The Secret Diary of Janey Jones

[sweepthefloor]

Demented= without mind

I don't know, but it seems to me you have more mind than any average person.

Does too much mind also come off as demented?

Still, I think too much credit is given to average and social acceptablility.
Be yourself.
There is nobody else you can be

I'm sure you'll find yourself in the middle of rope. His or someone else

Alright, I can be me and that is hysterical. I did like the rope part-- every time I look at the Teddy Bear in bondage, I think about what exactly is going on here. I think about how I have no idea what is going on. I have strange urges to fight him off, and when I do...

I pull reasons out of the mis-matched sock drawer, and wish for matching socks. I could wear odd socks for a while. I don't know what the implications of doing that will be. I wonder if my reasons are valid. My intuition is usually always right. I wouldn't even think twice-- if it weren't for the things he did to me, things that I liked. I just don't like anything else! That is sad, and I have been sad.

And I'll third what Rida said.

Me too.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Have to agree with DGE and SMB. I think I've said it before. You're sane. There's just so much crap floating through the ether these days that sanity appears to be dementia.

Stay true to yourself. It's his loss if he can't - or won't - understand.

When they put me in that white jacket and haul me off for hysteria-- I am going to say: I am sane, just ask SW.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Quorum: the number of members of a group or organization required to be present to transact business legally, usually a majority.

The quorum at the sanatorium.

I've also heard that an alternative definition of quorum is "the frothy mix of saliva and keyboard dust resulting from one's first reading of the results of googling 'santorum' ."

Do I need to sanitize my computer now?

 

[sweepthefloor]

I am half tempted to disseminate my own qualitative data, code it into themes and sub-themes, and then report the descriptive results in the research paper of my own life.

A quantitative approach would be easier where n= the number of times he beat me, but it doesn’t give meaning. The results are clearly described but how do they relate to the problem? We don’t know because we haven’t even figured out what the question is.

 

[subish2009]

Years ago, I had a student like this. One could tickle her from a distance - say, 10 or 15 feet away. Just wriggle one's fingers at her and she would start to squirm.

I decided to do something different one day. I waited until she had her back to us, and then wriggled my fingers at her. Within 15 seconds, she was squirming. She hated it. I loved it, as did all her classmates. She squirmed sooo many times that year.



After all... I *am* a sadist. It seemed that many of her classmates were, too.

Oh, man. That would hit so many of my hot buttons.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

You're a sick, sick man.


But I think you've been told that before.

Thank you so much. And the fact that you recognize my sickness, and celebrate it, adds to the deep and abiding respect I have for you, and your Navy font.

It is the great dementia vs delirium debate.

Like nature vs. nurture. Only more weird.

Oh, man. That would hit so many of my hot buttons.

Stop this. Right now. You two are turning me up to 11.

Now, wait. Continue.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Like nature vs. nurture. Only more weird.

We can skip straight to the hysteria, for the differential.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Tickling is the worse! I mean tickled is the worse!

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

We can skip straight to the hysteria, for the differential.

Yes! Skip to the hysteria!

 

[sweepthefloor]

Once I was cold and had no blanket. I sat down against a wall, shivering. There was a boy on the floor all alone, he had a blanket. I stared at him for a long time, and he said nothing. He just looked at me. I asked: Can you share your blanket with me? He replied: I have scabies. I crawled across the floor and got under his blanket.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

Once I was cold and had no blanket. I sat down against a wall, shivering. There was a boy on the floor all alone, he had a blanket. I stared at him for a long time, and he said nothing. He just looked at me. I asked: Can you share your blanket with me? He replied: I have scabies. I crawled across the floor and got under his blanket.

Yeah, there is nothing like the gravitational pull of a warm blanketed commune with a vacancy.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Yeah, there is nothing like the gravitational pull of a warm blanketed commune with a vacancy.

My Kingdom for a scabies infested blanket!

 

[sweepthefloor]

He: I want to snuggle naked, and you just don’t like it.
Me: I am able.
He: Able, but not willing.

