normal jean
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2004
- Posts
- 1,193
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Hmmm. Much as I know ee would love to see me parading around in that, I'll save it for my private party with him. I gotta live there after you wild poets leave! And I like to live rather quietly!
But you know if we got enough attendees, I'm sure we could put together some pretty cool entertainment. A poetry slam, a picnic, maybe some music venue--Asheville has a ton of those. If we got the timing right and did it in summer, maybe a trip to sliding rock would be in order.
Of course whatever people want to do together in the privacy of their hotel rooms is totally up to them.
Been there!
Done that.
Is it as fun as it looks? It looks like it'd be a real blast (though possibly rather hard on the butt cheeks!).
Well, again, depends on what sort of party it. If Ange shows up in thigh high boots, a leather corset, and crop in hand, maybe we are intending to scare the locals.
----
Everyone has to start somewhere
I can't even begin to tell you the lengths I would go to to see that.
How bout we have the gathering in some large city near where they live? That way, they can still go home with their local reputations intact.
bj
Red Eve sounds like that hot chick, er, comrade in your Maoist Self-Criticism Cell--the one you're trying to schmooze into bed with some snappy revolutionary lines from Lenin's Materialism and Empiriocriticism or maybe a brief little come-on like "Fascism is capitalism in decay."
Or maybe not. Hey, thanks, Evie for mention of the poem. I'd blush, but that would be counterrevolutionary.
Do your ropes come in special lengths or just as you see fit ? Not a joke actually just wondering
Well, traditionalists in Japan use certain lengths (8m I believe). They also have bottoms that are remarkably similar in size. I work with a lot of different body types, so I go for different lengths. And, in some cases, longer and shorter lengths are handy. Each length is custom cut, either by whomever is processing it (and each processor/maker has their own normal lengths), or by myself, as I process my own rope (a rather involved endeavour).
Most commonly, I prefer 30ft lengths. They just seem to work out to be handiest length for my taste and style.
As I asked seriously I will not comment on bottoms similar in size
As I asked seriously I will not comment on bottoms similar in size
LOLZ I knew this was about to happen.
He's talking about "Bottoms" - willing, submissive-like people who are happy to be tied up. Homburg, by contrast, is a Top. He does the tying on the bottoms.
*still chuckling*
bj
Erm, what she said. Sorry, forgot that the terminology is not universal
I thought that was a Lenin quote, like here about halfway down.Hey Tzara, sounds like you have an impressive revolutionary library right there (just in case) I would highly recommend against schmoozing into bed with someone who quotes lines from Lenin... If not for any other reason, it's boring like hell, so how interesting can it get later on?
If anything I would recommend lines from Plekhanov. Despite his name he was inerested among other things in art (theory of course). The suggested line: there is no revolutionary movement without a revolutionary theory". You say that to a ga'l and her eyes glaze (so I hear).
I thought that was a Lenin quote, like here about halfway down.
Not that the Internet is reliable about stuff like that.
Those girls whose gaze glazed over at lines like "There is no revolutionary movement without a revolutionary theory" were girls I like completely missed out on. And those other girls, too.
Oops.
I think that if I tried out Lenin on my wife, she might simply snore.
As I would, though perhaps louder than usual. 'Cuz respectful, I am.
You are one excellent dude, KOLKORE, but, sorry, I'm not serious about raking in cheese with revolutionary condiments, however tasty some Plekhanov may be.
Nice idea, though.
Well, come park your demons here, Sweety! It's an amazing thing when you out them. They only like it in the dark. Kind of shy really. Show them sunshine and they tend to shudder and eventually leave.
Didn't mean to cause anyone to swoon. Just playing 'You show me yours and I'll show you mine' with Anschul.
That was all a long time ago. The demons in me now are the really bad ones.
So... I guess I should practice what I preach, huh? Maybe I'll go sit with UYS. I hear that side of the pond is pretty nice. And shady.
Edited to add: Ohhh, I'm so dumb! Just read UYS location. THAT pond. Ohhh, I can't go that far. I thought there was a pond
here.
