submissive vs. Dominant Blogs, Part 3

I concluded Part 2 of this (all RIGHT, yes, it was almost 7 months ago!) by stating My contention that "submission is inherently more interesting to write about" (than Dominance).

Certainly I've some time to think about that contention.

I still believe it to be true, but I do see the influence of personal experience and style.

I believe submission is more interesting to write about (and thus to read about, and thus, to experience) than Dominance because of the delicately balanced places that certainty and uncertainty occupy in the life and mind of a submissive.

Consider . . . the person in the submissive role ideally has a healthy measure of certainty and uncertainty in his or her life. s/he needs to feel confident in the love and care and concern that the Dominant will feel and exhibit. Without that, there is simply animal fear, and animal fear never taught anyone anything except how to behave like an animal. The submissive must be able to see, understand, and trust in his or her Owner. The degree to which s/he is able to feel that (that is, the degree to which the Dominant inspires it in him or her) is proportional to the depth of submission one can eventually feel.

But at the same time, the submissive needs to feel that excitement, that thrill of not knowing what is going to happen next. That is absolutely essential, and is probably the single most exciting thing about submission on a day to day basis. What will S/He think of next? Sometimes the thought, the imagining itself, wrapped as it is in the delicious state of not-knowingness, in and of itself enough to make submission deeper. Not to mention more fulfilling and more fun.

That heady mix, that living, breathing, daily paradox, the clashing balance of the known and the unknown, to Me, is the stuff of great novels, of lyrical epics.

This other thing . . . being the One to dream the stuff up? Being the one in charge? It's wonderfully fulfilling, as for writing, it's easy grist for the essay mill, but not Shakespearean the way submission is.


I looked with horror at the date.

I thought the last time I posted was . . . like, June, maybe?


That's bad. (Not that June would've been great.)

I am still here, still doing what I do, mostly. I hope to be writing more here, soon.

submissive vs. Dominant Blogs, Part 2

If I'm right, and there are a lot more blogs by submissives than by Dominants, and more than the generally accepted proportion of submissives to Dominants out there, the question is simply "why should that be so?"

I don't find any of the possibilities I suggested in part 1 very compelling, nor do I find any of the commenter's arguments highly persuasive. With the semi-exception that I do agree with the idea that women are more likely to write about their emotions and experiences than men are, and in my experience there are a lot more submissive women than submissive men (at least those admitting to it).
So then, why more blogs by subs than by Dom/mes?

I think it's pretty simple: submission is inherently more interesting to write about.

Why do I say that?

That's Part 3.

submissive vs. Dominant Blogs, Part 1

I was surfing the link list, looking for some inspiration, and clicking on links to links of links, and all of a sudden I came to the following realization, unspectacular though it may be:

There seem to be a lot more blogs by submissives than there are blogs by Dominants.

Part of this is that there are simply more submissives than Dominants. I have read, one place, that the number is something like seven subs for every 3 Dom/mes.

One might thus expect a baseline of 70% of D/s blogs to be by submissives, assuming that the blogging subset (!) exists in the same percentage as the D/s population at large. (And the much bigger assumption that the 7/3 ratio is accurate.)

By My anecdotal reckoning it's a lot closer to 90%.

Why should that be? Several possibilities:

1. submission is easier to write about than Dominance.
2. submission is more interesting to read about than Dominance.
3. submissives are naturally more introspective and analytical than Dom/mes.
4. submissives read more blogs, thus comment on more blogs, thus their blogs are better publicized and linked to.
5. A submissive can be ordered to do a blog, thus making submissive blogs more likely.

And any number of other possibilities.

I'm not sure I really put much faith in any of those I listed above.

If not those reasons, though . . . why?

That's Part 2.

Gratuitous Picture Post

   It's the blogging equivalent of a PTA bath.  You don't want to go another day without posting something.  But you stare at the mocking white new post screen for ten minutes and . . . nothing.  And you havn't got all night.

