Friday, April 28, 2006

Update from the top-secret labs of TwistedMonk.Com

Now is it just me or am I like the last guy on earth to discover The Arcade Fire? Its Friday morning here at the Abbey, the sun I shinning, the ride in today was beautiful, music reverberates off the walls and we have ourselves a jam packed day of things to do today. Time to make tons of rope, ship rope off to our lovley customers, then dangle a reader who flew all the way from Wisconsin (and boy are her ams tired!), re-connect with friends, score some Stellars and then dash off and into the arms of a beautiful woman for an evening that will certanly leave bruises.

God, I love this job.

So besides from making vast amounts of rope for the upcoming Shibaricon show, what other delights am I cooking up here at the Abbey? As you can see from the photo, yes I can make multi stranded custom rope. This is a prototype for a hand fasting cord I was commissioned to make. Let me warn you now, this sort of thing will not be cheap. In fact, if you have to ask how much the will cost you per foot… then you really can’t afford it.

In other news, I have some awesome surprises in store for the folks at Shibaricon, a number of new ropes that will be offered exclusively at the show. The first is a new addition to our already popular “Exotics” line. The other is a radical new color unlike anything ever offered in hemp before. We have code-named this new product, “Project Blackbird”.

And then there is the matter of next month’s Color of the Month. I’m not saying anything yet save that Mrs. Wookie is getting a whole mess of “The Lavender Menace” when we make it in June, just in time for Gay Pride. Next month's color? Oh well you will just have to wait for that, my pretties.

Ok, time now to swap out this dye bath and shift musical gears. Next up? The new Goldfrapp (Dancer, you are gonna love this disc).

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Gonna be one a those days…

I’m late for the gym and my weekly bottoming to my personal Sadist. Mikey the fucker does not like it when I’m late. Should have gotten more sleep last night, but rather spent a late at the Abbey knocking out 2 extra dye jobs instead. Late, shit I hate to be late for things. Ok, need to get my gym clothes packed. Shoes, check. Shorts, check. Non-black t-shirt that does not have a logo or catch phrase from some fetish organization or sex toy manufacture across the front? (Can’t go scaring the locals too much) Check. Socks…. Damn where are my clean socks? Lets just pause here for a moment and wonder, is not the eternal hunt for matching clean socks a perfect metaphor for man kind’s eternal struggle? A quick dive into the sock box later I’m rewarded with two gym socks that look mostly like they belong together. Almost there, last thing I need is my jock. Now, I should pause here for a moment and inform those of you just tuning in that I’m really not much for underwear. I own a scant 3 pair. One, a pair of novelty boxers from Italy that bear an anatomically correct likeness of the naughty bits of Micalangelo’s David. One pair of frilly topping panties and my athletic supporter. You know, one of those black stretchy things that keeps Mr. Happy from flapping about when you run? Pulling open a drawer I spy the black elastic shape and stuff it into my bag and dash out the door with seconds to spare.

There will be no pre-workout coffee today.

I’m planning a full day of dye work at the Abbey after my work out so I am dressed appropriately. A black t-shirt announcing some sex toy maker and my dye stained jeans. As I shrug off the crimson streaked pants I note that I still have bits of crimson stains on my fingers as well and I think to myself, “Gee right now I must look like some kind of sex positive serial killer”. Next the shirt is replaced with something less offensive, Little Alex from A Clockwork Orange stares menacingly from my chest now. It is when I reach for my jock that I realize that this, this is not going to be my day. The bundle of black stretchy cotton turns out to be a pair of my darling wife’s panties. Yep, black cotton/spandex blend French cut from Victoria’s Secret.

What to do, do I go commando? Not wear anything under my shorts and worry about the aftermath of jogging for an hour with my wedding tackle flapping about or don the women’s panties? It certainly would not be the first time I have worn a pair; they are French cut so they might fit…. Best decide quickly, Mikey is waiting.

Yep, just not my day at all.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Next Month's Color?

Need some feedback here friends. For May's color of the month what would tickle your fancy more. A deep blood red (hum some Type O Negative to get the mood) or a Midnight Blue (ala Van Gough's Starry Night) Or should I do something more spring themed like a lavender or yellow?


Monday, April 24, 2006

Visiting the vaults, are you having fun too?

