The other day I was thinking about the differences between what counted as a protocol and what was in fact a ritual. This is in part prompted by a workshop I’m doing for MVK on April 4, 2009 called D/s 101

So I was musing about a past relationship wherein I had less language than I do now. In the end I’ve decided that what the boi and I had between us was protocol not ritual, and that those things served a similar purpose: to enhance and remind us of the weave between us.

I remember laughing with a friend dominant some time ago about how protocols were things that were the responsibility of the charge, while rituals where things that were the responsibility of the dominant. We both preferred the protocols, LOL!

I know of a dyke who has her submissive bring her a cane in the morning and they “tap” out a few stroke as a way of reminding and reinforcing their dynamic. I like the idea of a morning “tapping”.

Do you have any other weave builders/enhancers?

So I’ve been reviewing and processing a couple of bad racist experiences that I had some time ago.

Arguing on FetLife will do that.

At one point I was having a conversation with someone and I said something like “there’s a difference between political correctness and racial awareness ya know!” Now… I probably could have used better or more clear language. And I found myself at the time not being able to make myself understood which has bothered me ever since.

There are good people out there who think that they are aware but are really just being politically correct.

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Mar 142009

Life support needed while working to earn the Lucre of the Realm, volunteering in community, travelling incessantly and building my empire.

Have you got what it takes? Continue reading »

It has been only in the last four years or so that my notions of this type of play expanded beyond “adult baby” play (diapers, nursing, etc) and I always thought that sex was involved somehow. (Strange since my personal kinks don’t follow that kind of template.)

Personally, I have never thought of myself as doing “Little” play. Yes, I call myself “Mama”. And there are otheres who do the same. And yes I fulfill what I call an “Uber-Adult” role for many folks – strangers, aquaintences, colleagues, friends, lovers, family… I have also tended to regard myself as a Tormentrix(c) and I call myself a Nubian Imp(c). The “Little” aspect of this manifests itself as the bad babysitter or wicked big sister at times. “C” and I refer to these times as me having my “Imp Boots” on. Those who know me know what that is like! I can hear Uneek now, “Mama…. doooooon’t!” as I proceed to tease her by poking her bum or twirling her tresses in my fingers. Heheheheh…. I believe that too many adults have forgotten how to PLAY. How to access innocence and creativity. We could all do more of that!

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Here we have CBC. A national broadcaster that really feels like the heart of Canada to me. Maybe not the whole heart, but certainly a chamber.

One of the programs run on CBC Radio One on Saturday mornings is North by Northwest which has resurected a segment called Lost Childhood Books. It’s hosted by Sheryl Mackay. They have a team of librarians who will, with an adequate description, track down a lost literary friend.

For years I have been trying to discover the book that was read to by the teacher to our fourth grade class.  I’m almost 40 now and the book has always stayed with me. Guess what? They found it.

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Yee Haw!

This has been a been an on again off again labour for a looong time. It’s been a love/hate gathering of writing from all over the web. It was prompted, in part, by someone asking about a post I had written back in the day. Did I still have that? So I went searching and learned that if you write online then those posts eventually get archived and they disappear FOR. EVER.

This made me unhappy. So I went on a mission to repatriate my words form across the net. To bring them home and love them like they deserved. Foolish me…

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Jan 312009

I’m REALLY upset with myself.

In fact, as I sat, peed, and thought a little this morning, I had this sense that this might be the THING that I take with me to my grave. I thought I had exterminated the rats I saw in my psychic house. They retreated to the walls and I thought they had died. But I’ve been hearing scrabbling noises lately…

When I was a child, OK, even afterwards and into the now, I would hear people, older people often, talk about things like regret. Or grudges or sacrifice or heart break. Things that I knew the book meaning of but not the Life Meaning.

When my heart broke in my mid twenties, I had been reading thick, adult books since I was 12. I had been reading about this thing called “heart break”. I had listened to Elvis sing about it.
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Barely into the New Year and I’ve got many a plan up my sleeve already. Which surprises even me given the events of the fall.

In September I had major surgery (I was sick when I was at the conference) and have just returned to work now. But I’m still being a a fabulous kinky pervert!