   In desperation you figure you'll toss a picture up there.   Just this once.   You'll be more inspired to do a real post next time.  


   The voice seems to come from a little red devil on your shoulder.

   "Go ahead . . . . it's going to feel good.  Do it.  You're having a rough week . . . you deserve a post off."

   Yeah.  You know . . . I do . . . I really do . . .


Phelps and A-Rod: Minority Report

  This past week, two sports stories transcended sports and found their way into the mainstream media.

   1.  Olympic swimming god Michael Phelps was photographed with a bong.

   2.  Sports Illustrated reported that Alex Rodriguez tested positive for steroids in 2003.

  Phelps issued the expected corporate apology . . . I'm sorry I let down all the widows, orphans and baby koalas for whom I had been a role model, I promise never to do it again, I'll gladly narc on the person or persons the weed was obtained from, just ask me, and any fan who would like his or her car detailed please e-mail me and I'll send you a gift certificate to Jiffy Wash.

   It was a nice piece of PR hackwork -- for better or worse publicists have had a lot of practice issuing these endorsement-saving (they hope) apologies on behalf of athletes.  But most of them involve something more serious than being photographed with a bong.

   And that's the essence of Minority Report, Part 1.  Once, just once, could one of these guys just admit they smoke weed and skip the mea culpa, which, let's face it, no one believes anyway?  Phelps will smoke weed again -- he'll just be more careful about the circumstances and the company next time.

   I understand it's against the law . . . but consider -- of alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana -- which has the highest social cost?  Marijuana is a distant third.  The "gateway drug" argument is easily debunked (or universally applicable, equally as devastating to the argument).  

  Anti-drug ads urge our children to "live above the influence."  I wonder, will an athlete ever live above the influence of sponsorship dollars?  I am guessing not.  Some addictions are way too strong to break.

* * * * *

   A-Rod tested positive for steroids in 2003.  This is a big deal because, a) it's A-Rod, b) he's on the Yankees, c) he's an easy target because he cares too damn much what people think, and d) he has denied using steroids (smartly, however, not in front of Congress, as Dumbest Living Human Rafael Palmiero did).

  Back in 2003 baseball did mass tests, for the sole purpose of determining if steroid use was widespread enough to warrant an actual "policy" and/or further steps.  5-7% of the players tested, tested positive.  The results were never meant to be published, in terms of who had tested positive and who hadn't.  In fact, a court order sealed the 2003 results.

  Well, someone leaked the A-Rod information to a reporter and the story breaks.  

  I assume the story is accurate.  Sports Illustrated is not looking to invite a massive lawsuit for reporting something so damaging and then having it turn out to be false.  A Rod has not denied it to this point.

  My problem comes in here.  Whoever leaked the information to the reporter knowingly broke the law.  The reporter accepted and relayed information she knew to have been illegally obtained.  
   Why doesn't that matter?  I understand it has no bearing on A Rod's guilt, innocence, or legacy.  But it's a small example of how the press, in its boundless arrogance, has lost touch with the common good, and with the people they so condescendingly claim to ultimately act on behalf of, when in fact they pursue career objectives with the same single-minded zeal as the most aggressive drug company sales rep.

   So, by all means, everyone who wants to trash A-Rod, have a ball.  But let's not pretend that it was "journalism" that caused the story to ever become a story.

[My thanks to iris, who contributed to this post.]

It's Not Personal, Sonny

  There's a great scene in The Godfather where the Corleone family contemplates an uncertain future.  Don Vito lies in a hospital bed, clinging to life after an assassination attempt by other forces in organized crime who see Don Corleone as standing in the way of their entry into the massively lucrative heroin business.

  At one point, a young Michael Corleone suggests to Tom Hagen, the consigliere, and to his older brother Sonny, running the family in the Don's absence, that their problems will be solved if they assassinate a certain New York City police captain and the mobster who's facilitating the Mafia's entry into the drug trade.

