Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Sacred Sensuality Pt 3 - Meeting a Dreamy Partner (which is another homework assignment entirely unfinished and now started)

<and then afterwards> <okay this is a separate chapter>
You left. You had a prior <and *that* is a separate chapter>. But you came back - you handed my your phone, you asked me to put in my number. I was bursting. I put in my number. Also a landline number. Also an email address <omfg too keen>. And I got you to reciprocate. All the numbers. All the places. There would be no possibility of missed connection.

And still you left.

I was the last to really get my act together and leave. I was pretty blown out, lying on the floor with the sounds of Saturday Night Courtenay Place coming up through the floor and in the window… Those who weren’t running actually late for priors had helped to clean up, but then dressed and departed. Angie was in the shower. She had offered me first shower but I wanted none of clean. I wanted to steep in scented oils and the sweat of 8 hands… When Angie was ready to leave I helped her close up and I went home in oil and bliss.


It was like a runners high and a post coital daze and a rush of love to the head. The morphine painlessness. I walked through the booze soaked piss smelling cacophony of Wellington’s Saturday midnight and there was nothing but warmth and love. I love you, homeless guy, here is a kilo of dal we couldn’t eat. I love you, drunk club girls. I love you, popped collar rugby boys. You can’t touch me <I’m very oiled up> you can’t hurt me <I’m numb from the eyes down>. I Love Everybody.

Sacred Sensuality pt 1

Meeting new people in a sacred space. Here’s how it goes down.

I’m alone. I’m reflecting on what I am missing. I’m reaching into the void - clutching at passersby on chatroulette and omeegl. Met some flirts, met some friends, seen a lot of genitals, seen some performance art. Not on the whole a negative experience but I feel, I know, I am looking for something else I am missing. Something - touch. Actual people.

And I remember reading about some basic touch workshops that were run in my neck of the woods a few months back, in the community rag. Before it was relevant to me, before I was truly technically alone. But it must have struck a chord… Because I remember that I saw it - consenting touch - “snuggle parties” or “cuddle parties” or some such thing. So I am rooting through the recycling for the newspaper and I find it. Truth be told it must have been an un-dealt-with-pile-of-crap to be still lying around so… Anyway…

There it is. It happened about a week ago. But there are phone numbers and email addresses for the person organising it. So I take a big deep breath and I email them. So trepidation. Much shy.

And they reply - this lovely (sounding) lady says - hey - too bad, you just missed one and we’re not doing again for a month or three. Where did you hear about this and why do you think it would be right for you? And I say so - openly, honestly, mildly cathartically, to be honest.
And to my surprise and relief, this honesty, this level of contact, this potential overshare, is OK. Is affirmed. I was so primed for rejection (a couple nights on chatroulette will do that for you) that this was in and of itself just overwhemingly *good*. You can tell people where you are coming from and what you are about and they don’t go “ew” they go “ah… and let’s discuss more”. People fucking rule. And they answer emails - like there is anything worse than sending that message and waiting? Well this *stranger* didn’t make me wait. She replied. It’s genius. Everyone should do this.

So after some back and forth where I am sure she is at least trying to make sure I am not a crazy person and I am both trying to not come across like a desperate crazy person and make sure she is not a crazy person (and at least partly not caring if she turned out to be) she says: well… We won’t be running another snuggle party for at least a month. But we *are* running a sacred sensual massage group this weekend - it is invitation only but if you would like to join us I will invite you.

My brain explodes.

And then I google what the hell she is talking about.

And then it explodes some more. And luckily they can’t hear the break in my voice as I compose a reply and try-not-to-send-it-too-soon-and well anyway.

To make a long story long. I go.


And that’s the next thing. 

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

dreaming one

I dreamt about you. I had you sprawled back on the bed and my hands on you, inside you… My mouth played across your chest and down your flanks while I probed you. We had already begun. You were already wet and wanting, arching and sighing under my caress. But you were abstracting - trying to understand what I was doing. You asked me:
Why do you <do that with your fingers> - <and here you had a description for what I do when I cross and uncross my fingers inside of you> and at first I didn’t understand, so by way of a response I put more of my hand in you and you lost your train of thought. But then I realised what you were asking and I withdrew until just my index and middle finger were inside, and then when they are all the way back in I crossed and uncrossed them.

