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welcome to the hole
Once upon a time, I kept a LiveJournal account, gryphons_hole, a deep, dark, comfy little hole in my brain where I kept notes on my life and queerness.
This is the archive to that account, mostly password protected, adult, queer content, stripped of photo content after the site restructured its photo hosting feature. I hope to restore that content as well.
If I know you, ask for the password. If I don’t, hope for a generous mood.
08.18.24 I have realized a need to continue in this space. A kink reawaking if you will, with content that may range into inappropriate for my other blog spaces.
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okay, here we go…
My panties are in a bunch.
Mr. Muffin, (lj-user: low_fat_muffin) shared this political cartoon over on his FB wall.
Two particular comments set off something that I have been rolling from for over twenty years. And it is time for ‘them’ to get over themselves and their entitlement and assumptions…
The first was mostly short and vague: Why? Keep it to yourself!
The second hits all of the shit about the whole thing: the whole thing is stupid, gay or straight, keep it to your self. Straight people do’nt go around telling everybody that they are “straight”!!!
I call bullshit! Absolute fucking bullshit!
Straight people say “I am straight” every single time they mention their spouse or their children and the hot chick with the huge breasts that they banged the prior weekend.
This is: they don’t need to declare their statement with an “I’m straight” because they are part of the dominate paradigm.
Again I call bullshit. Here is my rant, er, note from over on facebook:
my two cents, or stfu about us stfu already…
So, here’s the thing:
The notion that straight people don’t go around blabbing about their sexuality is freakin’ ridiculous.
Freakin’ ridiculous. Stop it already. It is a lie. And it is tiring. And it supports the idea that they are full of entitlement and privilege. So, please, just stop it.
And this is why:
Every single time you go on about your child, every single time you go on about your husband, or wife, or how hot the hooters are on that one over there, or how great the chick you did last night was… you are saying “I am straight!” And you are yelling it from the top of the mountain.
That is how it works to be part of the major paradigm; you don’t have to qualify your position, it is assumed. So stop embarrassing yourself by claiming that you don’t declare your sexuality. Stop proving your bigotry by insisting that we shouldn’t declare ours. Or maybe, just maybe, stop assuming that every single person in the world wants to know about every last bit of spittle that your youngling drooled about your car…
Or, better yet, start accepting the fact that doing so entitles every single other person in the world to offer intimate details of their life. And embrace the freakin’ diversity of the world.
There, I feel much better. And I don’t much care if you think I am spouting off again about being gay.
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tending to family
Well, things get much more real standing in front of them all, don’t they…?
I am back home with my parents and I am happy for it, but the reality of the past couple of years on my parents is a physical presence. My dad’s in-home physical therapy is mostly on hold, because my mom’s radiation leaves her too tired to do her side of the work. So, my dad spends his day in his wheelchair, which leaves him more sedentary than he should be to build the muscles he needs to walk again. He doesn’t often use his prosthetic; he gets too tired to stay on it when he does.
It all makes sense for their current situation, but it is frustrating to see how much it all slows down his recovery.
Fortunately, way back in 1972, my parents moved into a ranch-style home. The family room is down a step and there are basement steps, but everything else is all one level. Of course, for the requirements on ramps, they would have to eat up most of their front yard to build a ramp down the step on the front porch, so instead, they build a ramp just outside the door from the family room to the garage. That, of course, means an inside ramp to get the chair down into the family room, which needs to be moved constantly, because it blocks the door to the garage when it is down.
*whew*
I know…
My parents have a pretty good grip on the routine, even if my mother could use a bit more energy on a daily basis. As it turns out, the lump was never cancerous. At least, not yet. It was some type of erroneous cell grouping that would likely turn cancerous in the future. So, it is best to deal with it now and she is still finishing out the radiation…
One other thing is the loss of privacy in my parents house. My dad’s chair is only a half an inch narrower than the doorways, but the door itself blocks it if it cannot swing open a full half-circle, and in most cases, the doors in their house cannot do that… So the door to his bedroom and his office have been removed. And the layout of the house leaves little privacy in his room.