 Michael suggests that they agree to a meeting -- a meeting at which Michael will kill the police captain and the heroin distributor.  The following exchange then ensues:

Sonny: What are you gonna do? Nice college boy, didn't want to get mixed up in the family business. Now you want to gun down a police captain. Why? Because he slapped you in the face a little? What do you think this like the Army where you can shoot 'em from a mile away? No you gotta get up like this and, badda-bing, you blow their brains all over your nice Ivy League suit. C'mere. [Kisses Michael on the head
Sonny: You're taking this very personal. Tom, this is business and this man is taking it very, very personal. 
Michael Corleone: Where does it say that you can't kill a cop? 
Tom Hagen: Come on, Mikey... 
Michael Corleone: Tom, wait a minute. I'm talking about a cop that's mixed up in drugs. I'm talking about a - a - a dishonest cop - a crooked cop who got mixed up in the rackets and got what was coming to him. That's a terrific story. And we have newspaper people on the payroll, don't we, Tom? 
[Tom nods
Michael Corleone: And they might like a story like that. 
Tom Hagen: They might, they just might. 
Michael Corleone: [to Sonny] It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business. 

The scene is both funny and chilling.  Chilling because of the way Pacino somehow manages to convey the well-hidden steel beneath the surface, the subtle but absolute willingness to do absolutely anything, perfectly ordered and compartmentalized, even to the extent of murder.

I of course see a lesson in there . . . an important insight into the nature of Dominance.

When I look back at the mistakes I've made as a Domme, I can trace almost every one to a failure to separate "business" from personal.  

What exactly does that mean, though?  Especially since I Myself have written several times that I can't truly dominate without love being present, that the emotional aspect is so important?  

To distinguish personal from business means to separate what jeopardizes One's goals and what does not, when evaluating a situation.  It means to take into account everything that led up to the current moment, and to consider, then act, accordingly, with the wisdom and judgement the submissive has earned by committing him or herself to One.

If there is a situation, a mistake in judgement, some faux pas or other, the Dom/me needs to use the most important advantage the unequal power relationship affords Him or Her:  The power to take a brief pause, to allow that consideration and analysis to happen, before speaking or acting.  The Dom/me who punishes, physically or verbally, without taking that pause is making a mistake.

The distinction might seem picky, or strained.  These are interpersonal relationships, after all, not commercial enterprises.  But to Me, there is a mission, an objective, a desired future state to be attained.  And the pursuit of that desired future state, while it happens in an emotional arena,  is not in and of itself emotional.  And as such, when the One with the greater power lets His or Her emotions take precedence over the objective, then in a very real sense those being led are temporaril without a Leader.  And that's nowhere for one being led to be, even for a moment.

One does need to be able to express One's anger sometimes, of course.  But the wise Dom/me bears in mind that punishment should always be business, never personal . . . and that One needs, always, to find another outlet, another venue, to release that negative emotion.

Reputation And Substance, Part 2

"You don't like my music 
You don't have to use it 
Funkin is a thing that all of us release 
You don't have to get it 
All you do is let it 
Then you'll know exactly how to groove

from "Get The Funk Outta My Face," The Brothers Johnson

There's another side to last night's post.

Just as it's easy to lose the message, to lose sight of the important things and lapse into a kind of drearily ritualized half-listening, half-being . . . it's possible also that we're too quick to think, to sincerely believe, even, that we have lost sight of the important things and sadly, to then act accordingly.

And even more amazing, to Me, is the insidiousness of this (sometimes) false idea.  It's so subtle, so stealthy, so . . . nearly invisible, that this post didn't even occur to Me until this afternoon.

Consider.  I think about these things, these kinds of ideas, all the time.  And, I like to think I've got a brain or two.  I consider every word I publish on this blog, multiple times.  After posting last night's entry, I thought I'd nailed it.  I was sad, because the conclusion of that post, which seemed inescapable at the time, felt sad to Me.  But I felt that "Reputation And Substance" was all I needed to say on the subject.