This? I perform the action again and you buck a little - I place my pursed lips on you and suck gently while I think. Thinking with my fingers. Thinking with my tongue. I roll my tongue on your clitoris between sucks. A bunch of reasons. With my fingers crossed I hook them slightly and pull back - increasing the friction and pressure on the inside front wall, where you are slightly <ribbed? There is a texture there, it comes and goes - right now it is definitely coming AND going). I reflect on my hooked fingers - supporting each other, and I cross and uncross them the opposite way - it changes the angle, the depth of penetration, the pressure inside you. I do it so I can touch you here *uncross* and here *cross* and here, I say… I think but I don’t say that I read it - in a how-to somewhere - I don’t remember - I also think but don’t say that it helps me to support my fingers in turn - to apply more pressure and reduce the fatigue in my hands. But that’s not the sexiest reason - my old-man-wrist-hurt disease.

I slide my face back up to your breasts and - between turns holding each nipple hard between my tongue and the ridge of my palate behind my teeth I’m trying to explain this - as the reason why to your original question although I am not entirely sure you care to know anymore. I am grinding up against the side of you while I do this - pinioning one of your legs while the other splays open. I push my hardness against your hip for my own gratification and the ersatz thrusting in the dream becomes real - and I am on my side and really (really) hard - but I am thrusting against empty space in the dimly lit empty room. My mouth is open but it isn’t full of you.


And I am also disappointed that it was *only* a dream. But then I remember that I am on my way home. And that it has been real before, and will be again. x

Sunday, December 7, 2014

trigger trips

Yesterday I ate pizza and couldn’t purge.

I excuse myself from the pizza party and go to take a shit <hit>. I have my trusty toothbrush but I need a couple of other things… privacy and time

I like to be discrete when I purge. The other toilet cubicles are full of guys crapping. We’re eating pizza at half past five and the rest of the building is still pretty busy. Workers working late and people propping up the surrounding bars and bakery leaners. It’s like a bakery with bar leaners outside. It’s still pretty packed out half after five.

So I do have to shit. And I seem to have the runs. And I expect it is something to do with the filled donuts from morning tea (my birthday shout). I eschew traditional cakes… it’s my thing. One year when I was particularly depressed and body image crisis-y I came in with a bunch of fresh fruit - mango and pineapple and strawberries and idk what else and spent about 20 minutes chopping and slicing just divine freshjuicy treats. And then I sent the usual birthday email - hey team it’s fruitCAKE in the kitchen) and people came and ate healthy delicious things and were happy and didn’t feel stodgy and sleepy and purgey later. Damian doesn’t eat cake so he didn’t come. I tried to explain the joke to him later but he wasn’t into it.

I wonder if the whole office is going to come down with the shits overnight and blame the pizza. Or if the pizza is actually to blame, and then I wonder if everybody purges the pizza…

So I kill too long shitting and feeling twitchier and twitcheir and I can’t think I have hours and hours work still to do and I;m not going to get it done if all I can think Is why cant these fucking people fuck off so I can stick the handle of this toothbrush down my throat and feel normal again and gave other thoughts. Pizza. Heavy greasy fatty pizza. Bread. Oily cheesy bread. Ugh.

I only had two.

And two donuts. This morning.

And I think that was all for the day.

But I’m crawling out of my skin.

Fuck it.

I need the time because even if I can puke quietly I come out all sweaty and blotchy so this is no use at all.

But there are socially acceptable ways to purge. I have to do the other thing that gives me a little peace - I have to run. Run run run. Now I can’t think about anything else until I make that happen. So I leave the toilet stall and go to wash up.

And there is abdul washing up.

No fucking shit.

So I wash my hands pretty good. Twice. And he is still washing up. I think he is waiting for me to fuck off.

His eyes are red. He’s waiting for me to leave so he can keep washing his face…

And as I leave the bathroom I realise he has been in there throwing up. Nice one. Now I’m projecting this bullshit on everyone.

Anyway I only go back into the office to gather up my running gear and then its back to the washroom to get changed. And then I come back. Tarryn is incredulous - are you going for a run? <the subtext is i *saw* you eat, motherfucker, people don’t do that> and I certainly am <the subtext is run run run I can’t hear you la la la run run run>.

I run 6.5 km at 5:40 per kilometres which equals how many calories <enough>.

It is enough. I haven’t run much lately so it’s enough. I also think I’m getting sick again because the run was heavy and wheezy but that could also be the food. Thank fuck I packed inhalers because if it kicks in while I am in the fucking snow I will die. This happened in copenhagen. I came back from copenhagen coughing up blood. That was the start of the start of the lung disease trip.
I hate going on trips.

What a fortuitious thing to write - I am on a fucking plane to california-alberta-colorado-texas-northcarolina-virginia-northcarolina-california. That’s not what I mean - I *like* these kinds of trips.

