Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

December 3, 2010


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

I didn’t understand why you called me sister but played along, dynamicfucked in Citadel’s dungeon. I read your diary, little sister…
Even the parts about kissing boys? You.. didn’t see what I wrote about you, did you?
Amateurish roleplay with a Hitachi between my thighs – but it wasn’t a game.

You asked me to be part of a (nascent) leather family and I didn’t understand – I’m still learning to understand. I gave you half a yes in collar, as it fit us, and the other half free.

Why do you call her sister?
Because she is my sister.

Kinship is our underlying dynamic. We each cultivated strange strengths, sustaining and alienating ourselves, and recognized these in each other. We’ve known long spans of solitude and we have taken Occam’s razor to our senses of sexuality, art, and societal liberation. We have burnt the unnecessary over and over, which kept the sacred accessible within us.

Upon a foundation of dust we placed a primal mindfuck or a wonderful magick, and it works.

I hit my jerk big brother: I hate you, I hate you, I hate boys.

I love you.


November 5, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 12:42 pm

Though I half-wish she wouldn’t, Lilac Wine gets tangled up with the continuum of everyday imperfections. I kept her strong, inhabited only with the best of myself, as long as I was able. This is when I failed: winding a 10′ length of bamboo silk rope.

You have never failed me, Hades always says, should I doubt myself as he peels the leather collar away. It was immensely comforting to know that if I failed at some task, it was enough to have given the extent of myself.

This time he shows me how to wind his rope and I attempt it, missing some element of the winding; he unravels the rope and throws it down to re-tie. Again, and again. Each time I still the shaking and keep stone in my countenance. I am here to learn, but I want affection so badly. But I don’t need affection and love; I am training. My ego is getting in the way. Just work. Even stripped of ego my last attempt is clumsy and crooked and I throw it on the ground, infuriated at my thick hands and poor memory.

With something like horror I pick up and offer the rope bundle. Hades unlocks and removes my collar. This time he says, simply, Thank you for trying.

I am disgusted at my disgust at failing at a submissive dynamic. How messy.

Next evening I wind his rope carefully and correctly. I try to earn redemption on a timescale longer than the scene; out of respect for the dynamic & the energy Hades put into teaching me; and in service to some higher purpose (leather with a capital L?)

September 12, 2010

In this silence I believe

Filed under: Text — Tags: , , — Lilac @ 7:44 pm

It’s hard to talk about life lately, as it’s so surreal and I’m half-afraid if I put it into words I’ll jinx it. May take exceeding discipline to handle everything right.

You stop my breath against the leather strips of your flogger. What are you smelling?
I give half a dozen answers. That’s much more eloquent than the answer I was looking for.
What were you looking for?
You’re smelling /my leather…

That’s eloquent as well. More so. Like black, allspice, and chocolate; it evokes something rich as gingerbread cookies; with the bite of spice and warmth of a family kitchen.

Listening to Miro and Metric in your lap, déjà vu comes forward out of the long-ago. I’m as comfortable in your hands as in my own, & as pleased or more. The hours turn from blue to black. I ask you politely to give me space, bind my athame to my heart.

Words are flowing out like endless rain, sings Fiona Apple. The heart of the world tree is cut deeper into my chest. Getting up I pour black peach tea and re-join you naturally, it is a repeated refrain; I love this like a song, or fine chocolate: with genuine desire, desirous of more.

August 3, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 7:02 pm

What does leather mean to you?
Loyalty, sir. Honor, sir. Material we inhabit with our blood and sweat and tears, sir. A symbol that lets us recognize each other on the streets and in our bedrooms, sir.

I played hooky last Thursday & bought boots (tall black Docs!) in the Haight; my brother knelt and helped lace them (as my hands were fucked from bondage), and he tied the last knot.

July 25, 2010

Leather family

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 5:44 pm

You’re sick.

-What does that make you?

Pretty sure I’m not adopted, brother.

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