In the words of a great philosopher, "Go figure."

It is just as likely that we only think we've lost our way as it is that we might actually have lost our way.  Even if it's really difficult to be able to tell when we're really lost and when we only think we're lost . . . that's cause for massive relief and celebration.  And thus the Brothers Johnson snippet that introduced this post.

"You don't have to get it . . . all you do is let it . . . "

Reputation And Substance

Everyone not living under a rock knows that Bruce Springsteen was the halftime entertainment at the Super Bowl last night.

Bruce is a source of some (good-natured) back and forth between iris and Myself.  iris is a huge Bruce fan;  I, on the other hand, feel that Bruce jumped the shark a long time ago.  I don't know if it's ever-unchanging wardrobe, the vapid forays into political commentary, or just that his music isn't nearly as good or powerful as it once was, but Bruce does little for Me these days.

So, last night, predictably, iris and I had diverging views about the halftime show.  [Disclaimer:  I missed almost all of the first song.]  iris loved it;  I thought the song selection was regrettable at best [the ultra-lame "Glory Days" as the closer?], and Bruce's performance at times veered between haphazard [a very raggedly "Born To Run" was close to disgraceful] and hokey [adjusting lyrics for the city/event and the tried and true audience vocal segment].

But it got Me to thinking.  Often, when we are listening to an artist that we've come to love, we not only forgive a lot, but we reach a point where if we're not careful, we find ourselves simply listening to the artist's reputation, and responding to that, instead of to the emotional intent of the music.  

It's something I wonder and worry about in D/s terms.  It's been a long time the girls have been with Me.  I say the same things, in different ways, granted, but I say them . . . a lot.  Does it get old?  Or have I made it old, worse yet?  What part of indifference belongs to the teacher and what to the student?  Have I lost the emotional underpinnings of all this?

Or am I completely off base here?  Maybe My worries are totally unfounded.  

"Glory days . . . "

Blonde Moment

Like many women I've got a peculiar relationship with My hair, specifically its color.  All of us have a friend who changes hair color on a whim.  If you're like Me you don't totally understand that friend, but you envy her more than a little bit.

I'm in a comfort zone with My own nearly black locks.  Over time one's hair becomes one's personality, one's self, really, in a non-superficial way that men will never understand.  So I like who I am and I'm OK with My hair.

But I think about those who play with their hair color -- and how I often wish I could just change on a whim like that.  If My hair now "is" Me, then, changing it significantly makes Me . . . Someone else?

What if I were to (gasp) go blonde?  Who would I become then?  Would I "have more fun?" [Studies show that women with blonde hair do get more attention, socially/sexually.  I'm still young enough to think that's not a terrible thing.]  I know My IQ wouldn't suddenly drop 20 points;  that's just an unfortunate cliche . . . ummm . . . what was I saying?

Who am I kidding?  I'm simply not Suddenly Go Blonde For The Hell Of It Girl.  

But I know her, very well.  And I know she stole my boyfriend in the 10th grade.   

Everybody Is A Star (Ummmm, Actually . . . )

"Look into my eyes, what do you see? 
Cult of personality
I know your anger, I know your dreams
Ive been everything you want to be
I'm the cult of personality
Like Mussolini and Kennedy
I'm the cult of personality"

--Living Colour, "Cult of Personality"

A visitor to the channel the other night said something along the lines that he was "glad I was paying attention to the blog again."  Well, hold yer horses there, Pilgrim . . . a few posts does not "attention" make, but thank you . . . and I do hope to keep this up.

But paying attention to the blog isn't all fun and games.  When I was ignoring this blog, I was able to also ignore the fact that I have like, nine readers, three of whom are collared to Me and kinda have to read it. Paying attention means being reminded that some girl posts a photo of her cellulite for Half Naked Thursday Afternoon or whatever it's called and it gets 24 comments.   Or a post about random promiscuity will garner readership and comments like crazy (extra points for bareback).