I hate the trips when something comes on and you know, you just know, it is going to be <hours, weeks, months, years> of shittiness until you can get off. The buy the ticket take the ride trips. I hate the trips where you didn’t even buy the ticket.



unsolicited ptoothfish migraine report/share

I had a migraine last sunday - first one I have had since I was maybe in my 20s. Took me way back to my early teens when they were a weekly trip. Migraines are a total mindfuck because they are relentless murderous fucking cunts and they are brutal.
Migraines have a pattern. People have variations on this theme but I have heard enough migraine stories to know they really fuck everybody the same way. Here is my basic pattern.
It starts with a blind spot. A small bit of visual field just off center that just disappears. But then it grows, first just annoying and then totally debilitating. Then the blind spot goes away and there is pain. Only a lot at first but then a whole fucking lot more. Behind the eyes and pushing forward. Behind the ears and pushing inward. Constant but pulsating. Pain continues to build and blob and pulsate and you can’t stand to have your eyes open because they hurt but when they are closed the pulsing and blobbing around is accentuated and moves in a rhythm with the pain until you can’t tell if you’re awake and dreaming that it hurts or asleep… Hours. Fucking hours. Nothing helps. Then you actually do fall asleep - your brain just fucking goes into a wave pattern that matches the pain pulses and you’re away. And then you wake up and puke and the pain is magically ALL GONE. You’re on your hands and knees and wet with perspiration and have puked and puked and puked and there is no pain and being knee down on the dirty toilet floor so close to the porcelain now so imperfectly clean is soooo good.
And then one of two things happens. You have a small fading headache and you’re free. Free to do the rest of the day or go back to bed (if the blackout phase has taken you from afternoon to bedtime then it is still bedtime and you go have uneasy post sleep sleep). Or. There is a blindspot. A small annoying blindspot. And you’re back on this fucking trip and you’re going around again and there is no.way.to.get.off.

But my most recent migraine was a fucking doozy. Like I said I haven’t had one for a while. And I’ve never had exactly this one. The blind spot was vividly edged not annoyingly almost perceptible. And it was coloured and shimmering and sawtooth triangular. And it got bigger. And bigger. Until it was not some fraction left and down from centre. It was everything BUT some fraction right and down. I was functionally blind. Maybe three quarters of my vf was hallucinatory shimmering sawtooth rainbows. No pain and no panic - kind of enjoying the total immersion. I was out with Adrianne so she could drive me home. And I had nothing particular to do for the rest of the day. So it was… peaceful. But I worried that the magnitude of the visual cue might be a bad sign. And it was.

Then the blind spot vanished. No fade out. Click. Paul on the road to damascus. I can see. Hell a fucking lou ya. Because what was coming was for realisies fucking terror frying. I had enough time to get home. It was pushing behind my eyes. But pushing in. Take some neurofen. 3. I know it won’t help but it might make me sleep. I probably should take something harder but I have, you know, this complicated relationship thing with my harder painkillers… abstinence is my best defence. and besides I still feel psychically altered by the visual phase. I don’t feel that mixing chemicals, even painkillers, will make this thing better. Maybe even worse. Anyway it hasn’t happened yet but I know it is coming. Like you know something fucking bad is coming <like inserting a really fucking intense metaphor here is coming? Like you know all kinds of shit pain is coming>. I get my pants off and it is coming on I slip into the cool sheets <too cool not cool enough it’s going to get really fucking rough in here> I get my head on the pillow. And it hits.

And it hits and it hits and I groan and whimper for the anticipation that it won’t end. But it doesn’t help so I resign myself to it. But it doesn’t help so I groan and whimper a little more. Fuck this.
Hour one is about do i want my eyes shut (too focused on pain in eyes) open (too bright too much movement) do I want the curtains drawn (too cold without the sunlight) open (too bright) do I want to be stroked (yes no) do I want to be left alone (no yes no yes yes no yes yes yes… okay this is yes. Alone. I can’t do words. I can’t respond touch. I can’t do sound. Alone. Maybe I can sleep)

But you can’t sleep. Because you didn’t say the magic word or take the magic pill.

