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The Duality of Ill

...trying to find that balance in life...
1 week ago. Fri 08 Nov 2019 09:16:21 PM IST

I sent my profile into the void and thought - I cannot leave without saying farewell. It is a fond farewell. Likely, it is not forever. It is that time of year when time gets as tight as our pockets are light. Navigating the emotions of memories and seasons past. I tend to do a lot of reflection. This year has been full of emotion for me as I clawed my way out of the tomb of a life I created for myself. 

 

 

Reflection...

..is a good thing. Taking all we experience into honest consideration is an avenue of growth. When we go through life chasing down those finely curated and boxed desires bespoke by the people that raised us or the media that fed us, we add all of these into our lifestyle repertoire. If you were like me, you chewed on the edge of that box until you broke a tooth. Along the way, you figure out that these are someone else's ideal - but what are yours? Of course, you also fuck-shit-up along the way. Reflection is that honest and holistic view of you. The one only you can see. Your tapestry. Your garden. Cutting off the vestigial parts is like pruning. You make way for the right seed to be planted.

 

Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
- raymond carver

 

Remember that it is not enough to identify what is rubbish. Waste should be removed, lest is become a burden to your life and mind. Reflection has taught me about my frailties and my resilience. It has also taught me that I am far too trusting upfront with these things. This tends to lead to great conversations and my investment in the person only to have them walk away. And while good riddance of bad rubbish, it takes a toll. You often lose something of value, if you are not careful. 

 

The Lost

Loss is one of those things that for some is as easy as a lesson. Assimilate and move on. How I wish I was that person. Loss comes with the mourning of some kind as mourning is not restricted to the deceased. It is a process assigned to a profound loss.

Loss of Love.
Loss of Limb.
Loss of Life. 

For over a decade, I've been swimming in the loss I accumulated over the course of my life. Things that should not only have been recognized but tossed out. I am mourning my loss of time. Time wasted on these things. Time spent beating myself up over things that were not my fault. 

Okay, maybe there were a few. ๐Ÿ˜

 

Recovery

Reflection has taught me that I enjoy passion and creativity. The dominant male sexual prowess and the safety and security he offers is unparallel. It has taught me that I do not love myself nearly as much as I deserve. That my career is not my life. Change is not always a catalyst for evil. There is a good kind of solitude and a bad kind. Follow-through is everything. A solid mutual bond with my dom is of the highest priority. Neglect can come in many forms. It is okay to be afraid - just don't live there. 

 
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
-  john keats

 

These creative and passionate things I need to seek out and explore. Somewhere waiting for me is the dom who is the perfect fit for my garden. Together we will mend the fences and grow a bond like no other. 

 

I wish you all well over the course of the holiday season. Be good to one another. โค

-ill ๐ŸŒธ

 

2 weeks ago. Sun 03 Nov 2019 05:09:26 AM IST

If you said, pick up that guitar and talk to me - bonus points. ๐Ÿค˜
If not, well you can't always hang with the cool kids. ๐ŸŽธ

 

slut - /slษ™t/

Today's random shuffle track selection was S.L.U.T by Bea Miller. A positive spin on a rather gender-specific derogatory label. A bit of gender empowerment in a time when women are owning their shit. โœŠ Rock on girls. Embrace yourself. Love yourself. ๐Ÿ’– I love this song because it is funky and fun. The Raycons went in and the song went on repeat for a few cycles. The cat ran for cover under the bed as I sang along... at full tilt. ๐Ÿ™€ 

 

It is my staycation and I will sing if I want to... ๐ŸŽต

 

While it is on repeat, the other part of my brain is churning with questions. Dirty talk is a must-have skill for my Dom (where ever he might be). Visualization and fantasy make up an extremely high percentage of my arousal. His ability to insert himself into that place is essential. However, today I started questioning whether I enjoyed being called a slut. Do I really want to feel degraded? Do I believe I am a slut? What is a slut, really? The cat got lucky as I turned off the Spotify and googled. 

 

During erotic conversations here at The Cage, slut is very common as is cum-slut. Signaling to me that the master/dom I am engaged with is a degrader to some degree. Do I care if some asshat on the street calls me a slut because I won't give him the time of day? No. Not in the least. I know who I am. His opinion does not define me. So, do I enjoy being called a slut, then?