I must say that I’m quite enjoying our recent tour of these past posts. Each one is this really cool reminder, a sort of bookmark to a place and time in my life. Now since I just shared the post that started my courtship of Dancer, I think it is best to share this. The re-telling of our very first date. Now she likes to tease me about “playing hard to get” that night, but I do protest. That night I met the most amazing woman, a woman who just knocked my socks off with her charm, wisdom and sheer beauty. Such phenomenon are not to be rushed, but rather savored. Today as I recover from a glorious weekend in her arms, I’m still utterly dumbfounded by her wonder.

Originally posted Friday, June 25th 2004

My date with Dancer

So there I was, sitting on a leather couch that probably cost more than my car, sipping expensive French champagne and talking about art with Dancer, a woman who is quite possibly one of the most attractive women in Seattle. Up to this point the evening had gone swimmingly. Sitting side by side rarely breaking eye contact, we talked art, showed each other our portfolios, I told her all my funny stories, we even shared some catty gossip…then she did it, she touched me. Her fingers gently stroked the back of my hand.

Never underestimate the power of a simple touch. Till now the physical contact had been friendly, a hug and peck on the cheek at the door or a gentle pat on the arm after a good story. Of course there was sexual tension in the air, but we were both playing it cool. Then, like flare being fired in the dark night, that single touch said volumes, it was time to make my move.

As she leaned into me, lips moist and parted, I remember thinking to myself, “You got one shot at this. Make it good.” Steeling my resolve I pressed on and the kiss that was returned? Electric, simply electric. In a moment I knew that this woman was going to do things to me that would make Prince blush.

What followed was a torrent, a mad rush to explore every inch of each others torso with our mouths. Hands gripping, fingers caressing we kissed and kissed AND kissed. Then after what felt like an eternity she asks with a wicked smile, “You know, this might be more comfortable upstairs.”

What I did next will either mark me as the great lover or the biggest dolt on earth.

“I’d love to, but not yet. I really am enjoying talking to you. I don’t want to rush this.”

With an even larger smile she refilled my champagne glass and curled into my lap. “So tell me, how did you get the name monk anyways?”
And there we sat talking, touching, kissing and laughing till the wee hours of the morning.

Sitting here typing this, it all seems surreal. There I was, me, with an incredibly sexy woman who wanted to take me to bed and fuck my brains out. And I said no thank you. Not for lack of desire, but rather because I was having too much fun listening to her laughter.

Granted, I know that next time she is gonna use me like a chew toy.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Yet more from the vaults

My entire life changed after I wrote this post.

Originally posted Wednesday June 9, 2004

So, I find myself in an odd predicament today. While reading a friend’s blog, let’s call her Dancer, I made an interesting discovery. She intimated that she has a crush on someone. Now I think I know who that someone is… I think that someone could be me.

Upon reading her entry I re-ran the last face to face conversation we had. It was last Sunday, a nice one where she and her primary, let’s call him Sir, and T and I talked about everything from the ins and outs of managing poly relationships to the unholy trinity that is Kink-Science Fiction-Renascence Fares.

In hindsight there were tell tale clues. She was very glad to talk to us. So much so that she all but ignored others who were vying for her attention. We talked about New Horizons and Sir mentioned that they should go there again soon. That and Sir was, well he was really friendly to me. In fact on the drive home I confessed to T that I thought maybe HE was flirting with me.

I even have a half finished blog about how flattered that as a straight male this was the first time I was really flattered by a guy flirting with me. Oy can I be SUCH a dullard some days!

So this is the sticky bit. This is no ordinary gal. She and her partner are two of the coolest people I know. We have just started to get to know them and are enjoying the hell out of it. Professionally they are fantastic allies to have as I grow the business. That and she is probably one of the hottest women on the west coast. All I can say is damn. If this is true then I surely must have done something right in a past life!

Then again, what if I’m misreading the clues? I could be making a terrible, horrible fool of myself right now. It totally could be someone else and I run the risk of offending them if I am too forward. Who am I kidding? It has to be someone else?

What I really need now is one of those notes you sent in Jr. High. You remember the ones where you would write something like:
“Dear Dancer, do you like me? Circle Yes or No”
And then you had your best friend pass the note to her best friend, and so on and so on.

In closing, Dancer if I did read things right then let me say how utterly and completely flattered I am. Wow, thank you. And if I misread the clues? I still think you and Sir are both way damn cool and look forward to be counted among the ones you call “dear friend” someday.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

More from the vaults

This is the post that has launched my now growing collection of novelty hats.