*walks out kicking my own ass... surprisedly smooth gaited. I'm getting too good at this.
I have to say, I thought you were being histrionic about this but, damn. Googled you and, yep, that one comes up One.
Histrionic??? ME??? Wherever in the world did you get that crazy idea????
Ouch.
I don't have quite the same problem, as my name is apparently more common. I am a congressional candidate in Colorado, a retired journalism professor, retired governor (alternate spelling of my name), tour guide, communications director for the Libertarian Party. Nineteenth Century poet and theater critic.
oooh! I wanna be you.
Whole shitload of other things. You get the idea. Kind of depressing, actually. There's apparently a whole bunch of me who are more important than, well, me. Not that that makes any sense at all.
But, if you're concerned, Ms. Swirls, you should use a pseudonym. You mentioned one to me once, which sounded kind of like a bodice ripper Romance writer. I liked it.
I don't remember! Can you PM me? Please?
Or you should not worry about it. If you're convinced enough about your brilliance as a poet, your career prospects as such, and/or not worried about What The Fuck Anybody Else Thinks as many poets are, then it won't matter.
ha ha ha
In my most delusional times I think not.
I guess I was just living in this fantasy that it did not matter what I did creatively. I have strong feelings that artists should be able to express themselves without being judged as a person, but damn, where did I get that idea?
I still believe it, but do not believe that others do.
I am just kicking myself for writing bios that are too revealing. I could not try to explain, no it is the other ...... who lives ..... with her ...... children, etc.
I had a friend who warned me about giving too much away. Oh well, nothing bad has happened that I know of yet. His therapist was all smiley and happy, I did not get any "you are evil" looks.
Since I Care About What My Employer Thinks (and probably my wife and family and friends and neighbors), I am picking around disconsolately at pseudonyms.
Would "Biff Ryder" sound like me?
um
no
That name is too tight around the cerebrum
thanks for responding and checking it out.
How does Google figure out #1? Maybe I could get people to click on a more wholesome poem out there and it would come up sooner
Darling, my cave is your cave anytime, anywhere. ( and I do have a fave cave) In fact... yeah, useless tidbit coming up now... before the comet/asteroid killed off the Clovis people, they used the area for camping, umm, living, I doubt they called it camping. Such a nice little cave with a waterfall nearby, plenty of game meandering through. I wish I could go back and see them with my own eyes. i feel primitive and real, raw and naked when I am there. I feel alive when I explore places that our early ancestors inhabited. Would love to share that with you, someday.
Angeline, thank you for the mention of my poems the other day. I am glad someone "got" them.
The shorter one, half a pair of lizard boots was meant to be like it is. The tone was to be cold and aloof, and lonely. I have been attempting to write a different way. I have read Senna's poems over and over and thought and thought and worked so hard trying to glean what he manages to do so well and it's obvious I have failed in almost every attempt. So, some folks don't get the minimalism, that's not my fault. If you liked it, great, if not, I still refuse to apologize for what I wrote, it wasn't that bad.
I actually got the idea, inspiration, while back when that WONDERFUL thread Angeline had up where we studied various poets and we spoke about the lack of female poets and I thought of Annaswirls and her mention of Anna Swir so long ago. I read as much of her as I could find and the more I read, the more natural it felt to me. Just consider, someone so poor, yet so rich, and like the way she had to survive, with so very little in the way of food and basic necessities, that it carried over to her work and her poems are sparse in word count, yet so full of her and her life.
I will tell you what I really hate....I can live with anonymous comments, no biggie, or I would turn them off, but that anonymous email
I feel really bad for the severely constipated individual who wrote me... and this is for him/her...send me your home address and I will buy you some ex-lax and mail it to you
I won't apologize because I don't hang out with the group of you guys in the bistro, it's cool in there, sure, but I have always been a loner, never felt like I belonged, this place is no different, yet I enjoy lurking and I do enjoy y'alls sense of humor, and more often than not, I leave here smiling. And you felt the need to accuse me of being hateful to those who do frequent, I beg to differ. Maybe you misunderstood some silly comment I made in jest. I was welcomed in there just as everyone else has been welcomed. I have no issue with BJ, we have corresponded via PM and email and while I do not seem to be able to continue an email conversation for very long, that does not mean I dislike someone, okay?