 

Well, that depends entirely on my Sir's ritual demonstration of choosing me - every day. Focusing on and enjoying what he loves about me. This shows me that he respects me and our bond. Nothing would bring me more mental pleasure than to give that man pleasure. If he desires me to be his slut in session, I will oblige him with bells on my nipples. Ring-a-ling. ๐Ÿ”” His actively choosing me every day makes it that much easier for me to choose him. In choosing him, it makes it that much sweeter a surrender. 

 

I suppose for each of us this definition is different. I'd love to hear your favorite dirties and do you even call it dirty talk? 
Share your thoughts in the comments!

- ill ๐ŸŒธ

1 month ago. Tue 15 Oct 2019 04:01:50 AM IDT

That is the answer - not the question.

Identifying with my submissive tendencies has been a learning experience. It has helped me identify who I am more in one year than contemplation and reflection have in the last 10-years. It was like the coin dropped in the slot. This was the missing piece to my puzzle. All that is left on my agenda is to find the Dom that fits and start my journey in earnest. He is both crux and key. Without him, my self-discovery stalls.

 

Dom... Dom Dom Dom...Dommmmmm

One thing I could have learned much earlier is that not every dom is your Dom. To say the very least, not every self-proclaimed "dom" is a dom. The gambit of dom-blazons is interestingly scary. I can't say they are all predators. In the same way that subs need educating (which I am still working out myself), it would seem so do budding doms. Their expectations of what a submissive seems to be broadly misunderstood or flagrantly dismissed. I've seen several posts regarding how a "dom" has treated a potential sub before a partnership has even been formed. Before the sub has willingly submitted. I have also experienced the same thing. Most are just fuck-boys looking for a joy ride online. There are some that are scary and some that get bent out of shape if you speak your mind. No offense, but they come across weak to me. Lacking in what I could consider a proper dom.

 

The Good Ones

Men I qualify as true dominants have blown my mind. They are less than a handful but worth every moment of my time. I've laughed, cried, and felt the most intense sexual arousal of my life just talking with them. They are so much more than what I expected and have set my bar high when it comes to what I seek and honestly - expect - in a Dom. I learn from them. I want to hear their voices in my head. They relax me and I do not feel pressured to share anything unless I choose. 

 

Prevarication... 

I think I misspoke earlier when I said my self-discovery stalled. Coming to terms with my submissiveness is contrary to the way I have to lead my life. I have always survived. I've always had to care for myself. Trust has never been easy. My intention is not to have a Dom so as to have an identity through him nor is it to have my identity snatched from me because I desire to explore my submissive tendencies. There is a very strong desire to build a solid relationship based on trust and communication. From there, I could go anywhere with him. Explore everything with him. It would be a driving desire to please and pleasure. That would be the sexual icing on the cake. 

 

I need balance in my life. Pseudodoms cannot match that on a good day. Eh, they are sexually arousing because I am a female with a super high (extremely starved) libido. But, they are fleeting at best. Coming and going like the seasons. Good for a moment of fun but not sustaining. They are usually the epitome of why I do not trust men and thus could never fathom more than a blip with them. 

 

My dom, well he is the volcano at the center of my tempest. Together we are a force to be reconned with... but me always bending to his will. 

 

My suggestion is to know who your dom is so that you can weed out the weak.

- ill ๐ŸŒธ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 months ago. Sun 16 Jun 2019 05:16:40 PM IDT

The Japanese art of kintsugi teaches that broken objects are not something to hide but to display with pride.

- Stefano Carnazzi, Kintsugi: the art of precious scars

 

Isn't it always the way that we hide our imperfections? Some of us hide with masks. Others hide with modification. Hiding is as much denial and lying as it is acquiescing to the world that what we have no value. That who and what we are should be hidden away in a dusty box on a shelf for the family to find long after we are dead and gone. Many of them asking, why did she keep this anyway? What is its significance?

 

It always breaks my heart when I see someone who has to hide their uniqueness from the world. It makes me cry because I know that I have done the same. Our breaks are not the same. Each of us as humans are unique in our build and our experiences and thus our damage. While the world would pass its judgment on how we came to be and for us to conform to its box, I say you are exquisitely perfect the way you are.

 

Kintsugi has an opposite attitude attached to it, preserving a "tougher, fuck-you-collectivist-world-that-judges-against-my-imperfection value" instead. It's no sentimental poetry but a loud plead and declaration for change.

- The Antevasin, Comment on The Kintsugi; a haiku

 

Hindsight, I've always known I was broken. For the myriad of times, my mother has tried to put me back into that Stepford box or the same number of times my dad had to spout out the words she marches to the beat of a different drum in an effort to explain me away. My uniqueness was a scarlet letter for all to view. They did not know they were beating down my self-worth. They just thought they were correcting bad behavior. Doing what their parents would have done and probably did do to them. The only thing they knew at the time.