Originally Posted February 9, 2005
Some Items Should Never Find Their Way Into The Bedroom

I used to think that there was no such thing as a “bad scene idea” That is until after what I like to call, the Swedish Chef Incident. You see it was Thursday night, my weekly date night with Dancer and it was also my turn to be the top. If you have been reading this blog for long you will have probably surmised that I’m not what you might call “high protocol” when it comes to my D/S play. Rather, I’m more about the humor and fun of kink, SM play for me is all about the irreverence and hedonistic joy. Oh sure I’ll hurt you nine ways to Sunday, don’t get me wrong, just don’t be expecting me to keep a stoic expression on my face when I do it.

So, as I set to load up my toybag for the night, I needed to come up with a theme. A sctick, a something to set the tone for our play. Hmm. What do I have in my arsenal that she has not seen? Then, like a bolt from the blue I saw it. Something that I just knew would make her laugh… and if I can get her to laugh then it’s all good. Tambo is watching as I stuff the item into my bag, she looks at me with a raised brow and says, “Oh you are not going to bring that tonight, are you? She is going to kill you!”

Over the dinner I made it a point to drop hints about what was in store for her later. Things like, “I have something really special for tonight. Came all the way from Sweden” and, “The man who bought me this, could kill you with a spoon”. By now Dancer knows all about my habit of leaving misleading clues, so these just made her more curious and eager to see just what I had in the bag. Funny part is, I was not lying. The guy who brought me the mystery item from Sweden could in fact kill someone with a spoon quite effectively.

When the time finally came, I bound her hands and feet to the bed. Lots of rope, I wanted her good and secured when I sprung it on her. She giggled and struggled against the ropes as I slipped out of her view to ready my surprise.

Reaching into the bag I grab it. A plush novelty Viking hat, complete with stuffed horns. Made of crush velvet and garishly colored in blue and gold, it sort of looked like a cross between something the pope or a soccer hooligan might wear. My friend Jester found it in Sweden recently and thought that I, of all people, MUST posses one of these.

Popping back into her view with the hat on my head and a riding crop in hand, she let out a strange cry of surpize and laugher. “What the fuck?!” With a smile I launch into the Swedish Chef’s song from The Muppet show as I approach her with the crop at the ready.

I’m not exactly sure what happened after that. I was just about to the climax of the song, you know the bit where the Chef goes “BORK! BORK! BORK!” the plan was to strike her upturned breasts with the crop at the same time. Plans have a funny way of changing. In an instant, she is out of the rope. How she did it, I have no idea. I used a LOT of rope too! She is out of the rope and grabbing for the hat. Laughing like mad she informs me that she is, under no circumstances, bottoming to the Swedish Chef tonight.

I fear dear readers that my ego prevents me from telling you just what happened next, suffice to say that my Viking hat is no more, save for one stuffed horn I found a week later wedged behind the bed and I am now sworn to never sing the Muppets in Dancer’s presence ever again. At least while we are both naked.

Ironically enough, I recently was photographed doing a suspension scene while wearing my +1 Fez of world domination. I’ll post some shots of that soon. Right now I’m going to slip out the door with Tambo and enjoy as much of her delightful company as possible before she departs for a long weekend away. Then, then maybe later tonight I’m thinking I might grab my rope bag and cruise over to the Grind and see what kind of trouble I can get into…there will be no hats.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Re-visiting the vaults

“I have no earthly idea what to write about today, no really.” That is usually what I say to myself when I first sit down at my laptop to write something for this journal. Now most days that phrase is quickly followed by, “Oh but there was that one thing...” and a post will eventually follow. Then there are the days where I just pound my forehead against the keyboard in frustration and end p surfing for porn instead of writing.

This week has been one of those weeks where I’m really not sure what to write. Most of my creative energy is focused on the upcoming Shibaricon show and making sure that event is a successful one. I thought that perhaps I would look through the archives a bit and see if anything inspired me, you know maybe actually tell one of the stories that I keep teasing you all with when I say, “and that dear readers is a tale for another day.” When it dawned on me. This week marks the 2 year anniversary of this journal. Damn, 2 years of writing here! A lot has changed in those 2 years. Lots of good things as well as some pretty awful things as well.

So I thought that perhaps we might spend the next couple of days re-visiting some of my favorite posts and talk about where I was at the time and how things have changed for me since that time.