I mean, damn. I used to share everything ,with everyone, I even had an online master ( for 7 years), what a mistake that was. Recently, I had the chance to get back with him and I realized what a true jerk he really was and ended it for good by telling him to go suck his own dick and that I was glad he never got the chance to fuck me. He will never get another chance, and I hope no one ever tells me that he loves me again. I would probably laugh so hard I would hurt myself. but with that man, I was innocent, no, naive, I trusted and he took advantage.,
I will say this, I have no desire to ever love anyone that deeply again. I have no desire to even try to love again. The pain isn't worth it and the games that some people play just serve to prove that the anonymity factor on the internet is probably the death knell for true love, if their is even such a thing.I am not the kind of person who shares every byte about my sex life, and I guess I never learned any real social skills, I was always a shy child, always feel as though I am being judged for various and sundry unimportant reasons. That is my problem, i know that. I just try to be nice to people and hope for that much in return.
My poetry... I deleted probably 200+ poems form my various pen names here a very long time ago. Just because I have a scant amount of work posted now does not mean I haven't put time and effort into my work. Some of you people here are new, I don't know you, and vice versa. You may have never read work that I slaved over, some that I didn't slave over, and a good many of them got that lil greenie and many of them got those little red things that mean so much to some people.
I hate that a newbie, or a guru, goes through mine, or anyone's poem list and decides that all of their work sucks just because it doesn't have some little icon stuck up next to it and I speak on behalf of the many people here who have not been read just because they were trolled or their screen name didn't grab the reader, or they have their voting turned off. You can't judge a poet by what is nestled next to his posted poems.
But I HAVE put in my time and worked my ass off and commented and commented and really truly offered my sincerest helpful and kind suggestions to those whose work I read and felt moved enough to comment on. ( and at the feedback portal, you will see that my old alt, Maria is in 22nd place with however many comments and I haven't left a comment as Maria in almost a year now)...
When I realized that they were keeping count of our comments, I began to spread the comments out over several of my alts so the tally wouldn't be so high on just one. I really cut down on commenting when I began getting hateful emails about my comments. I never intended to be mean, or hurtful and I know I am horribly tactless sometimes. I try to be gentle, but to some people, the mere mention that they need to use spell check, or use some punctuation causes them to instantly sling a poison pen at me and call me stupid, uneducated...etc,
and then the part I love, not is this line.. depending on which alt I use to comment, the low number of poems i have is pointed out, or the lack of an icon next to my poetry, or the one I love the most, is ..You haven't been published, what do you know?"
I HAVE been published, but what do I know. I know that I do not want every random psycho in this place to know my name and when I submit work to the outside world, I submit it with my real name.... I'm not prolific like some of the others here, I am, in case you don't know, suffering from deep depression for about 5 years now and I wish I weren't because it affects my moods and how I write and how much I write.
What it affects the most is the amount of energy it takes to get submissions together, edit them, and then find a place that I can only hope is suitable for my babies, a place that will welcome them, a place where they fit.
And let's face it, some poems are not meant for certain places and it takes an inordinate amount of time to even try to match them up with potential places that will accept them. I am tired. Sometimes, I don't feel like breathing, much less writing and pouring my heart into something that I will probably hate in the morning, but I haven't given up and I won't.