Hour two is being absolutely transported to my childhood. I can’t open my eyes. I am IN my bedtoom <bedroom bedtomb> in childhood growing up street. I can’t open my eyes but this is state dependent memory. I can see everything. Anchored to this previous point in my my personal timeline by mind altering fucking PAIN. I’m not head north on buckwheat pillows I am head south on thatever I had then. There is a giant square pillow with a reclining lion on it. This is my tweenage boyhood linen and decor.
There is a difference - with my eyes closed this time there is no pulse. There used to be a pulse. A whoom whoom whoom whoom whoom and it used to be accompanied by a blob behind my eyes that would blob a path in my vf. A square path. The path was the same as the swinging animated characters in a computer game I had called harvey wallbanger. It was a random trip through a grid. Blob blob blob from cell to cell, sometimes up, across, back forth, down, vlob blob blob whooom whooom whoom.
Anyway this isn’t happening and it’s KINDA a relief cos that was fucking harsh. Harsh enough that I am wobbly cold sweat terrified that it might start happening as a 38 year old grown up. But it doesn’t. This isn’t the story where I imagine something happening and then that thing happened that I was worried was gonna happen.

But I’m otherwise transported mentally and bodily to like 1988. And it is fucking on. Like donkey headfuckingly sore kong.

Hour 3 is obsession that I am going to die. This isn’t a migraine. That’s why the visual part was soooo different. This is meningitis. I’m going to puke and pass out and this is meningitis and my migraine history is going to delay diagnosis so I get blood poisoning before they start with the antibiotics and that is totally going to happen. <this totally did happen, to someone else, so I’m not cribbing this story - this is just what my brain does with this input of pain only>
Fuck.
Yesterday I emptied the RANCID fucking fishtank to ship to my kid’s house and when it was nearly empty and I was carrying the tank to the toilet to dump the rest it sloshes and I got some in my eye and mouth and this is amoebic fucking meningitis so even when they realise it’s meningitis they are going to treat me for bacterial and it isn’t going to arrest things and only the progress of the disease is going to alert anyone to the risk that it is not bacterial.
For an hour I am just rotting from the inside out with whatever from the fish tank has infected my brain. I’m in a green fish shit tank of pain. For that whole hour. <Meningitis pond scum amoebic slime green pain> is all one word and all I am and it repeats over and over and over and over…

And somewhere in that third hour of obsessive self indulgent bullshit… I fall asleep. It’s not just pain unawarenees. It’s sleep. An I don’t even think it is significantly long but when I wake up I am only just awake enough to move my body to the bathroom. In my minds eye is a carpeted Dunedin bathroom but here in the real world I still make the right sequence of motor plans to get face down over my ensuite (dirty) toilet and puke. My.fucking.guts. Out.
And nothing I ate earlier in the day has been actually processed. It all comes out. Except radically altered by 4-5 hours of pre-digestion. It looks like things. It smells like things. It tastes like poison. And it comes out apace. Spatters the wall. Up the fucking wall. Chocolate brown acrid stomach acid smelling up the wall. More more more more.

And then wipe it all up. Stand up. Soak a washcloth and put it over my pain free head.


Garden walk with professional gardener becomes overwhelming todo list


Escalonia - cut hard back

Leucadendron - it's poked, take it out

Medicinal katakana, weedy though 

Lophomyrtys  native, but poked, take it out

Lemon citradorsa, cut hard back 

Korokia cut hard back

Banksia

Kowhai - looks dead: cut anything off that's not green if scraped

Not sure: bay?

Cherry seedling, take out

Chinese lantern

Yellow lantern: kill it

Dwarf kowhai - get the grass out

Roses: prune hard back - like this (demonstrates) Cut back to almost all gone, Except the big tall one

Passion fruit

Black nightshade

Port wine magnolia

Chinese gooseberry

Jasmine

Big-ass false acacia inside big rose: get it out

Various pointless bird drop seedlings - take them out

Feijoa: may need saving or throwing out

Genistima needs a trim up

In the pipes: flax, and self sown pohutukawa

Viburnum trim up or leave

Karo

Pepper tree:cut off the straggly bits

Camelia

Totara

Grasses in the raspberries: take out

Canadian fleabane take out

Bougainvillea 

Pittosporum hebe lancewood: take out some, too many too close

These grasses are past it

Lemon tree: get the other rubbish out and/or transplant

Kill all the self sown pittos and cherries

Cut hebe back by the gas bottles

This hybrid is three different flaxes! Take out the green part

Coprosma cut back (done)

Geranium

Breath of heaven colonema 
Smells awesome, but get the grass out

Very Busy lizzy

Polygala sweet pea bush : kill the big one

Little korikua under the other one: transplant

Lawson's Cyprus take out, grows huuuuge

Cut escalonia that is coming thru fence by libernium

Ornamental bamboo looks good
Fairy bamboo

Cherry to kill by lamp post

That's just a dead thing

Cut the hydrangeas back off the path when the flowers are done this season