I’ll be the first to admit that my childhood was a bit on the strange side, growing up on a farm in rural Washington with parents who were really trying to escape the big city and had no business being that far removed from civilization. While I like to kid my mom about it, I did have a pretty cool (if not fucked up at times) childhood that today provides me all sorts of great tales to tell. Like this one.

Originally Posted Monday May 10,2004

The Tale of Wilbur, The Death Pig
When I was about 6 my parents bought a pig. No, not one of those cute little pigs you see at the end of a very fashionable leash. No, we are talking a 400 pound snorting, shitting, smelly, bacon factory.

Now being the neo-hippies that they were, Mom & Dad had absolutely no idea how to raise a pig. I’m sure they read something about it in a back issue of Mother Earth News, but for the most part I think they were making it up as they went. (remind me to tell you the potato bug and gasoline story sometime) The mammoth swine had come to us via a friend of a friend, for what ever reason the beast was to be ours.

I called him, “Wilbur, the Death Pig”

So what do you feed a 400 pound pig anyways? Well what ever you feed them, it is going to be a LOT. We would buy bags of day old doughnuts from a friend who worked at the local Winchels doughnuts. Every day we fed that beast a giant trash bag’s worth of stale doughnuts. That pig ate more maple bars in a day than most cops will in their entire life.

All things considered this was not too bad of a deal, we got to pick through garbage sacks of doughnuts and pick out the not so stale ones for ourselves. My brother would make it a point of finding the EXTRA stale ones and chuck them at me as part of his own twisted re-enactment of that week’s episode of “Bah, Bah Black Sheep”. Do you have any idea how much it hurts getting hit in the melon with a stale apple fritter?

Then Wilbur began to show his true colors.

When not consuming stale pastry items, what does a giant pig hopped up on sugar do during the day? Why they break out of pens. Of course it was not too hard. Somewhere along the line Dad thought that a picket wooden fence would hold in a 400 pound pig hyped up on crème filleds. Right, I’m still not sure if pop was growing more than just potatoes out in the back 40, if you know what I mean. The pig would escape by leaning it’s massive bulk against the fence and supplement his all lard diet with some of the other livestock. That's right, Wilbur ATE the other animals. Well did not exactly ‘eat” them, he would more ‘suck” them down his gullet and all we would find later would be a tell tale feather or bit of fur stuck to the massive thing's snout. At first there only a few small chicks that strayed too far from the coop. Then one of the rabbits went missing.

And now you know where the name came from?

Of course being the tender age of 6 I was a bit scared of the beast. Go out for chores in the morning and there are a dozen chickens in the coop. Come out after school and find a pile of feathers, and 8 really freaked out chickens. My dear brother, sensing my fear of the beast and its eating rampage took me aside and gave me this warning. “You know what he is doing don’t you? He is stretching his stomach out, eating bigger and bigger things till... till he can eat you.”

And I believed him. Hook line and sinker. Every time it escaped, more livestock would disappear into its wrinkled pink maw. The sacks of doughnuts no longer held any joy for me. Each morning as I drug another one down to the pen, the beast would stare at me with it’s dull black eyes. Shaking like a leaf as I emptied the day’s food into his trough I knew what that pig was thinking. He was wondering how I would taste with gravy. The beast’s reign of barnyard terror continued until the pig ate an entire goat. It was a SMALL goat yes, but it was a goat none the less. Being the next largest mammal in the farm food chain, I knew then that the pig had reached his goal. I was next on the killer’s hit list. No more would he be satisfied with mere chickens or rabbits. Wilbur wanted man flesh and I was at the top of the menu.

The next time I heard the all too familiar ruckus of a pig on the rampage I ran like hell into the house, up the stairs and into my room where I barricaded myself in. I reasoned that even if the pig figured out how to work the front doors, the sheer climb up the stairs would surely cause it massive heart failure. Refusing to leave and near hysterics, my parents did what any concerned parent would. They grounded my brother for a month.

Eventually the creature met it’s fitting end… around the same time I discovered just how good fresh bacon tasted.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Perhaps I’ve seen too much porn.

It’s the end of a long day here at the Abbey, while I tap away on some last minute marketing text I can hear Tambo, Sam and Nerdy thru the floorboards of my office. They are just beneath my loft office in the stock room bellow, laughing and catching.
In between the laughs I can hear bits of their conversation.
Sam: “Yeah, the porn they show at the club is terrible! I mean it is like all ATM all the damn time”
Nerdy & Tambo: “Huh? Whats ATM?”
Before Sam can answer I shout, “ASS TO MOUTH!” at the floorboards and am rewarded with an almost simultaneous cry of “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!! “ from both Tambo and Nerdy.