Yesterday was an all-out bad day for my brokenness which started Friday evening. Last week was a beast of a weak from a work perspective. At the end of the day, my body had all but given out. I wanted to go home and rest, but work needed me. It is in the weak and lucid moments like this that allow some of the more bottled emotions to ooze forth. The target was any feeling of self-doubt or self-worth. The target was found and I dropped my little irrational bombs all over the yard. 

 

Yes, irrational because there was simply no reason for me to go there. Though he was gracious enough, it leads me back to my own imperfections. I would flog myself with it within an inch of my own life. Brand it into my skin until there is no room left for a mark. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to my brokenness. I no longer need someone to tell me what is wrong with me as I have already told myself. Reminding myself that no one wants a girl with emotional baggage and that I would likely meet my end alone in the dark.

 

A very beautiful soul reminded me of my value last night. He gently insisted there was nothing wrong with me. Being broken was not being wrong. Crying was natural and beautiful. He explained that the right Dom would be sensitive to these moments. The pent up misdirected energy could be channeled through the session for release. He would guide me and protect me until the energy is spent. Receiving that which he desires, but releasing me from that which plagues my emotional life. Offering me a balance in return for submission. Acceptance for who I am now. 

During our long conversation where I argued my brokenness, it reminded me of Kintsugi. The art of precious scars. Instead of trying to erase who I am for the world, I want to reassemble the pieces into a stronger me. A more beautiful me. A fuck-you-collectivist-world-that-judges-against-my-imperfections me. It is a journey that will likely never end. My advice would be to find that dom that is mature enough to make that journey with you. One that will be there to sprinkle your scars with gold as you reassemble yourself. 

 

- ill ๐ŸŒธ

 

5 months ago. Sun 16 Jun 2019 02:04:53 AM IDT

All of us have a path that leads us to our present. Parts of our self are strewn about our histories. Things that were built, things that were destroyed, and the ruins left between. All of these encircling our hearts like the ramparts protecting a soft core. 

 

I spent my youth angry with a feral desire for independence from those that I perceived to have hurt me. As an adult, I see that this was never what I wanted - truly - in my deeper self. I was too angry to see it. Rage clouded my vision and shaped my direction. All I saw was what was taken from me. 

 

Love.  Trust.  Safety.

 

As a child,  you do not understand much more than the pain of it. No one can make it disappear and few are able to explain to a child why it hurts. In my case, I grew up with reinforcement. The rampart grew into the core. Wall after wall erected as a testament to my stubbornness. And as I moved into adulthood, I continued making unfortunate choices and pulling myself away from those that would love me if I let them. Burning bridges at the first sign of vulnerability on my part.

 

Independence.

 

I got my stubbornness' desire. I worked hard for it after all. And as the last 10 years of my life blinked by, I started to see what I wrought with my own hands. No companion. No relationship. No children. Only but the smallest space deep within my heart was left, the rest was filled with rubble and thorns. Unwilling and unrelenting - I locked it all away. All the sympathy, empathy, love, compassion, joy, peace, passion, sensuality, creativity, and hope were crammed into the equivalent of a micro-apartment in New York City.  I let the angry child run amuck with stubbornness and rage. 

 

No one complains of being a prisoner of love who has ever been a prisoner of loneliness. 
                                                                                                         - Robert Brault
 

The Spring

 

As an adult, I am learning to face the truths of who I have been. The pandora's box in my heart can no longer contain that which it holds. Its top flexing and the contents spilling through the torn seams. Every tear releasing a bit of the pressure. Echos of the pain endured while trapped in their restraints. The truth that I never wanted these walls I built echoing down the corridor. I want love, trust, and safety. I want to be vulnerable. But now, I am old. 

 

The Cage

 

I came to the cage to find a way to trust again. Embracing the need to be vulnerable and my tumultuous desire for physical and mental pleasure. The need to be protected. I came to find a person who would see through to that small space in my heart and know that is where I am hiding. Hoping he can walk with me as I unlock the fortress I have built around myself. Relearning how to walk upon the hot coals of still smoldering ruin. Standing by me as I clear the rubble. Helping me stay on target and on the path. I would surrender my very self to the one who could gift me with that kind of love and compassion.

 

The Journey...

