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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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a dream… at camp
I dreamt last night about camp, but, of course, it wasn’t exactly camp, not as it physically manifests anyway.
The attendees were split Harry Potter style into four houses. In addition to the normal activities of the weekend, there was a mini–olympics of sorts, between the four houses, just silly little feats of skill and such as a means of comradery and fun. The last event was arm wrestling, and my house was going into it in a very good position, but the final event was poorly attended by members of my house. The first two rounds for our house didn’t go so great, and we had one contestant left, a big burly, hairy man, bald-headed and with a salt-n-pepper beard. He was quite handsome, in a somewhat geek-smart way.
His round came up and he was matched against a young thin but athletic boy, who raised up his right arm. Our guy announced the need to go left handed, and then popped his right arm out of its prosthetic joint. (It was the most realistic prosthetic limb I had ever seen.) He won the round after a good long struggle and our house won the game and the overall event. I walked back to the center of camp with him, chatting along the way. It dawned on me that he had just now ‘outed’ himself, which he confirmed, and I thought a bit about what it must be like to make such a bold sudden announcement regarding something that otherwise would have never caught any attention.
Then we stopped in the shopping mart at a candy shoppe to get a big, giant bag of sweets, you know, at the mall smack-dab in the middle of camp. Yes, that shopping mall. Welcome to my brain…
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Protected: what I did over summer break…
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state of the blog
Some time back, LJ restructured the scrapbook feature, and, basically, it stinks…
I have 12 pages of galleries which I cannot rearrange or structure orview all at once. They seem to be order by the date made, so I have no means to group similar galleries together. Worse than that, when they migrated my galleries, very few images stayed where they belong, and it would seem that I cannot move images from gallery to gallery in groups, only one at a time.
I do not think I will endure that project. Likewise, I do not think I will keep the gathered images in such a state of disarray.
Between the difficulties of posting explicit images from Flickr and the inability to host explicit content on photobook, I think this blog is about to become image-free. Once I dump my scrapbook, I may begin anew, but not with huge groupings of images, only one teaser image per post.
My apologies for this, but any images I begin to produce again can be found between Flickr and dapperkink over on wordpress.
Thank you, LiveJournal, for pushing an experience I once adored further into the brink.
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a letter from home
I am back in KCMO, mostly. I don’t want to be, although I don’t exactly want to be back at camp, either.
At the moment, I don’t really want to be anywhere. I should also note that I am still filled with this overwhelming calm and silence inside of me. At this point, I am not sure I like it; it leaves me floating, with no desire to be anywhere or do anything…
More later, I have to run to work, and pretend to want to be there, but, really, I have been faking that one for years now…
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a letter from camp
Dear Folks,
I arrived at camp yesterday. Most all of my friends are here again and I am so very happy to see them all. And touch them.
And lick them…
I made a date last night, with a fellow I met my first year; this was our third date. He likes to stick men with needles. As it turns out, I like him to stick me with needles.
Who could think that my body response could become more so. I know, right…? *squeeeeeee*
This was my third date with him in four years, and each time I have had fully divergent reactions throughout, even though much of the process had consistent response from me.
This year involved laughs and giggles, sobbing and tears, and ended with what might truly be the calmest state of being I have ever experienced. Sure, it is possible that last night’s experience is just so fresh and overwhelming that I cannot remember anything close, but it still sits with me now as I type this. I am almost overwhelmingly calm, and still.
Some of you most surely understand what this means for me to say, right…?
The first year, the piercing was part of a demonstration, when the time came to discuss removal, I began to sob uncontrollably… and I went immediately to the moment years ago when I was told I had to remove my metal for the duration of chemotherapy. Heavy stuff in that moment.
This year, I had expressed an interest in including nipples and dick in the territory for poking. The first needle into the nipple, tiny as can be, was beyond anything my mind wanting to process. I sat with it for a few moments, couldn’t understand what it wanted to become, and conceded. I asked for its removal.
