Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

November 28, 2011

Salt, spice and soundwaves

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 4:30 pm

When I’ve not been hit in a while I savor the pain of common things. Salt ground into my lips while dining creates tiny abrasions. I transmute the sound of loud, abrasive songs into imaginary beatings; the bass becomes impact, the melody a thorn or barbed wire sliced across my skin, and a high pitch turns to the sharp pain of a piercing.

My first experience of masochism was eating the dark red chilies that flavor Chinese food. You’re not supposed to eat those! Aren’t they hot? my friends would exclaim.

But I like the hotness.

August 16, 2011


Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 7:08 pm

Humiliation is secretly a relief. I want to hear the fat and flaws on my body illuminated; having identified with the chevalier mal fet, T. H. White’s Lancelot, since I read the book in childhood. White writes that Lance was dreadfully ugly and taught himself, in isolation, to be the best knight in the world. My perfectionist mind gnaws at the waste surrounding what I might be; the slender golden goddess who is my spare ideal for myself. Her words have the strength of a thousand oxen. She is bones and taut skin, pared into a state of grace, gold and white and shining. In the mirror she is overlaid on every ounce of fat and I want to cry in desperation and peel off my skin when I see I am not like her. I am ill-made. Look at the shining golden girls about me; how they laugh. They are none of them perfect, but I have not idealized them with the cruelty I have idealized my potential self. I’ve created a parallel Lilac-who-might-be; she haunts me silently.

When you humiliate me, you let me know you see her too. Some of my tears will be pain but some will be relief. My torment will be in another’s hands for a while.

When I was younger I pencilled Lancelot’s name on my bedroom doorpost; he was a sort of protector, not because I wanted him to look after me, but because he was a hero whom I understood intimately in his self-torment. He had a strict moral code because he was bad inside, and broke it in the stupidity of love. I still, like a child, feel possessive of my hero whom I understand better than anyone.

And I want to be the best knight in all the world.

April 23, 2011

Destruction [i]

Filed under: Text — Tags: , , — Lilac @ 11:35 am

I memorized the Bene Gesserit litany against fear, starved for days, ran by the river each evening and gathered my strength. I went in without pride and on a plastic chair in the Armory basement thought, I must not fear. Fear is the little-death. Fear is the mind-killer that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear.

‘Hi Sister Hi Sister Hi Sister,’ says the chorus in robotic text-to-speech voice. The cameraman sets lights upon my cage.

They advance upon me; Sophie in black rubber, Brother in black leather, JP in black cloth. ‘You don’t need to look,’ Sophie says and pulls my gaze away. They hurt me.

I twist on basement-dusty feet at flicks of Brother’s singletail and JP’s dragonstail. There’s a moment when I understand I need everything within me to take the pain. It’s perfect. I’m at the full measure of my strength, focused and self-possessed. I growl feral against them. ‘That’s it, that’s the face,’ JP says.

January 19, 2011

The thermodynamics of a whipping

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 10:07 pm

Some submissives, says Madison, when they get beaten – you can see the energy jerking around in their body, like they don’t know what to do with it. I am like this, and a scientist, so I consider the equations.

The kinetic energy of a whip transforms (partially) to heat as it lashes my body.

I am whipped to burning. 100, 130, 160; incremented mindlessly with each impact; even when you cease, rest the whip about my shoulders and hit my face instead.

October 20, 2010

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

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 1:00 am

Chest beaten with a ribbon-wrapped date switch, I twist and turn.
Stay still. I want you to channel all that pain into sound. I want you to let me hear it.

With all due respect, brother, I do not like this method of processing pain.
How would you rather do it?
Please let me process pain by moving.
I am inclined to dance, to twist and bend along soundwaves and circumstance. I am not inclined to voice my reactions; I pride myself on silence, and I’d rather you not alter me to be a thing I dislike. But I serve you and call out the pain…

I’m a one-girl storm cresting and falling. Rain falls in the grey, electricity spits orange across the mesh on my thighs, & vibration rolls across my mons.

Where is your attention?
On you, brother.
Then you can come.

Set free, kissing you, warming my stomach with slices of home-made olive bread.

October 2, 2010

I can never die

Filed under: Text — Tags: , , — Lilac @ 10:42 pm

There are two men I keep in my heart: Hades and Daedalus. I negotiated the privilege of being co-topped by them.

For 1.5 hours they hurt me, using canes in symmetry and floggers with the drumbeat of songs. Daedalus uses a smile of wild beauty & teal, shining eyes.
Hades’ lips comfort and console me. Daedalus’ chest supports my head. Hades’ boots keep me in position; his countenance fearsome and controlled.

They beat me through fire and heaven; Dragula comes on the speakers.

Devil on your back
I bare my teeth and growl at Daedalus, believing it: I can never die.

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