 

The road to self-discovery will be a long and arduous one. It started with my decision to take a promotion. I ripped myself away from everything I knew over the last decade at a chance to start anew. As of today, it has been a year I've been in New Jersey. It has been a difficult year with the death of my beloved pet Groucho and of my former roommate, the riggers of learning a new role at work and being starved for companionship and intimacy. The idea was to give me time to get passed the bedlam of relocation and to formulate a plan. 

 

rePurpose

 

My stubbornness has never served me. It has served my angry inner child. I've also never been very self-disciplined. It is high time my stubbornness was put to more efficient use. Recently, I've met a gentleman who is quite wonderful. I took the opportunity to pour myself out for him to see the truth of me. It is not a pretty site - let me assure everyone. I try to let the good out but the old keeps rearing its ugliness. I am not confident where I stand with him, but I will stand with him until I fall or until he catches me. I would surrender my very self to him if he is the one who could gift me with the kind of love and compassion I need. He the wrench in the heist of my heart.

 

Surrender

 

Massdomguy's blog share on The 2-Sided Surrender really hit a soft spot. As I've started learning about myself and what I desire as a submissive, I have slowly refined what I seek in a dominant. The prospect of mutual devotion is what my profile has been attempting to convey. My feeling is that at surrender, I will find peace and calm with my dominant at the center protecting what is left of my heart. 

 

If you want your partner's surrender, you'll have to learn just how to ask it of them. And if you want to surrender, you'll have to learn just how to teach your partner how to ask. They won't know how to ask otherwise. They might not even think they need to ask.

 

I do not know how to ask. I feel a strong desire for it, but I am new to being submissive. I am trying for the first time to truly let go of all those things that hold me back. I am scared that I will surrender to the wrong person. My expectations being an afterthought. The unsure footing in a realm of crumbling walls. I know that I cannot virtually surrender. Intimacy is key. There is a strong desire to be mentally and physically close to him. Opening the emotional flower and allowing him into my recesses. These will lead the way through my physical defenses. 

 

The walls will come down as my emotional self can no longer be confined to such a small space. I do not know who will be standing in the mirror in two years, but I hope that I am not standing alone.

 

- ill ๐ŸŒธ

 

PS Apologies for no posts. Will keep you updated on progress. For those that are interested.

 

 

 

 

 

6 months ago. Mon 13 May 2019 11:39:50 PM IDT

"Every opportunity has a shelf-life."

- Sean, Burlesque

Yes, I just pulled a quote from a movie. I love Stanley Tucci. He plays a fantastic character in Burlesque (imo). But, sometimes quotes resonate long after the story has ended. Our story plays on after the short fictional interlude. As you age, you realize truer words were never spoken. 

 

Had I procrastinated in my decision to apply for a promotion, I would not be here now. My new home has its ups and downs, of course. I left everything I knew for an opportunity to move forward in my career, but also to change my mental trajectory which was on a downward spiral. Everything happened so quickly it took me the better part of a year to find some kind of a groove. It is still moving forward at lightning speed. I am catching up with it... I think... ๐Ÿƒ‍โ™€๏ธ

 

The difficult part of my new home is being not only alone but lonely. I've never been known to be a patient person. I love people. I enjoy conversation and activities, but I am a southern fish in a northern ocean. I might as well be from another country. Some people fine my slight southern drawl alluring while others do not know what to make of me. There is only so much I can do alone before 'lonely' creeps its stinky little face back in the picture. I need human companionship even (dare I say it?) vanilla.

Oh, the agony! ๐Ÿ˜ฉ Somebody spank me! 

 

Was it only me that saw Jim Carrey in The Mask in their mind?  
Haha, that would have been a completely different movie! ๐Ÿšฌ
Now, where was I...Ah yes, vanilla.

 

I am not perfect, but I am an opportunity. I am learning here that the right dom will earn me way before I submit to him. Our desires, as well as our personalities, will align. I do not need a perfect match in a partner as that brings no challenge to the table. With no challenge, there is nothing to learn/gain. With nothing to learn/gain, there is no change. No change, no growth. I choose a D/s partnership to grow my existential self and find that elusive harmony. In this, I could easily surrender and submit. ๐Ÿ•ฏ

 

So, strike while the iron is hot. ๐Ÿ”ฅ 

 

-ill ๐ŸŒธ

 

 

 

 

6 months ago. Sun 12 May 2019 08:25:22 PM IDT

"Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children."