An instant later, I was sobbing, full of regret and indecision, and disgrace and rage at myself for needing it to go away. In the moment, I was back to my first year, and simutaneously back at the start of chemo (eight years back!!!) and that silent little bit of imposter’s syndrome that hangs out in the back of my mind got louder and stronger and struggled to reach my surface.
I can say that I still know little to nothing of this calm that sits with me, but I am happy, content and understand fully that I am no imposter, even if that voice is still hidden deep inside.
You see, I have good faith in the notion that imposters do not lay there, laced with needles down their chests, giggling, guffawing and trembling with a raging hard-on as a man strums his fingers along the guitar frets piercing his flesh.
*smooch*
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how do they do it…?
These fortune cookies? They know things…
“Focus in on the color yellow tomorrow for good luck! at camp!!!”
*snicker*
The cookie, it knows me so well.
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… at camp
“A pleasant surprise is in store for you soon… at camp.”
“Now is a lucky time for you – take a chance… at camp.”
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a new take on an old gag
So, summer camp is fast approaching.
Aside from that, a new lunch buffet has opened in midtown KCMO, Fushion Buffet, featuring sushi, a hibachi grill and chinese, american and mexican dishes on the buffet. Of course, the check also comes with a fortune cookie.
Awhile ago I realized that ‘at camp’ was a much better add-on than in bed. I didn’t think to save the first ones, but I have been collecting them lately. Allow me to share:
“Linger over dinner discussion this week for needed advice at camp.”
“Your fondest dream will come true this year at camp.”
And my favorite so far:
“This year your highest priority will be your family at camp.”
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missing the mark a bit
So, yeah, last Saturday…? Eight years cancer free.
w00t!
I had a rather glorious photoshoot in mind, but – you see – I slept on my leg wrong a couple weeks back and have been struggling with problems ever since, having pulled or sprained/strain something in the two days after that night. I did not have the energy to tend to my hip/knee and roam about town trying to find walnuts in shell during the summer, not to mention a long-handled sledge hammer.
There you have it.
What was successful about the day was my ability to crush the suggestion of my mind that my hip/knee problems must surely be long-term bone damage from the chemotherapy and that any time now I can expect my bones to crumble to bits… Yay! I even refused the mental images of my leg just snapping clean off at the knee as I hobbled about last week.
There is a downside to this highly imaginative mind of mine…
Oh, yes! The Cadillac. That stupid, messed-up, piece of junk Caddy. Fuck you, Cadillac. It will only be on the road another four days. I fly home to accept my parents generous offer of an indefinite loan of their old tow vehicle, a 1997 Dodge Ram diesel pick-up.
As pointed out by a few sources already, I do look forward to the image of me getting out of that big, butch thing all dandied up.
*giggle*
Sorry to say, I will not have any real time to stop and visit along the way this round. I have to do this with unpaid time off and need to get back as soon as possible.
Here’s to – perhaps – a break from stupid, broken vehicles, at least for a bit…
*smooch*
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take it as you will
Back when I was thirteen years old, a full six years before understanding that I was gay, I knew that I had no interest in – or business being – a parent.
It is easily one of things that helps to demonstrate how fully conscious of the world I was at an early age. You see, my reasoning for not ever becoming a parent…? I knew I did not have what it would take to out-survive my child. I knew. As I explained it to myself, I decided that it didn’t matter how well I could raise a child, how fully I could impart the importance of being a responsible, healthy part of the greater community. All that was required for the end of my child was one other child in the world not being raised with such awareness. I couldn’t bare the effort of raising a child responsibly just to have them killed by someone that hadn’t been.
There you have it, at thirteen years of age.
Reading about the news in Colorado this morning, I feel relieved that my thirteen year old self had the forethought to forbear bearing offspring… And I understand that I was right about my own strength as I read about a mother fighting to recover that doesn’t yet know her six year old is dead.
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gryphon's hole 