Caught Sleeping
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
-But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
-Shakespeare
Layers. Every day there were many layers that stack on top of each other. Like little parchments they do not seem to be so big and thick until thousands pile on top of each other and reach a great height.
People are in those layers. People and experiences and feelings and emotions about those people. Sometimes if I have not seen someone for a long time it takes me a while of sifting and sorting back through the layers before I remember how I feel about them.
Today it was no different. I was displeased with the way bell greeted me. I was tired and the day had been long and hard with trying to wade through people's complaints and unrest. How long since I had seen her? I could not remember the last time she had knelt at my feet. I did not want a hug .. I wanted my needs asked of. I wanted my slave to think of my needs and ask me of them so I could tell her. I wanted the beautiful woman she was to throw herself at my feet and act like a slave. To remind me why I like her naked and displayed .. why she is a slave and not free. Tomorrow I may want something else. Is she supposed to figure it out? Actually .. yes she is. That is why she is my slave. She is supposed to figure me out enough to know what I want. Will I not desire her or will I sell her because she got it wrong? Of course not. But neither will I pretend she got it right.
I am not a port in a storm. I am the storm.
Bell .. my little slave. You got caught sleeping. Remind me of all the reasons I wanted you submitted at my feet .. a proud and beautiful Tuchuk slave.
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
-But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
-Shakespeare
Layers. Every day there were many layers that stack on top of each other. Like little parchments they do not seem to be so big and thick until thousands pile on top of each other and reach a great height.
People are in those layers. People and experiences and feelings and emotions about those people. Sometimes if I have not seen someone for a long time it takes me a while of sifting and sorting back through the layers before I remember how I feel about them.
Today it was no different. I was displeased with the way bell greeted me. I was tired and the day had been long and hard with trying to wade through people's complaints and unrest. How long since I had seen her? I could not remember the last time she had knelt at my feet. I did not want a hug .. I wanted my needs asked of. I wanted my slave to think of my needs and ask me of them so I could tell her. I wanted the beautiful woman she was to throw herself at my feet and act like a slave. To remind me why I like her naked and displayed .. why she is a slave and not free. Tomorrow I may want something else. Is she supposed to figure it out? Actually .. yes she is. That is why she is my slave. She is supposed to figure me out enough to know what I want. Will I not desire her or will I sell her because she got it wrong? Of course not. But neither will I pretend she got it right.
I am not a port in a storm. I am the storm.
Bell .. my little slave. You got caught sleeping. Remind me of all the reasons I wanted you submitted at my feet .. a proud and beautiful Tuchuk slave.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home