Monday, April 17, 2006

Pre-Orders for Shibaricon save 10%
In order to better serve you, our valued customer, (and keep my sanity) we are offering you a pre-show pre-order discount.

All standard finished Romanian hemp rope is $1.00 per foot (Exotics are not included in the pre-order sale), pre cut and whipped to any length. E-mail ( or call the shop (206.938.7527) with your shopping list. Be sure to include your contact info and we will get back to you ASAP.
  • All pre-orders get 10% off their total.
  • All pre-orders require a 25% deposit.
  • Pre-Orders will be ready for pickup on the first day of the show (full payment due at delivery).
  • Last day to make a pre-order is midnight, Monday May 8th, 2006.
  • Exotics are not included as part of this sale.
At previous events we have sold out of our most popular colors in a matter of hours. Avoid disappointment and place your pre-order today!

Again, you can place your pre-order at or call the Abbey @ 206.938.7527

Friday, April 14, 2006

Ok so here is the deal. At the salon where I get my hair cut there is this charming girl. A sweet, browned eyed beauty with whom I have been enjoying a rather extended flirtation with. Nothing too serious or involved, just some extended conversation, laugher and an open offer for coffee sometime. This has gone on for sometime now, like 3 months or so? She also happens to know a very well known rope top here in Seattle and after a few conversations did the, “Are you the same Monk who makes the rope too?”

Interesting side note here, when chatting with my fabulously gay hairdresser about this matter and double-checking to make sure that I’m not being a total jackass here and she is just being nice because it is her job. He informed me that a) nope I’m not being a jackass and b) the women at the salon rarely get hit on. With a clientele that is mostly female, he gets approached all the time but when a guy approaches one of the female staff it is a rare and much gossiped about thing.

All in all I’d say that the chances of actually getting that coffee date are slim to none, however it is most charming to know that when the elevator doors open and I walk into the salon, she always makes a point to greet me with an extra warm smile and brings me coffee just the way I like it.

Of course my wonderful wife is conspiring against me.

See, she also goes to the same salon I do and yesterday when she checked in guess who was at the counter? Yep, you guessed it, the girl. Now Tambo knows the whole story and after the usual small talk had this exchange.
“My husband tells me that you know (Well Known Rope Top)?”
“Um… err… yes, yes I do”, She stammers in a surprised response.
Tambo will later tell me that it was at that moment when the girl put 2 and 2 together and realized who she was talking to.
“He also tells me that he would really like to tie you up sometime.”
With a turn she left the blushing girl at the counter, but not before saying in a reassuring tone, “You really should take him up on the offer. He is very good at it”

My calendar tells me that I’m due for a haircut in 2 weeks time. Hmm, I wonder what awaits me when I step off the elevator?

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Feeling a bit like I fell down the well this week.

The past few days have been long ones, in at 7 and going full tilt till late, late at night. You have no idea how many hoops one must jump through in order to obtain, make and transport 500 pounds of finished rope and a crew of 5 to Chicago. I swear I need to just tape my phone to the side of my head and start sleeping with my banker. If I’m not on the phone to the east coast or Eastern Europe, I’m talking to that guy. In the past 3 days I’ve seen him more than I have seen my own wife.

If you have not already guessed it, the Shibaricon 06 death march has officially begun.

Yeah I know, I always write a post like this when we start gearing up for a big show. A post about how hard we are working and how many miles of stock we are trying to make and how daunting it all seems. Yeah, and we always seem to pull it off and make scads of money in the process. This one should be no different no?

No, this one is different. This show will be the biggest we have ever mounted. Bigger than Folsom, Christmas and Kinkfest combined. This is the one where, when I first laid out my projected production goals, the rest of the crew looked at me like I was insane. Perhaps I am. This year I want to bring 3 miles of finished rope with me. This is over and above all the rope we currently ship out every week to customers around the world. Long story short, in 7 weeks we need to make something to the tune of 6 miles of product. Yeah, maybe I am insane to even want to try this. However if one does not try, does not stretch themselves beyond what they know they can do and try for the impossible… then what is the point of getting up in the morning? Ambition is a drug and I’m a mainline addict, baby.

Ok, self pep talk over. Long story short. Monk is now if full on “overload mode” and expected to be this way for the next 7 weeks. Approach with caution, speak slowly and have caffeine on standby.

