Maps, Charts, and Projections

I only required space and time. That is all that was ever needed at this point, and I didn't know it until I took the opportunity to find out. I knew it when I had that familiar chill in my spine, and when my mouth opened up like I was hungry in a way I had not been, in a long time (and it is still not closed, and it is as if I am being hollowed out, and it is a divine pleasure, trust) I knew it when my step made me faster than anyone I was walking by, and I wasn't winded, and I knew it when it was as if I had seven projections in front of my eyes, all with different aspects of narratives - of maps and charts and words, and last lines first. I knew that all I had required in the last six months was just a moment to simply breathe, and that I had not found it in Montreal, and I would not find it here, until I had taken space from everyone and everything, save for what I chose. You choose, you know. Even when you are outside for a stroll in the fall air, it's still all a choice as to what it is you invite in, and what you deem unnecessary, and last night it was as if, for the first time in four years, everything else simply fell away (and four years ago, I wasn't even close to being this man, trust me) Matters of love or sex don't matter in a sense, because things will attend to themselves. You feel absolute longing but it somehow shifts in direction, and you know that the only way to someone's mouth, or to be inside of their body, or to anything of longing, is the path you suddenly find yourself on. So here it was, waiting. I didn't understand it until the now, and now that I know, only a full surrender is going to bring this all to the surface, so I give in (Here are my wrists for you, so bind them, and take me with you...) I do know that I will, in all likelihood, as a result of this, have the wildest bedroom in the city of Toronto (and it could have been no other way) Control isn't necessarily the issue, but the understanding that it's no longer time to give in to variables out of my hands. You see, no one has ever known how to construct a setting like this, who I know. So I have to give the example. I had paralyzed my mind with thoughts of how it should be, and it only took a moment of walking into a new space to realize what I could do with this narrative (and I'm doing so as we speak) I have four more days until I return back to work. Four days (Four days is plenty, yes) Money is not an issue. Whatever it takes and whatever has to be done, and whatever I have to do physically I will do for this. I'm surrendering. I'm yours. I'm giving in and giving in again until you have me (and until this is finished)

Coincidentally, this entry is finished (To it we go...)

You have to come to me now.

I'm taking a little time off from things in a couple of days (I've more than earned it) I would call it a rest but it's the exact opposite of a rest. If anything, it's to properly realign. I have too many openings and discoveries, and not enough time to fully pursue them. Time is always available, actually - it's just a matter of taking it, which I am (and I'm glad for it) Though I am tired, this is probably the healthiest I've felt in a long while. Healthy not only in the body and the spirit, but in this particular case I'll point out the wallet. I suddenly have resources (I suddenly have a lot of resources due to what I can only call an unexpected financial winfall of sorts) Either way, it changes the terms of what will be in the new year, and in order to properly attend to that, I need time off from work (which I am now taking for about eight days or so - plenty of time for what I have to do) But no negotiating terms anymore. I don't like variables in other people's hands, because other people either fuck it up, or others fuck things up for them. Me, well, though I can be accused of having my perversions and my deadly habits, when it comes to the things that I do I don't fuck up (ok, that's not entirely accurate - I don't fuck up now) It's not that I'm afraid of secret rooms or unexpected pleasures or possibilities (I so am ready for anything along those lines) All I am saying now is that I've decided that in the new year, since I have the money to do so, I'm setting up shop somewhere, and inviting you over. Now you can come, and you can come and dance, and you can come and watch (or you can even come and fuck, and you know who you are) Either way, I am shopping for a bed, and I'm shopping for a studio now, and I'm not afraid of the variables that comes with this decision. I know it's risky, and I know it's vague, but it's a blog entry. Blog entries aren't about specifics in terms of 'this is on the list of things to do' Blog entries are like taking notes in a journal quickly while you're sitting in a cafe waiting for a friend. They are incidental, and just reflective of the moment (and at this moment, I just made one gigantic entry in my so-called journal)

You have to come to me now, yes. I'm pretty, I'm a dancer, I fuck better than most men, and I know you (It will be reflected in narrative, yes)

(Yes...)

Maddy pt. 7

I'm dis appointed in your lovers. Your excuses for men (or in this particular case, a man) How little he must know of what he has let go (and let go of again and again) It is not enough for me to let it pass without a word or two, to say that he has let go of the one taste every man should kill for. That he has let go of the one who would do things for him beyond any other inclination by any other, and that his failure in recognizing it makes him forever a failure as a man. You should know, Maddy, that anyone who cannot give in to any desire that you wish for is a coward, and fearing of love and sex and any other wild desire a man could know. You are a dancer that is not recognized, you know. Your teachers fail at it when they give you a choreography that does not challenge or dare you. Your friends fail to know how much it matters for you to feel lean and empty and how anything that makes you otherwise merely weighs you down (and you were meant to be frail and thin and so lovely) I wish I could barricade you and I in a room together and we could starve ourselves and only have our dance and each other to feed us (it is a desire that doesn't have to be satisfied, but it has to be spoken of so that you know that there is at least one man who actually understands what it is that you demand and require) Your supposed man is a failure and where he is a failure is in his inability to give in to what most would kill for. You are absolute desire. You have a body and a heart that was made for pleasure, and the fact is whether he or anyone else knows it, you have few (if ever any) who have known how to properly encourage it (Do I make any sense at this point with what I say, darling?) So this finds you at the end of something. I have no doubt that your heart and your spirit feels crushed at the present time but it would be unwise to bend to such a thing. You do not need to give in to the loss, but understand that who you are at the moment, however wildly beautiful and so giving you are, is nothing compared to the woman that you are becoming, and that all of this loss will only compel you further to strip down everything you are (right down to your physical sense) and build yourself back up again. The temporary cruelty you have felt cannot touch how wild you are. How your body and your heart and your soul are intact, and though you feel loss you will soon feel weightless, and uninhibited, and pity the man who has let you go, for you are a dancer, and no man in his right mind lets go of a dancer, let alone one so beautiful, and so alive. You are the very definition of living, and though bruised and hurt, you are far more living and breathing and daring than he will ever be, and one day, very soon, in the quiet away from everyone, you will laugh at how he was so much of what was (and how so much of what was, is no longer required...)