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OK. So I can post from my cell to my Twitter account and twitter will post to my Facebook. And what I want is my Twitters to post to my LiveJournal account. ‘Cause ya know…. typing into a journal just isn’t me. I think big thinks all day long. They distract me like shiny objects do a magpie. It ain’t always pretty, but it is true.

There is this interface called LoudTwitter which is supposed to do the job, but it seems like it might be a little flaky/dodgy. So I’m reluctant to join yet another site, create yet another pass word to be remembered and tinker with the indiocincracies of the thing.

[sidenote rant]

My brain only has room for so much stuff. And as I get older I realize that there is some kind of automatic triaging process that I don’t control. Bits and pieces like dates and times and job tasks and shopping lists and capitals of countries and policies and theories, etc go in one side and inevitably something falls out my other ear to make room. All the joining and passwording in my life does this. In goes yet another site and yet another password. Out goes my grannies birthday or what time my flight leaves or the fact that I need cream or the capital of Peru or details about NAFTA or quantum mechanics. POOF!

[/sidenote rant]

Where was I? Oh yeah. LoudTwitter. As far as I know, it’s the only interface that will marry the two. Maybe someone out there who is really smart and knowledgeable (although those things, I acknowledge, can be discete) knows how to RSS from Twitter to LiveJournal? Or another solution to make the two share?

OMFG

I’m not admittng where I got this crazy link to a game that features a dom and her sub travelling through a dungeon, whipping their opponents and collecting various toys fo extra life and for use as weapons…

http://www.adultswim.com/games/game/index.html?game=dungeons

Loving it and the sound effects too…

And then there were none.

YAY!

So much love and appreciation goes out to my core care team team. Feeling the love and feeling blessed. SP, EM, AN and KC… I have no words that are adequate. TO my Sista I could not be more grateful for a safe harbour. I looked up at K—— this morning form the bathroom throne and said: what do you give to an angel? How does one say thanks?
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This time next week I’ll be waking up to my first full day with a big chunk missing.

Can I be more appreciative of SP, NC, KC, EM and AN? Getting to here, which today feels like one I should spend in my new (!!!) bed, has been…. I don’t know. I have no words. LOL!

Since my life seems to run in chapters — really — I’ve decided that this one is to be called “And Then There Were None”.
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SO EXCITED!

Here’s my planned schedule for BlackBeat so far:
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Took a serious break from my learning path this year. Life indeed what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

I committed myself at the beginning of the year to expanding my understanding, skill and network of people – locally and afield – in the area of Dominance/submission and of master/slave.

I consider what I do a craft. A path to which I have committed my passion.

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Who knew that a 60lb rabid porcupine crossed with a ball of lava trying to fight it’s way out of one’s body could be so highly resistant to tylenol3. Thank goodness that it doesn’t bung me no matter how much I eat. THANK GAWD for that.

Happy Pride indeed.

Here’s to days upon days of pleasurable distraction!

Soon I’ll be on my way to Black Beat. A conference I’ve been wanting (and fearing) to attend for five years or so.

http://www.blackbeatinc.org/

I can’t wait to surround myself with black kinksters. To be able to walk into a space where I don’t have to explain so many things about how the wind blows with me or ignore them altogether.

Sometimes I forget that I’m black. And I move through the world as if I have the same rights and am viewed the same as everyone else. Then I remember. Or am reminded.

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Servicing the citizens of my municipality calls to me but the sun beckons.

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I keep forgetting that in addition to chronic pain and discomfort (hence being constantly drug affected), that alien babies also cause hormonal imbalances which can lead to emotional sensitivity, mood swings, anemia induced fatigue – no, exhaustion – and insomnia among other things.

While I fight denial of fact, and in many ways fear the planned twot to tit incision that will result in an anticipated 8 weeks of recovery… I wonder what I will be like when all is done.
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Jul 062008

I am blessed. Truly blessed.

[emerging from the shadows of listening]

I been tracking some of the writing that has appeared since I return to writing with tales of the texture that my life has on a “this is 2008!?” level.

It always amazes/amuses me what people will speak to or address and what they won’t. The places/spaces/times where folks will be VISIBLE with whatever flavour of commentary. The where/when that people will place/insert their words or actions. The consistency/inconsistencies.

I watch those things and I log them. File them away.

‘Cause I do want to sleep without keeping one eye open.

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