There is an upside to this. My crew is the best in the world. The Abbey is now swarming with help, each one doing their part to make this all happen. What was once just Griffin, myself and a few friends is now a small army of employees, contractors and friends. Nerdy, bless her heart, should have stabbed me in the eye with a set of safety shears by now, but she keeps the coffee on and the work queue up to date (thanks kiddo). The new raw stock was delivered and it looks wonderful. Coil after coil of honey brown hemp, just waiting for us to do our magic. Shipments from exotic places like Italy, Germany and Ohio arrive every day.

I tell folks that every foot of rope we sell is an orgasm waiting to happen, a brightly colored bundle of good sex in a coil. We are dragging 15,000 ft of it with us to Chicago next month. There is lots and lots of work left to do, but this show will be one for the history books.

Monday, April 10, 2006

April's Color of the Month

It would be impossible to stock all the unique colors that folks ask for on a regular basis. So instead we now offer a new and unique color every month.

The Unstoppable Miz Violet Blue

This month’s color is in honor of the one and only Ms Violet Blue; author, activist, sex educator, podcaster, blog star, and possibly one of the sexiest women on-line. The color, much like the rope’s namesake, is a vibrant and complex mix. A deep violet with subtle shades of purple and blue mixed in make this a striking rope that looks almost iridescent when photographed. salutes this asset to the sex positive movement and wishes her many more years of success.

Enjoy her work at:
open + source + sex

This is a limited, one time color run. Once the color has been sold out, it is sold out for good.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Warning: This week's column was writen durring repeated listenings of the new Yeah, Yeah, Yeah's CD at a very loud volume.

Read at your own risk.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

German “Bavarian Blonde” 4 Strand

We are beside ourselves with delight to offer you this ultra premium rope. Made in Germany, this is the first and only hemp rope we have found that is made of 4 strands (most twisted hemp consists of just 3). Each strand is a tightly woven golden blonde color and incredibly soft to the touch. The rope feels almost silky in your hands and smells faintly of fresh cut straw on a summer’s day. This, this is some amazing rope. The weave is the tightest; most consistent we have ever seen. After going through our extensive conditioning process the rope feels butter soft and great against skin, we had to all but pry it off of our test subjects and its smooth feel offers little rope on rope friction while still retaining the great knot holding properties of hemp. This rope is available in its natural honey brown color and could be dyed custom upon special request.

TwistedMonk.Com is proud to be the only source on the western hemisphere to offer this unique finished hemp rope.

Special thanks must be given to our friend Gudy in Berlin for being our man on the ground and really going the extra mile to help make this happen.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Sent to me via the dread pirate pricess Liss,

Your Onion Horoscope

When Mozart stood before the piano, he was said to have seen not a series of black and white keys, but rather an entire symphony. Something similar can be said for you and unconscious women.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Time to hit the giant, “Monk Re-Set” button

Sunday was supposed to be my day off. We normally vend at Max’s monthly bondage classes, but this one was less about the technical aspects and focused more on the mental and spiritual elements of rope bondage. So rather than getting up early and carting out as much stock as we could manage we decided to take the day off and attend the class as students and the following Bondage is the Point party. A rather quaint idea really, we get to sit back and enjoy a very good presentation by two very talented and accomplished presenters. Heck, there were even photos of my work in the presentation. Thing was, I could not sit still. Unfocused, I fiddled with the length of new rope I just got from Germany, made production notes in the little leather-bound journal I always carry and generally felt… well anxious. I hate that feeling, the lack of focus; the feeling like my brain and my body are not in synch, but rather at odds with each other. Time to get my ass kicked.

People bottom for a variety of reasons. Me, I find it works best at those times when the stress gets to be too much. When the demands and deadlines of this life I have chosen for myself go from being challenging to flat out overwhelming, that is when I need to let go. I need to scream, cuss, snarl, bleed and eventually lay spent, sobbing in the arms of Dancer, the one girl who knows just how to find that button. Armed with nothing but her teeth, fists and a few well placed needles she did just that. Thanks babe, I so needed that.

Later I would re-join my beloved Tambo and lounge with her on the sofas that surround the play areas at the wetspot. Curled into her and sort of purring, she would stroke my head and ask me, “you feeling better now?”
“Good, I get so worried about you when you get like that. Remind me to thank Dancer”

Monday, April 03, 2006

Mouse just sent me this, nicked from FoundMagazine.Com