Reconciling Saints

This past week I've been inundated with dreams of a sexual nature. People I know, people I don't know, yet always quite graphic. They leave me panting in the morning and quite... bothered... in the frustration kind of way.

Last night I realized ('cause I've been thinking a lot about it) that I'm still having the god damn Catholic hangups! No matter how many people that I'd LIKE to be closer to, I can't get myself to really a) do anything about it and b) think about it. It's like sometimes my mind shuts out any sexual thoughts/ longings/ desires and I feel not much of anything... but yet still do. It's a struggle, it's a battle.

I keep telling myself that I just have to own it, just be me. Something in me and something around me makes me feel that it's just not right, that everything I feel/ want/ think is bad or perverse.

I'm working on it.

I am a very sexual person by nature and I have been as long as I can remember. I like the sensual side, I like things that make my toes curl, that make me shudder. I like the feel of the silky clean sheets on my skin. I like the feel of skin on skin; a soft, silky feeling that I can lose myself in. I love fierce kisses, a bite on the lip, an almost starved need. I love tracing fingers down a back. I love the hard and I love melting into another; all depending on what the feeling is. The sneaking kisses in the dark of a live show, the intoxication that may or may not come from the martinis, the electricity that crackles as you sit with someone.

I know these things. I love these things. I have to work on practicing them and I like this assignment.

:)

"And if you're hurting
I will replace the noise with silence instead
Flushing out your head

If you like it violent
We can play rough and tumble
Fall into bed
And I won't breathe so you can recover

When you're in pieces
Just follow the echo of my voice
It's okay
Tune into that frequency

Don't fight your reflex
Embrace the instinct
You can feel your way
Through the bed and weak face in the end

cause it breaks my heart
That we live this way
I know people need love
cause them people never play the game"

IAMX

If I had money to not only pay everything I need to pay AND have enough to send the boyo and me to Edinburgh for Asef's wedding, I would buy myself/ask the boyo for this for the upcoming 33rd Annual Ceci celebration:


I've wanted to learn to play one ever since I used to watch Lori Singer (as Julie) on Fame.


One of the guys here at work is letting me borrow his Cello to play around with/ practice on (take lessons with???) and I'm all a-flutter. I'm very happy with this, as it's a beginning!

Instead, for the celebration I'm hoping at least to get the new IAMX album, which comes out on the day of my 33rd celebration. This also will do me JUST fine!

Writing.

I've been doing a lot of it these days. I've got my little space here, ourpdx.net where I don't post nearly as often or nearly enough like me, the odds and ends that I scribble in the many journals I keep lying about, the submission for Ashley over at Nostus Cookbook that I promised her a month ago and there is the novel I'm writing for NaNoWriMo. Then there are the projects that have gone by the wayside, like Waiting for Amanda and my websites.

Writing is my lover and my enemy. It's loved and hated. It's being naked but safe.

I guess you could say it's like sex... one wonders about how the body is viewed, how good one is, if one is really loved and yet, it's put out there, vulnerable. Writing, for me is very much like that. In a sense it's sort of a no-brainer, you do it 'cause you love it... and the person... sometimes. heh. It's an expression and this is how I choose to express myself, this is how I feel it. So I don't think, I just do.

It's also a lot like a relationship: it's perfect, it's horrid, maybe it's not for me, of course it's for me, I need to work through this.

These nights I've been struggling with the writing. It's a chore, but it's a chore I love, that I get caught up in. I do it because... because I love to. I think about that because a lot of people ask me what I expect to get out of it. Well, nothing really, except for the very act of doing it. When I don't write... it irks me, I feel out of it. Then again, when I do it, I question it all the time.

Ibsen wrote, "To write is to preside at judgment day over one's self." I cannot think of a better way to describe it.

Would I love to be able to write all the time and make my living off of it? Yes! Would it drive me mad because of how hard it is to try to come up with something without over-thinking it? YES! Do I think I can cut it? ... Maybe.

The point, mainly, is that I love to write, with all my heart, with all my soul, with every particle that's me. It's a labor of love. It's what I need to do. How it's done, whether I get paid for it or not, that doesn't matter. The problem still lies in that sometimes in the midst of it all, it scares the hell out of me! However, I'm learning that I can't help but do it, and the more I try to do, the more I want to do, and fuck the questioning of it! I find myself asking what I tend to do with the finished novel (as I will finish it!), and then what, and then what after that?

Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn, I just want to do it!

*Note: I'd like to thank IAMX for the title Naked But Safe as I can't get the song out of my head and the title worked perfectly for my thoughts on writing.