Lilac Wine :: a warzone towards haiku

December 15, 2010

Stew’d in corruption

Filed under: Text — Tags: , — Lilac @ 12:03 am

Healing ought not imply altering to fit a norm. I am healed by being whole, integrating the insights & strengths I gained through abuse. They’ll always be part of my psyche. My sexuality reflects what I’ve seen, gazing into the abyss, in the rank sweat of an enseamed bed beneath a man three times my age.

What is it about trauma and sexuality? We learn the power of want. We learn to separate sex from its connotations, action from reaction, experience from meaning. We learn this world of desire exists outside all laws and the optimistic social contract. We see men risk jail for us. It’s not about sex, they say. It’s about power. We learn that sex can be about power.

We grow up reclaiming our sexuality. We tap into this power. If they don’t play by the rules, if desire is stronger than the rules…

I allow this to be part of myself and my sexuality, though wielded with kindness instead of abuse. I use the strengths I’ve learned: endurance, understanding, deconstruction.

And it is validating to see, consensually expressed in kink, the kind of sick greed and power a man once indulged upon me. Though I like to be challenged and learn, I linger in situations I’ve grown the tools to handle, for I am stronger there. I can develop other tools but it takes time, energy. Do I want to invest the work?

I’m aware I learned some fucked up lessons, but I try to harm none.

I get off on callous disregard, sadism (receiving), ageplay. To quote The Suicide Kings, The only way that I can be more than the sum of what has been done to me is to do it all again to myself.


November 22, 2010

Why I am pro-pornography like I am pro-books

Filed under: Text — Tags: — Lilac @ 7:59 pm

Conventional wisdom says not to learn about sex from porn, but porn excels at creating lust; so I learnt desire from pornography since it was more compelling than anything else around. I had crushes and slept with boys; no matter how sweet, these didn’t elicit the same strength of response. Or, the gist was love and never arousal; though love is high high high on my totem of things, I wouldn’t want to exist without lust. Pornography is powerful. It is riveting, and can be hard to compete with. I don’t think this makes porn the devil, any more than books are the devil for making us question our worlds, or for instilling wanderlust in the comfortable…

Some people are anti-porn because its images are unrealistic, and we can’t all have/be the girls in the pictures, or treat our partners in the idealized manner of a movie. I think: this is as frightened an argument as any call for censorship. Pornography makes us long and want, and it shows us pinnacles of acts or bodies which speak to our blood. Take it in critically, like all things; or at least be critical once the rush of blood has left your head. We can divine the difference between desire and expectation. Each is a valuable reference point, and I think knowing where you stand with each is valuable in forging a satisfying world.

But I don’t think it’s best to dismiss pornography, or fight it offhand. It’s not wrong to admire an idealized form which is difficult to obtain: we admire scholars, artists, mathematicians who achieve hard things through self-torment and denial. Doing this with your body is totally valid as well. It can be done as an art. It can be a struggle. It can be recognition of a vision.

And these things are not bad; just be critical about the sacrifices made, as with any tasking thing.

October 6, 2010


Filed under: Text — Tags: , , — Lilac @ 9:50 pm

Theory: calling me a slut is no more degrading than calling me an engineer. Each is a limited scope of self.

If I get to interpret slut as a quality, I’ll take empowered woman with a taste for free love. I know the sensations I like & I’m learning how to get them, not indiscriminately, but discriminating only on my own terms. Also, excess is a sensation. Fear is. Diving into the unknown is. If I want these, I may go into certain spaces & be immersed – take your theme parks, I know parties which are roller coasters.
If I take slut as sex worker, then it’s interpretable in as many ways as there are forms of sex work. Sex workers have varying levels of choice with their partners, and of agency with their actions.

Slut implies your sexuality is worth paying for. It also implies that you sell it. And the way people spit that word, it implies you sell for less than the going social value. I think there’s a lot of insight wrapped up in the way we discuss sex work.

To understand your body as something given & traded is smart. Right? Prostitution is the oldest profession. Sexuality gets bartered in vanilla relationships, too, with varying degrees of honesty regarding the value and enjoyment of that transaction. Sluts keep that transparent, and everyone is happy, unless they’re looking in and they’re not..

So maybe calling me slut lets me focus, rather than degrading me.

Or, maybe the grades (degrader “degrade, deprive (of office, rank, etc.),” from des– “down” (see dis-) + L. gradus “step” ) are of social worth, rather than personal lows, levels of happiness, etc. There’s an aspect of degradation which breaks one out of the social contract; where you go next hurts, but it may or may not make you feel genuinely less. Degradation can be simplification. Transformation. Some degradation makes you less, but you learn it’s okay to be less for a while. Or you learn what it is that makes you feel less, and retrace that path to become more. It’s a shaman’s journey into your psyche.

Or: it’s just a gift of power exchange.

As a brat teenager I liked to assert, I never signed the social contract.

Degradation is a two-way street – what kind of man abuses his lover with harsh words ‘n mousetraps? Not a ‘good’ man. Not (in the eyes of most) a kind or skilled lover. But: a brave one.

We go in together, like adventurers. In the low places is, by definition, something we disregarded and forgot. Down in the dust struggling with powerlessness, worshipping that which controls us, we’re able to exist in a real and immediate sense. We’re fallible creatures; and for a while we don’t have to buy into our culture’s standards of perfection or equality. We get to be unfiltered, and free; we’re the best anarchy available in the city, sheltered by the walls of an apartment or dungeon, liberated into a pirate utopia.

We turn around and create a society which furthers our anarchy. (Sells whips, teaches fireplay, organizes events.) My childhood crush on the noble savage meets your violent boyhood fantasies. We get legitimized ‘n connected. Then we go in and express it better and better, pendulum swinging from eloquence to purity.

And so on.

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