Takin Pictures

September 30, 2008

While we’re working on an art project,   I had a creative urge, Sabina had a pose stand with some killer poses, and I picked up a set of incredibly hot poseballs.

I figured out how to make B&W images, which are WAY hot to me.  As the below demonstrates.

 

Not that there is not a lot to be said for color….

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The Tangle of a Woman

September 30, 2008

Him:  As a man, I feel pretty much only one emotion at a time, whereas you, you seem to express a myriad of emotions at the same time.
me:  Yeah women tend to get all five stages of grief like..instantaneously
Him That must really suck. My head would explode.
me:  It’s one of those things you like about us
Not necessarily when it’s insane…but that  there’s a fullness, a richness to it.  If you can see in the same colors as your woman for just an instant, you see how vibrant and alive everything is. I hear a lot of people tsking about how women muddle up love and sex.
But women..by JN’s definitation ARE sex.  So yes, love, sex, joy, sorrow, pain and pleasure…paradoxes and partnerships are all tangled up into this beautiful intricate gorean knot of a woman.
I hate it when I have somewhat profound thoughts.  But it sat with me….
In Assassins it talks about the signature knot, how intricate it is, how each man has his own, how he knows if his has been disturbed.  And I thought, how like a woman that is.  Each man has his own, he unravels her, learns her twists and turns, and reties her into his own.  He knows if she’s been disturbed, because he knows every turn of her.
Dream and I..in our photo pose binge last night, pointed out a series of poses where the women have these very powerful positions, create very powerful images.  And I thought..out loud of course…thatwomen are powerful in Gor.  The whole society revolves around them, these intricate tangled knots.  It’s how to acquire them to shape them , to keep them, to set them on pedstals even as they are set at a man’s feet.  No wonder, I think the world appeals so much to women.  there are freedoms and confinements in each role, each an exaggeration of an aspect of a woman, and each part making the whole.
The slave is the sexual equal of a man, as insatiable, as feral, as primal as he is.  As raw in emotion, in thought, in honesty as he is.  But she is confined in that role, pigeonholed to his pet, his thing that he owns.  Of course to a man it’s the ideal state of a woman.  If that were all she was.
the Free Woman is the societal equal.  The free speaker, the free actor.  To be acknowledged as the mothers of children, the pillars and parts of societies and homes that they are.  Yet confined in robes and veils.
The Panther matches him physyically, challenging him though toe to toe, the weaker, she’s got fight and challenge and chase.  But is confined in her solitude.
All of those things make up a woman.  They all tangle and twist, have no beginning and no end.  Those three satired and exaggerated aspects of women intertwine into their own Gordian Knot.
And the Gorean man unravels them with a decisive blow, sorting out the threads, separating them, so that no one is truly whole, but they are all easier to understand.
But even ropes are twisted of thread.

Oh God I HAD to Ask….

September 29, 2008

 

me:  I guess I’m just….nervous you might have considered getting rid of me…freeing me or selling me…for lack of time
Him:  I have thought about it before.
(Photo by Dream Resistance)
There are very few times in my life where I have felt punched in the stomach without actually being touched.
This.  Was one of them.
The rest of the conversation is respectably embarassing. My trying to talk him out of it.  Trying to joke a little, trying to..I don’t know get something out of him.  Something that…made me aware that he felt…anything.
No no.. I wanted to know that the realization had affected him.  That his stomach twisted up as hard as mine.
I think what makes me the most ill is the powerlessness.  There’s nothing I can do really.  I can’t pour honey over this and make it sweeter.  I can’t rise up and defend myself, because against him I am defenseless.  I can’t put up a wall.  I can’t hide.  I can only..horribly, excrutiaingly, feel this, and no matter how thickly I paint it over, how heavily I mask it…he will draw it out, lay it out to be inspected and filed away.
Such a damned typically female reaction too.  I’m not sure if I’m angry or scared or sad.  I’m not sure if I want to scream and hit him, or fall at his feet sobbing, or just shut him out, crawl inside myself and wait.  I will paint it over, it’s what I do.  Sometimes, when it’s a good story, I let people see what I’m actually feeling, what I’m actually thinking.  but this..is not a good story.
If I am angry, who am I angry at?  At him?  For being so dissmissive?  At the project for taking from me the very person who dragged me, quiite literally, kicking and screaming back to his world?  At myself?
Of course.  I’m a woman, and I needle at him for more information.  To learn that the latter is the option he would consider.  That he would sell me to someone else before setting me on my feet beside him.  That didn’t help.
God I just want to scream…I don’t want to be owned by anyone else.  What happens?  Does he make sure I stay in the city, so when he gets bored or has a moment he can borrow me back for a little while?  I don’t want that.  I don’t want to be part time, to only be around for the fun parts.  Can’t he see that I just want to be his?  Collar or veil it doesn’t matter.  

No Need for words.

September 27, 2008

Sometimes….Things just speak for themselves

 

What else I do…

September 26, 2008

When I’m not at his heel, or building for him or the business I’m planning on opening, (Hassle me sometime in world about getting a look at what I’ve been building, though I hope you’ll be seeing it in a market near you soon enough), I’m an SL Model.  

I’ve been a Model in Sl for almost as long as I’ve been in world, off and on, most of the time for friends, sometimes for pay.  I have an easy to fit shape, and I think a good look that works fro most styles.

 

So a few pictures of me..in what I do.

Of course it’s no ALL gor all the time either.  Sometimes it’s not even human.

Sakinah..and what it means..

September 26, 2008

Sakinah, in Arabic, is a place of refuge.  Where one finds peace, and security and comfort.  They can be anything, and anywhere.  The shadows under a weeping willow, that cool dark cave crevice, the embrace of a loved one.  All of those things that fill you with comfort, with peace, those are your sakinah.

One of my favorite groups has a song that I think sums up the idea rather nicely:

Have you found your Sakinah?  Are you a Sakinah for someone?

When he took on one of the biggest challenges I think he may have ever taken on, I softened, and decided in there, as he worried, as he heard the negative, to be his Sakinah, to be the positive for him.  That when everyone else complained, I would encourage.  That when everyone else shouted, I would be silent.  I would listen, I would respond and be thoughtful, and that in all the tumult, there would be Sakinah for him in me.

It’s not easy to do that, actually.  I love the roil and turn of good drama, the life and vibrancy of an intense story.  It’s not easy, when something bothers me to stay silent, so sit back and look outside myself at the bigger picture.

I know it’s not easy, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish other people would do the same.  Set aside what’s eating them up inside and see the bigger picture, the bigger project at hand.