There are dead keratinized cells that are closely packed and shedding. I know it is your skin horny cell layer. I know it is normal, but just think of the pound of skin you shed each year! How much will be shed in one night of snuggling? 0.00273973 of a pound?

What will protect me? My thin skin? Surely my top layer is horny too. My blushing stratum corneum. This false erythema! It’s all so revolting.

This layer, the most superficial of the epidermis, is in direct contact with the external environment and therefore plays a vital role as a barrier against all sorts of aggression.

 

[BigMeanie]

I am half tempted to disseminate my own qualitative data, code it into themes and sub-themes...

Definitely the sub-themes.

 

[sweepthefloor]

Definitely the sub-themes.

BigMeanie disseminating the data! I get it!

 

[sweepthefloor]

In between accidentally burning my asshole with hair removal cream, and reviewing research literature for school: I have theorized that if he will beat me up- I will receive snuggling, and forget all about his normal flora.

 

[Sir_Winston54]

In between accidentally burning my asshole with hair removal cream, and reviewing research literature for school: I have theorized that if he will beat me up- I will receive snuggling, and forget all about his normal flora.

An ex- and I both used Magic Shaving Powder with decent results and no irritation or burns. I don't recall if it was the sensitive skin sub-type or not. It's smelly as hell - kind of like rotten eggs x 2 or 3 - but pretty effective. We both tried a "test" dab on the upper inside of our thighs to make sure any irritation would be minimal, though. It's kind of a time-consuming process, but worked well enough I've been recommending people try it for years.

While it was originally intended for the beards of black men who suffered from razor bumps when trying traditional shaving, it had become pretty much a standard for folks in the BDSM community in the Central/West parts of Florida by the time I left there ('02). People (mostly women, but some men) who had tried Veet, Nair, etc., said it was about as effective, and less irritating than the traditional women's leg hair removal products.

(I'd still recommend doing a small test patch, though. One guy in our group in Florida *did* end up with chemical burns in sensitive places, but admitted he had left it on more than twice the recommended length of time because he felt that his pubic hair was "stronger and coarser than most people's." IMNSHO, people who use caustic chemicals with total disregard for the instructions kind of deserve what happens to them.)

Snuggling might be "easier to take" if you both shower with a good scrubby just before bed/snuggling time, to remove the maximum possible amount of detritus. Of course, new shedding will eventually occur, but at least it would be to a minimal degree.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I think I will go back to the wax pot- with a professional. Where is the time? I will keep the Magic Shaving Powder in mind, thanks SW.

I did read the label for legs/bikini area, but I should have known that my bottom would be more sensitive. Luckily, it didn't break burn skin.

The snuggle-fuck issue has yet to be resolved. I will just hide/avoid for as long as possible. One day, I might be the snuggle beggar bandit.

Snuggling requires a certain range of emotion exercise--and I have been on the dread-mill, and off the cuddle-track.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

Snuggling requires a certain range of emotion exercise--and I have been on the dread-mill, and off the cuddle-track.

So... Resistance training?

 

[sweepthefloor]

So... Resistance training?

ahahahahaha yes, I guess.

 

[sweepthefloor]

The best part about wearing braids like ropes on the top of my head is the next day after kink. The only trouble with this is that my hair won’t dry in braids for at least 24 hours. I am head bound. That is some emotional bondage.
---
It all goes back to that anger on the playground.

I beat the girl up. She blackened my eye, and I blackened her two eyes, and fattened her lip. He watched. It felt good till it was over.

He beat the boy up, much worse than I beat the girl up. I watched.

Then I went away.

 

[sweepthefloor]

In the building of my life I am the metal shack. We were all shanties, some grew up to be mansions. I remained a little shack. I applied the cosmetic wall around my shack but the rain of tears jacking rust deformed bar, and I burst. The rebar without mortar is uglier than the shack so I got rid of that too. I sold it at the scrap metal yard for some rotisserie chicken.