- Vanity Fair

Let me start by saying that if you thought Eric Draven from the Crow was the progenitor of this phrase, it is not the case. Eric Draven was clearly a well-read bloke; a Crow superpower, no doubt. This is one of my favorite quotes because of its duality. Unfortunately, the first time I heard it was in the movie The Crow. It came from (to my knowledge) William Makepeace Thackeray author of Vanity FairWe all have a mum to thank for our existence. Like it or not, she popped us out. Here we are in all of our glory on the Cage hashing out our existential selves. Okay, maybe that is just me.

 

Life is a gift and no matter how it happened; we are here living it. Take a bow for surviving.

 

I love my mum very much. This is the first year I've been away from her, so I feel a heaviness on top of my normal heaviness. We were not close growing up as I held her personally responsible (as a child) for the loss of my father. As an adult, I know that is likely only partially accurate - if we are being honest. I love her unconditionally - she is my mum. My anger was the dagger I threw at her because she was the only one left to target. I respect her because she stood her ground with me at my worst. She never deserved what she got from me. That is something I will always regret as a daughter. I will always be thankful for all the lessons I learned through her, and for my laugh - as it is her laugh. I love you, mum. ๐Ÿ’• ...and if you are on the Cage reading this - I am minding my manners I promise! ๐Ÿ˜

 

I will likely never have children unless I am paired with a man that already has them. One of the weights I feel today. It is selfish I know; however, I never wanted to start a family alone. In my life, this is an adventure meant to be shared. I am at an age where is it unsafe and unlikely I will meet the right, Dom, to experience it. Right now, I am just trying to find a dom that wants what I have to offer and shares in those desires with me. That is proving to be a difficult task. So, I stay a sub-in-waiting. 

 

This quote incites pretty interesting conversation - on the right pages. The best observation on the quote is that is it about the children and the responsibility of motherhood. My mother did all she could to shield me from the repeated loss of my father. At the age of 4-years old, you do not understand why he is gone. You do not know why you've been abandoned. And every time he failed to show up, I learned a promise could be broken and how to cry myself to sleep. My poor mum could do nothing. I cannot imagine the weight of this on her shoulders. Sometimes even when you do your best, you can't stop what is happening. My mum is the strongest woman I know outside of my grandmum. I come from a long line of surviving women for which I am thankful.

 

Today is your day mum!  

- ill

๐ŸŒธ

6 months ago. Sun 05 May 2019 08:43:00 PM IDT

I have always tried to live by what I assumed was a motto. However, it was a quote from the work of one of my favorite authors Edgar Allen Poe. ๐Ÿ–ค 

“You are young yet, my friend,” replied my host, “but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others. Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.

Moving sideways from this thought into the next, I binge-watched the Fifty Shades of Grey franchise this week. I'd been avoiding it since both the book and movie release. I was advised by, Sir that this is not an accurate representation of the lifestyle. But isn't it?

 

Opinions being what they are, this is mine. I am new to the lifestyle and to reveal the thoughts that have proliferated my mind long before E.L. James penned this narrative or before Hollywood franchised it. I avoided it because though I was willing to explore the machinations of my mind; I was not ready to see them displayed on the silver screen. My vanilla community of friends would reel about the sensuality and the romanticism spoon fed to them. Discuss the allowance of being whipped and chained. Giggle. Move back to more mundane topics. Meanwhile, I am still there pondering if I revealed something of myself during the conversation. Did my face flush? Do my lips ripen? Did I fidget in my seat? Do they know? Do I want anyone to know?

 

Well, I can say with certainty I don't want my mum to know. ๐Ÿคซ Haha... (sorry mum)

 

All of my life, as a woman (born/identified), I have been told what I am to be. My father was chauvinistic. I could only play the flute or the clarinet - not the drums. Women cannot drive vehicles with big engines - though I wanted a V8. They cannot drive a full-size truck it must be a smaller truck. If my mini-skirt was too short or if I tried to stay out late, I was a tramp. Yet, I was too boyish because I played sports and rode dirt-bikes. Always there was an explanation for my existence. Most commonly... "She marches to the beat of a different drum."

There was never a moment that I was okay to simply be. ๐Ÿ˜ž

Women marry men like our fathers and pick men the same way our mothers did. Essentially, making the same circle of mistakes. Perpetual. Infinite. Choosing what we are trained to target. Developing a character like Anastasia is opposed to the mundane ritual of vanilla society. Onward, this ritualism is spread through the friendships you cultivated in a vanilla community. Women holding sexual intercourse for ransom to obtain obedience from their men. Men having to beg for relations. A tenuous connection between two orbiting bodies.

The "holding out" formulae never really worked out for me. ๐Ÿคท‍โ™€๏ธ I was the one with the high libido. 