Tomorrow, dad needs to take part of his new-ish computer system to Microcenter for some installations. Mom plays bridge on Tuesdays, so I will be wrangling him into her vehicle (the roof on mine is two low for him to get into easily enough…) and driving him there. I am nervous about it. I don’t feel ready to be solely responsible for managing him in and out of the house and vehicle. And yet my mom does so on a daily basis, during her radiation treatments.
*sigh*
How did I become a caregiver? It seems so alien to me… I am the baby, the eternal eighteen-year-old that can never seem to decide what is best in his life. How could I possibly be responsible for the well-being of my parents…?
Of course, I will do it, and I will be fine in it, despite my discomfort and awkwardness, but the ill-ease about it will leave me feeling I am playing the part, and will trip up a stage of my imposter syndrome….
But, I will be fine. It is in my genes. Seriously. In the next week, I will likely make the typical year-end wrap-up posts so common around LJ. And, once again, mine will likely sound like the universe ganging up the shit pile on my family, but yet we withstand it all; we move on; we grow and survive and love each other through it all, even as we poke fun and tease in the process.
We are a sturdy stock, it would seem. The world cannot break our clan. We can only each of us do that on our own, and we stand stronger together… I suppose that is why I never begrudgingly return home for visits, even if I regress to my five year old self when I do so…
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cuff-links @ dapperkink
Restored from the original post on dapperkink:
This space was created to record my journey as I search for where I best fit but it was named for the manifestation of my kinks within a sartorial setting.
I see no reason why both facets can’t be share at once…
The weekend brought me back to my childhood home; the holidays have arrived. I spent last night with an excellent friend down in Columbus before return to northern Ohio. This morning was the first day of a weekend antique market, hosted at the home of the Ohio State Fair.
milling about the ohio expo center My handsome gentleman friend collects an excellent assortment of finery. While he shopped about, I hit the budget bins at numerous vendors’ spaces. My target: cuff-links.
And I did quite well.
First, I should note, I am moving through everything with the thought squarely in mind that I need to be better prepared for a move, whether just out of the studio, or out of the state… I need to parse down things. I need to need less space.
Cuff-links fit the bill. Their designs can be exquisite; the form, a fascinating evolution of aesthetics and function. Today, I found great deals and an excellent assortment of style, ranging from early proto-designs up through the standard modern toggle design. I also grabbed some bling and enamel buttons, the latter of which to be converted into cuffs and to grace the placket of an altered vest.
the haul 
angled-post links 
enamel buttons 
hinged guarded cuffs 
boutons de manchette 
‘bearded knight’ cameo links 
sterling and hematite links 
angled-post links 
placket studs 
snap button links 
misc bling 
spring-loaded links Process is an important aspect of my kink; attention to detail is important to process, selling that process as intentional and not simply subconscious response.
I have reached a point in my life where aesthetic detail can bring about a physical response from my body. Details and intent build upon my arousal. Beyond that, it becomes a bit difficult to explain, but I will work on it for future posts.
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returning home the hero
Alternate title: How I saved the internets.
I am back to my childhood home, sleeping in the bed that was mine most all my life. Well, the frame anyway, the mattress set is newer.
To back up a bit first… I spent Friday night in Columbus at the baths, which has become a favorite habit of mine when travelling on the road; an affordable place to rest in the most festive environment I can imagine. *eg*
Aside from that, I was fortunate enough to spend a good chunk of time with the stunningly handsome (lj-user: champdaddy). I am always happy to get to spend time with him on my travels home. Friday evening was dinner at curious place with incredible pizza. We shared an “All the Meats” pizza, and I had a Columbus Pale Ale. You will need to check with Champ for the name of the place; it escapes me. Something with ‘plate’ in the name…
Saturday, Champ and I spent the afternoon at an antique vendors’ market. Always on the tight budget, I kept my eye on the dollar bins at various vendors, looking for miscellaneous bling and cuff-links. I scored some major cuff-links.
