just a force of habit? Was the jealousy true, or just a flash of loneliness? Did she really want him, or just someone, to share her life with? Is it love or just comfort she finds and clings to? The easy path is rarely the best, but neither is the most difficult always the right way. Life is hard, but it doesn’t always have to be a challenge. Love is easy, relationships are complicated. And not always meant to last. Take from each one what you can, but don’t cling to dead and dying things. Let them go. Give them peace.

One more chance. Your last chance. We say these things often, but do we really mean it? How many last chances, how many times do we say one more? When is enough enough? How do we know? Bible says forgive 70 times 7 times, so that you, too, may be forgiven. Not so you count the number of times, but to emphasize unlimited forgiveness. But there’s a difference between forgiveness and staying in a bad situation. You can forgive and still leave.

Do your best. Don’t give up. Quitters never prosper. We are trained from an early age to keep trying. To stick with any commitment you make, never go back on an agreement or vow. Your integrity depends on it. We form bonds and cling to them ever so tightly. And yet, friendships are destroyed with a careless word. Relationships end over single wrong doings, real or imagined. The divorce rate is ridiculously high. We are pressured to hang on, and yet so often we let go. Sometimes for good reasons, some times for bad, and sometimes for no reason at all.

I don’t know what I’m saying. Words are just falling out of my fingertips. I saw this quote today: “Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.” ~Isaac Asimov It is true for me as well. I think through my fingers, ramble more freely in written or typed words than I do aloud. I don’t worry so much about whether I’m making sense, or speaking clearly or loudly enough. I can just keep going and going, with no concern for whether I’m being heard.

I don’t think today’s post is going to make sense, but I’m not sure I am ready to make sense right now. I’m okay with letting everything continue to spin. Maybe it’ll make more sense when it finally comes out if it’s had enough time to spin and whirl and simmer and boil. I let the top off now and again. I let the steam out, so it doesn’t just explode the pot. Just a little longer and it will be ready to serve. Monkey brain delight. Fresh from the skull.

My Friend the Blacksmith

A great Valentine’s weekend. Hung out with folk at the poolhall on Friday. Got to sleep in on a Saturday. Then the big party. I had a new red dress with holes down the sides and my shiny boots. I blushed as red as my dress at first until I got used to it.

Halfway through the night, I tugged on his sleeve and asked about The Box. Can we open it? I hadn’t been drinking at all. I’d be careful. I got the box and we found a quiet room.

A while back, we learned that our friend was a blacksmith. About a year ago, he brought the blacksmith an idea. They started collaborating on the design of a metal shrew’s fiddle. Measurements were taken. Plans drawn. Pieces shaped and tested and reshaped. Hinges were built and broke and made stronger. The metal was heated, scrubbed and oiled to remove the shiny. Last month the blacksmith gave us the locking pin. Almost done. Last week the blacksmith gave me The Box: large and white, and sealed up tight. I gave it to him, but a busy week left it closed until 11pm Saturday night.

I handed him the box and he pointed to the floor. I knelt eagerly, only slightly awkward in the stretchy dress. He pulled up the tape and removed the paper-wrapped bundle. My eyes were shining as he unwrapped our new fiddle. I took the dulled pin from around my neck and pulled the string out as he removed the shiny place-holder pin from the device. I lifted my hair and he placed it around my neck. Left wrist, then right. I watched his hands as he slid the locking pin home and secured it tight. Finally.

We had the toy we’d been waiting for. Heavy and secure. Fit perfectly to my neck and wrists. Not so tight on the neck as to risk panic or immediate danger. The wrists deliciously squeezed in metal wide enough not to cut off circulation. Pure joy.

He watched me get to my feet, both of us full of grins, and head back out to the party. Smiles and grins and appreciative comments followed me through the dance floor. I headed upstairs to find the blacksmith. Tripped on the troublesome step, but no harm done. Got someone to pull my dress back down when I got to the top, stretchy material likes to ride up. Found him, grinning like mad. Wow. He loved the lines of the device, and even more seeing it in use. Our photographer wanted pictures, and then placed an order for three more. They chatted about design and care while I floated. The blacksmith doesn’t like the hinges, the next one will have it done differently, but the lines. So gorgeous.

My shoulders and wrists begin to ache, I set the end on toy’s shoulder. Ah, much better. A little relief from the strain is all I need, and I’m wandering again. So happy, such lovely weight and delicious pain. But I want it to last, so I set it on shoulders and hands and bartops as needed. I’m curious at one point and find a bed to lay down in. That’s more like it, completely comfortable.