I have a near life long girlfriend. She and her husband had an argument. She was venting and I mentioned holding out on him. Her response was eye-opening. "Why would I want to do that," she replied. "That is like cutting off my nose to spite my face." I was kind of taken aback. "If I am mad at you, I am still going to get my needs met and then roll over and go to sleep, we can finish the argument in the morning."  Everything I subscribed to was handed to me - spoon fed. This is just the way it is. Even though I'd fought against everything else in life, why did I subscribe to this thing?

A
nastasia did not subscribe to the mountain of male bodies thrown at her feet.
She was looking for that which matched her. Trusting she would know it when she saw it.

Hustling through the gratuitously one-sided sex scenes and the drama. We come to Grey's trauma. I can say with a level of confidence that I did not arrive at my current mental state upon exiting my mother's womb. There are a series of events which I can trace back meticulously leading to the proclivities I have imagined to date. Grey's character is no different. The pain and emotional suffering attached to him are dense and meaty. 


Back to Poe, pepper in the truth and a story is believable. It is a well-spun fabrication. There are experts at this sort of sorcery. We see it every day. We see it in Fifty Shades of Grey. Shaping our view of the world to the straight lying always orange carrot. Proper. Ships easily. Displays well. Easy to visually digest. The not in your face carrot. We'll call it "vanilla-washing" unless you have something better? I'm open-minded. 

 

I do not hold books responsible for movies or vice versa. In any story, there is some kind of truth to someone. It has to be truly heinous for me to say - that just wasted my time. I try to not subscribe to what I was taught or what people think, but rather my individual assessment. How does it make me feel? Some movies I cannot watch because I know it will launch an unnecessary and very real response. These movies were entertaining, arousing, and a confirmation that my imagination is a lot raunchier than I thought.

My choice to seek both a partner in life and a D/s relationship is the right one. It fits me and where I want to be. It might be very much akin to the fairytale ending of this series, but it is no less true for me. No less desirable. It just takes time and patience to find that person who wants to align in the same way.

 

That red room, though. Am I right? ๐Ÿ˜ That was the real star of the show! She was stunning.

6 months ago. Sat 27 Apr 2019 06:41:08 PM IDT

At the height of my laziness this morning (as I order breakfast from Manhattan Bagel on Doordash), I would like to bring to light this thing called Pancake Syrup.

 

Yes, Pancake Syrup. You read it right - don't fight in your restraints. 

 

One of the most misleading products on the market. Misleading because it is viscous, sweet, brown, and we put it on pancakes amongst other things. We might put it on each other, but I am pretty sure that was outside of the scope of product design. The marketing - on the other hand - spot-on. Making sheep of us all through the blending of what we know to be Maple Syrup and the idea they want to see. ๐Ÿคจ 100% supported by the rules of the game - sliding down Occam's Razor like whut. ๐Ÿ„‍โ™€๏ธ

 

For anyone that did not know it was not maple syrup, my sincerest apologies.
Also, the Easter bunny does not lay eggs. It is coco puffs - I swear. ๐Ÿฅ„

<commence my flogging> ๐Ÿ

 

"But Ill," you plead. "please fill us in." ๐Ÿ˜ As you wish... wait what was the question?

 

As I venture into the tastier side of myself, I realized that Pancake syrup is the standard. Though it is sweet and thick it has become mundane. We accept it as the status quo. Manufactured with little effort or sacrifice and sold in the guise of something we love. It only offers its sweetness with little other nutritional value. The value which can be found in the product(s) it attempts to mimic. 

 

Still with me? ๐Ÿคฏ

 

Reflecting on the choices I have made in my life. I've chosen the box (and all sadists cheer). My cat doesn't even keep his poo in the box. There are days I find poo on the wall. And while a cuss his little name trying to scrub the stain out of flat dry paint, I can't help but wonder if he is trying (in his own demented little way) to add variety to my life. That or shortening his own - that is up in the air. ๐Ÿ™€

 

Given the ability to choose a syrup(s) that brings monumental flavor accompanied by vitamin and mineral value, why choose the mundane? Has the pallet been conditioned to blandness? Selecting from choices made comfortable for easy digestion instead of study and critical decisiveness? I could have it all - instead, I've chosen what was handed to me. There is no shortage of sweet treacly products. I'd imagine I could match one to every type of D/s style relationship - or more than one to my polyamorous out there. And just like anything in this world, it is better with real butter. 

 

- ill ๐ŸŒธ