Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

August 24, 2013

Extreme juniper bondage action

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 6:41 pm

Today I wandered through a bonsai exhibit and it seemed like D/s with shears and a little tree. The metaphor extended as I watched a gardener wind raffia and tie juniper branches into desired position; from cultivation to bondage and then to an entire parallel of attitudes towards nature and the natural. Hades and I have discussed how our inclinations are echoed in our driving styles and sundry other actions. Is there a basic root sourcing both submission as an appreciation of another’s nature, and liking the wilds where nature is mostly undisturbed? I like seeing the essence of things.

There is something like an art of bonsai in training another person to be small, cutting away their inclinations and keeping them a manageable size for miniature perfection. One masters the little tree.

Or perhaps one tends their garden so plants grow full and green; the metaphor shouldn’t be solely of miniaturization, only of tending. Sometimes it is nice to be watered and weeded. Other times it is best to seek the sun by your leaves alone.


March 13, 2011


Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 10:13 pm

I feel like play-dough, Daddy.

You get your little girl high, position her on hands and knees and control her limbs with precision. I feel a map of muscle memory being written. We’ll call this position On Hands and Knees.

Later I get a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

February 23, 2011

P = F/A

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 2:31 pm

Is it play or real? I am a serious girl. If the stakes aren’t high I don’t care. I don’t want a flogging like a rollercoaster ride; I don’t want rollercoaster fear.

If I do care, I’ll risk isolation and self-destruction in the process of narrowing my vision to match the scope of my desire. It’s beneficial; isolation and pain let me focus.

I’m so good when I’m focused.

I always played tag so seriously, running until I couldn’t breathe. I write with the slowness of a river polishing stone. I stayed up til dawn with graduate-level mathematics. I’ll spend hours taking a single photograph. I bleed and vomit and cry when we play.

If god is a singularity, an impossibility, then the singular and impossible are my icons of god.

I trust you fairly completely, yet I am brought to terror in scene; not of the scene, but of being insufficient for the measure of your brutality and want. It is terrible how hard I will try. Your incantation is always More, and you stand in in those moments for god.

February 22, 2011

Playing like kittens

Filed under: Text — Tags: , , — Lilac @ 1:44 pm

I’m playing with the kitten. She’s leaping and tumbling over herself; sometimes she can’t run fast enough to catch the feathery toy I taunt her with. I smile, empathizing from my experience in impossible scenes. My kitty is learning to jump higher, run faster, hunt better. She’s an amazing little creature, whether she catches the feathery-toy or not; even when she abandons the game in favour of pettings and a nap. It’s play, it’s fun, I love her. I do not care if she’s spectacular, I care that she’s engaged and happy and that we connect.

This reassures me. I expect my brother has higher bars for a partner than a pet, but he’s playing with a little sister whose limits and rates of growth he understands, and he won’t stop loving me if I’m imperfect or outdone, if I can’t (yet? ever?) grasp the feathery-toys he dangles above me.

What matters is that you try.

February 9, 2011

Peach flavour

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 10:52 pm

I am starved til evening, then hand-fed a cup of peach yogurt. I’m turned on by the shame of wanting it so meekly, each slow sweet thick bite. Thank you, Daddy.

I’ll take care of my little girl.

January 27, 2011


Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 9:00 am

I wish you wouldn’t prey on my vulnerabilities.
No you don’t.

October 19, 2010

The apple in a whole roast pig’s mouth: morning

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 9:00 am

Rainy silverlit morning floods in & turns our blankets brilliant shades of themselves: blue, black, bright violet and amber. Green and cream. We sleep in a rainbow, kitten snuggling between our bodies.

Still collared, I scramble eggs; adding black pepper & pepper jack while you beat me amusedly. One of us gets breakfast.

August 20, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 7:22 pm

I like strong women. You guide my strength with lines of perfect intent drawn, carefully as hemp, about my psyche.

I’m rewiring you. Your smart demon-eyes study me as a sculptor studies his stone, comprehending the correct form within. You have broken me down into raw material. One afternoon in your loft & I was signing a letter parchment paper for your maps, Lilac.

I exist in grace in the hands of an artist. I ride rails laid out for me, achieving balance. The Tao is sought. You feel particularly real; I know you. And you know just what to say: I won’t eat all of you. I’ll leave a piece for the gods…

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