Poetry is the one thing I can give this world, in a minute way, it has affected some of my readers. I have had some very touching letters written to me from people who began reading my porn stories and then made their way into my poetry and just knowing that I wrote something that touched someone, or made someone smile or laugh, well, that is the coolest thing I could ever dream of, and yes, I know I write some pieces that garner responses like,
" You are one sick puppy, I love your sense of humor" ( thanks for that one Anna-banana )
Those so-called "sick" poems are the ones that help me deal with loss, and that is the way that is therapeutic for me. I lost both parents, ( kidney failure for my dad, and COPD for my mom) 2 grandmothers ( dementia for one, invasive breast cancer for the other, an aunt ( car accident) and a cousin ( suicide) in a span of less than 3 whole years. Not to mention I went into rehab twice and have gone through living hell with my husband, and then still having to deal with knowing that the bastard that tried to kidnap my daughter is still out there and I am helpless to do anything about it.Talk about stress, I can't believe I am sitting here typing this.
If that doesn't affect a person, please tell me how to deal, please tell me how to heal.I am doing the best I can. If you hate my work, if it has nauseated you as you say, repeatedly, then please, do not even click on my poetry. I am not doing it to gross out anyone, or be cruel or angry.
Believe me, if I took the time to send you feedback or comment on your work, it was something I enjoyed enough to offer a suggestion or just a pat on the back. IT was something I saw real potential in, or I wouldn't have wasted my time, and I do realize that to most people, my opinion means little or nothing at all. That's okay by me, I won't curl up and die just because someone doesn't appreciate my comment or opinion.
I care about poetry, I really do and maybe I am wrong, but when someone posts a poem, unless they state otherwise, I am assuming they want feedback, if not, I apologize. If my comments offend thee, delete them.
In the grand scheme of things, I am nobody special, I realize that, and I never said I was. If my opinion doesn't mean anything to you, drop me a note and I won't waste my time reading your work, okay? I could be cleaning my cat box instead.
That brings me to reviewing the poetry.
Yes, I used to do that too, and to anyone who has never done it, let me tell you, it is a thankless job! But then, I never did it for the thanks, but because I enjoyed it, for the most part. I bet everyone who ever reviewed got hate mail. We either missed one, or chose one that someone else hated. We have been accused of giving buddies high scores just because, giving others low scores or bad reviews, just because; and in case you haven't noticed, this isn't high school anymore, and everyone here is supposed to be over 18, though many do not act that way sometimes, myself included, lol.
and in case anyone here doesn't realize it is the reviewers personal opinion, based on whatever criteria he or she chooses to base a review on. It does not mean that the reviewer is right or wrong, it means that he or she liked a poem, thought it had enough good in it to merit the suggestion that others read it, period.
Anyway This was not a rant, hope it isn't taken as one.
I'm not a particularly religious person, though I do believe in a higher power, and if it should suit anyone, send out some good thoughts for those in so much pain, those suffering such enormous loss in the floods, fires and other disasters, and off in foreign countries fighting for whatever reason.
It breaks my heart to see so many people in pain, but what can I do? What good will writing a poem do for anyone. Maybe it can give hope, shine a light on some aspect of hope or love or compassion that wasn't illuminated before.
Love and let live, people Thank you all for allowing me to be a part of this community. I am richer for it and will forever feel indebted to Eve for inviting me here in the first place.
It means so much to me, your kindness is appreciated, and even to the anon e-mailer, I wish you peace and happiness. Live long and prosper ( I don't know who to attribute that quote to, but probably Gene Roddenberry? )
julie
Artificial Light
Stellar bright or fluorescent blight,
I cannot tell the difference anymore.
Why won't someone attempt to define,
with foundation, structure and frame,
this gnawing known only as hope?
is it light or perception of right,
or visions of an afterlife
immersed in virtuous glow, I do not know,
nor do I wish to know, for now
six senses alert and accepting
warmth in any form
to light a way, casting shadows of yet
another day,
always ending to pale, when appraised
alongside carnal self.
How arrogant it seems to assign a value
to how I reason, dream, or feel
this essence never changes
and mirrors return the same reflection-
absorbed by thought, acutely aware
of every mortal blink and sigh,
and knowing tomorrow, already surrendered,
is in itself, a version of life,
each second awash in noon and night.
Hope is a soul is a constant, it shines
especially in artificial light.