I dug out the wishbone and hung it up to dry for the future. Let’s make a wish, I always get the wish end, but I never know what to wish. It’s not fair to the ones with wishes. It’s a bone waste.

There’s water in those tears, plus salt and we got quick instant rust. I am no Venus love planet, I am red rusty Mars. There is a Brillo pad disintegrating on the porch of this dilapidated shack. Now that is pulling the steel wool over my eyes. Hot and thin corrodes so fast. I’ll make myself thick and cold but it won’t prevent oxide forever. Give me paint, or grease me with that chicken fat—that’s the play temping for the love like an agency worker with a contract.

Personal ad: Steel seeking Zinc for a hot-dip galvanizing bubble bath. That’s the dip that lasts a long time. That is a pretty spangled bond, it’s ornamental. We all know that’s not easy- we got fumes and we got danger, we need a hood- yes please.

I thought it was all about the oxygen, I stopped breathing and started crying. That really sped up the process. I am stealing my own electrons. There’s a raw sienna sun setting in my eyes. I made that color myself to hide the lushness of the green. Let’s balance the chemical equation with make up remover.

--

If the heart is made of iron, the magnesium must be the sacrificial metal. Just keep taking those supplements. We can’t have the heart getting all rusty. Is that why the Cardiologists demand the Mg+ > 2?

 

[sweetmoonbeam]

In the building of my life I am the metal shack. We were all shanties, some grew up to be mansions. I remained a little shack. I applied the cosmetic wall around my shack but the rain of tears jacking rust deformed bar, and I burst. The rebar without mortar is uglier than the shack so I got rid of that too. I sold it at the scrap metal yard for some rotisserie chicken.

I dug out the wishbone and hung it up to dry for the future. Let’s make a wish, I always get the wish end, but I never know what to wish. It’s not fair to the ones with wishes. It’s a bone waste.

There’s water in those tears, plus salt and we got quick instant rust. I am no Venus love planet, I am red rusty Mars. There is a Brillo pad disintegrating on the porch of this dilapidated shack. Now that is pulling the steel wool over my eyes. Hot and thin corrodes so fast. I’ll make myself thick and cold but it won’t prevent oxide forever. Give me paint, or grease me with that chicken fat—that’s the play temping for the love like an agency worker with a contract.

Personal ad: Steel seeking Zinc for a hot-dip galvanizing bubble bath. That’s the dip that lasts a long time. That is a pretty spangled bond, it’s ornamental. We all know that’s not easy- we got fumes and we got danger, we need a hood- yes please.

I thought it was all about the oxygen, I stopped breathing and started crying. That really sped up the process. I am stealing my own electrons. There’s a raw sienna sun setting in my eyes. I made that color myself to hide the lushness of the green. Let’s balance the chemical equation with make up remover.

--

If the heart is made of iron, the magnesium must be the sacrificial metal. Just keep taking those supplements. We can’t have the heart getting all rusty. Is that why the Cardiologists demand the Mg+ > 2?

This is absolutely beautiful.

Love the new av, btw.

 

[sweepthefloor]

This is absolutely beautiful.

Love the new av, btw.

Thanks so much sweetmoonbeam.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I ran about 60 city blocks on a country road. That’s the blacktop rape.

There is so much chronic discomfort in this life. It’s the rock in the shoe. The blanket on the bed that is always too small. It’s the hair follicles that don’t know what to do when they are released from the pony-jail. It just hurts.

When the rapist grabs you say in a calm and serious voice: “I have syphilis. Do you have a condom?” Wait for the slap, the backhand, and the black eye and see if you can tell a lie, and get away with it.

It’s the thinking that doesn’t stop, when the blanket is too small.

If the mind is a pie chart with twenty sections, one part gets written, and nineteen parts get washed up on the violent beach. These are rocks tossed in the brutal waves. They become shiny shards of sharp sea glass. It’s so pretty it becomes a self-lure. We can’t pick it up, we can’t walk on it, and all we can do is get close enough to see it.