Up again and round about. Toy feeds me a chocolate rum ball, and I’m off. He finds me here and there, tugs on the end to make me gasp. Grinning at each other. Not an especially useful position for anything other than restraint itself, but very good at that. No, I can’t reach the pin with fingers or teeth. I’m good and stuck. Others ponder ways I could escape, but it would take some serious doing.

Two hours in, one in the morning. Even having it braced by someone else, my shoulders are still hurting. Time to give in. He releases me and I put it away, wrapped and boxed once more. Arms now free, I give thanks all around. To him and the blacksmith. A wonderful Valentine’s gift from them both.

The Fire in Which We Burn

Fire. Fire and trees and running water. I’ve had a headache for almost three weeks now. I’m at the point where I just want to slam my head against solid objects to release the tension. It doesn’t work, of course, just makes the headache worse. Don’t misread, I’m not going around doing it. Though I seem to remember doing so my freshman year of college with my physics and math books. Hoping for osmosis by force, I think. I only hit that point once, a couple days ago, and he pulled me through.

I don’t release stress very well. I carry it. In my shoulders and in my forehead. He asked me the other day, how I was doing. I told him I was waiting. The problems can’t be solved Right Now. They will take time. So, I am waiting. And I’m letting the stress stay and affect me. That can’t be good.

Which brings me back to the fire. I want a fire, a big old campfire. To pour all this negative energy into and let it burn away. I miss getting lit on fire. Used to do that at the old club. Whenever I was stressed, I could get lit on fire. Made me feel better. Nothing is quite as important when you’re on fire. Folk do fire cupping now. It’s alright, good sensation, but that’s not what I want. I want alcohol on my skin and a cotton wand lighting me up. Fear and adrenaline and heat.

Feed the stress into the fire, let it go. I need release. I need it ripped out of me and thrown away. I’m not good at letting go.

Logically, I should. I can only control myself and my reactions. If I’m not in control of those things, than what good am I? But my reaction is wait and see. My reaction is to simmer. It’s my marriage, I can’t just let it go. I need to know why. I need to know how. I need to know it will never happen again. I need to know that I’m safe. I need to know trust. I need to understand.

Can I really let go of the stress with these needs unmet? It doesn’t feel that simple. And yet, I want fire. I want to let it go, I want a focus to feed it all into. I want to empty myself of the stress and the tension and the pain. I keep having small explosions – frustration and anger that turns into tears. A small valve that gives some relief.

It doesn’t have to be fire, but that’s where I always go, mentally. Not fire play, but a real burning fire. I spent many nights as a child, staring into fires. Burning papers with my worries written on them. I have a picture from just after I got married, burning my old angsty journals, of the flames forming a rising phoenix. At least to my eye.

I wonder how big a clothespin zipper it would take to rip the stress away? I wonder how long a flogging, to beat the tension free? I wonder how intense a caning? How much electricity? How much rope? How hot a fire do I need? Or do I just need a candle, burning in the darkness?

Modern Dungeon Quarterly Issue One Available Now

Modern Dungeon Quarterly: Modern Dungeon Quarterly Issue 1

Best Laid Plans

And these weren’t even well laid plans, more like hastily cobbled excitement.

I’m still waiting on my vendor’s license from the state of Ohio, and still fighting with PDF files for that matter(thank you toy), so my projected release date of February 1^st has come and gone with no print magazine. I have started posting the articles online. Safety First: First Aid Kits is up for public reading and the St Andrew’s Cross article is up for members only viewing. It is free to sign up, just a name and an email address required. I’m not using this information for email marketing, so no worries there. Though I do wish it would notify members of new posts. (Is there a plugin for that?) Five of the articles will be open and public, three of them will be members only, this time around. I’m testing to see if people are willing to sign up for extra content. Hopefully the government will get in gear soon, and I’ll have the print edition available, too.

I’m trying to sort out my next featured dungeon. The one I hoped for isn’t available in time, the same with most of the others I know about nearby. There is one in Michigan I’m thinking about, but if anyone knows of a public dungeon (permanent or temporary) that I could feature in the Spring issue (photos and interview done by early April), please drop me a line.

So, it has become more of a soft release, because I’m not going all out on advertising until I have the full product available. In theory, the next issue will go smoother, with three months to do it in instead of one. I am really enjoying this project. I hope other people get value from it, too.