More on that later…
Back to the title of the post:
As it turns out, my dad is becoming a good bit of a neat freak. It makes sense to me. Although he can get through most of the house, he is currently constrained to a wheelchair. With my mom going through radiation, she doesn’t have the strength to keep up on dad’s rehabilitation. As a result, Dad is impacting everything that is within his power. Hence a newly developed manifestation of OCD. LOLThe problem: my dad tends to clean and then think about what got put away or discarded. He moves stuff to get it out of the way, and then wonders if it was necessary.
This is how I returned home to a house without internet, and I should say that no one wants to live with my father when he doesn’t have internet; understandably, it is his source of information and access to the outer world.
Neither his new PC, nor his laptop, had internet for a few days. Once I realized that the new computer wasn’t that new, and it had internet access just a few days prior, I began prying my dad for what he did. I knew he changed something, but his brain doesn’t give up the goods easily. So in his need to make things tidy, he cleaned up all his cables and cords to his system. In the process, he hooked up a DSL filter, meant for the phone hook-ups, to the line that ran to the modem. Of course, once i fixed that, it still didn’t work. Now is a good time to offer further insight to my dad’s OCD. He zip corded all of his cables neat and tidy, except he tied them all to each other, instead of simply winding up the excess of each cord in a bundle in a separate bundle.
Once I conquered the ugliness of that map, I realized that he had plugged the ethernet cord from the modem into a port for a wired computer line instead of the modem port.
*bing*
And that is how I saved the internets and was heralded at home as a hero.
Yay! for holiday heroes!
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dapperkink
A new post is up over at my wordpress blog: dapperkink.This one summarizes the backstory of my developing personal style, in words and image. Let’s call this the precursor to the year-end wrap-up posts…
My life has set upon a path that gathers all the random occurrences into a single, tight thread, wound upon its spindle. It has been so for at least seven years now, or rather that is when I gained awareness of the fact…
A series of health problems, the end of a dying relationship, the culmination of a decade of kink play, and a life-long path of developing aesthetic skill-sets nudged me to a place of living consciously. That statement has many manifestations, but for this post, right now, I am speaking of manner of dress and personal style; I choose to walk through the world consciously. No more tossing on clothes to run to the store. No more jeans; no more t-shirts. No sweatpants.
fancy dress party 
springtime layers 
springtime casual 
travel style 
summertime linen 
birthday suit 
a fancy-dress memorial 
bearded details 
winter palette 
my new puppy 
an evening out 
dandy claus 
footwear style 
naked style 
leather style 
camelhair, houndstooth and pinstripe 
an evening affair On a tight budget and living in the heartland, thrift stores have become my best friends. One chain in particular has ridiculous Sunday sales. For two years now, I have gone every Sunday that I was available. Even with only ten bucks in my pocket, I could come away with a giant bag of loot, sometimes only five bucks, sometimes only quarters clanking in my pocket.
Style has become important to me, not as superficial dress, but as a symbol for my internal content. A mix is always present: silk ties with leather, suit coats with oxblood lace-ups. Everything accompanied by facial piercings and a full red beard. I do not mimic trends, I create style. It is important for me to show that – in some way – I am not the body others think I am; I am my own creation.
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Protected: heer gryphon van der claus
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Protected: back in the saddle again
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Protected: innie & outtie
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Protected: theatrical drama and a crumpled shirt
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the emotional debt of dying
My inner child, that part of me that never seems to age past eighteen years of age, faced a curious moment of maturity. I spend the early evening with my studio-mate, discussing further the decision to let go of the studio space at the end of the current lease, which would be July of 2011…
It was such a grown-up space, discussing plans on the assumption that he would not survive through the end of next year. There are numerous possibilities for him to do so, but also a fair amount of odds stacked up against the likelihood.
His health, and the loss of this space, was the itch that led to the thoughts of moving. I would certainly cut loose from a mighty anchor without M in my life. This is one of those moments, when I realize that I have not been voicing the gratitude of someone’s impact in my life. I am fortunate that I have the opportunity to still do so, and I have begun the thanksgiving.
I think it is the first time that I witnessed a peer coming to terms with his mortality.
It was a powerful moment.
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gryphon's hole 