OK, I get it.  I really do.  This might not be a sex blog, but it's "competing" in that marketplace.  And a sex blog has got to have some sex in it.  Or embarrassing personal details and revelations.  My dry little insights are clearly not cutting it in this hyper-exposed hyper-sexualized circus that blogging has become.  If you want to be a blog star you have to give the people what they want!

I just have to find My voice . . . perhaps something like . . . 

"I was trying for the eleventh time to fix My panty wedgie, and getting wet thinking about the grocery bagger at SavMart, when I realized something very important about the nature of Dominance and submission . .. "

Hrmph.  Clearly this isn't going to be easy. 


"Now I don't know but I been told
it's hard to run with the weight of gold
Other hand I heard it said
it's just as hard with the weight of lead"

from "New Speedway Boogie," The Grateful Dead

I'm always saying that lessons come at the oddest times from the most mundane things. I say it and think it so often that sometimes I wonder if it's really true or I've just convinced Myself of it and can no longer differentiate lessons from well, random stuff.

Then something happens like what happened tonight. I was driving home and the voices on the radio were hurting My ears in that odd, hard to put words to way that sometimes happens. So I switched to the CD.

Song lyrics stick in Me, or wash over Me, or take Me back to somewhere, or shove Me forward, or, like tonight, just give Me a perfect little jewel of a lesson. I just have to be in the right place at the right time.

And tonight was apparently that right place right time . . . traffic came to a stop at just the right time, and those lyrics above could really seep inside Me.

So what's the wonderful perfect lesson?

More of a reminder than a lesson, really: Burdens are burdens. They all entrap and enervate us, despite how beautiful they might seem on the surface. It's folly to carry them around with us. Likewise, the ugly packages are no more worth lugging around, either. The beautiful ones make us feel important and proud when we carry them; the ugly ones make us feel noble and strong. Both are illusions. Let go.

Let go.

Inaugural Thoughts

I actually heard a good chunk of President Obama's speech today.

He's a good speaker . . . he has just enough of the gospel preacher thing without going over the top (and that's not easy to do), he's thorough without being long-winded, inspiring without sounding hokey.

I think he said all the right things . . . and it's kind of hard not to, really, in January 2009. America's current problems make an Inaugural Address kind of a slam dunk for anyone with any intelligence and soul at all. But still, to mix My sports metaphors, fastballs right down the middle get fouled off all the time -- if Obama didn't knock his out of the park today, at the very least he hit a one-hop liner off the wall in a clutch situation.

I do wonder if any of this historic change in American politics portends any real change in America, though. I don't mean on any of the "big" issues . . . the economy will get fixed, partially, and fix itself, partially, We will figure out a way to gracefully exit Iraq and Afghanistan. Etc.

The change I wonder about and keep waiting for (foolishly, perhaps), is the fundamental shift wherein we reverse the places of sex and violence in our society. Corny, perhaps, to point this out for the 1,393,884th time, but a movie can show the most sickening acts of violence and cruelty and be rated PG-13, while a slang word for the procreative act or a bared breast is an automatic "R." The unsuccessful Culture War the Right waged for years didn't just acknowledge the ass-backwards places of sex and violence in this country, it embraced that perversion (and cynically relied on it). That they failed was less because the great mass of people rejected it but more because people didn't care all that much to embrace change of any kind.

Apathy -- America's single greatest weapon!

So I'm hopeful today, on many levels . . . but not particularly sanguine about the prospect that our twisted and tragic view of sex and violence will get straightened out any time soon.

The Prospect of Housecleaning

When I decided to pay attention to the blog again, I wasn't thinking about one unpleasant chore.

I refer to the link list over there to your right. It's been close to a year since I've really looked at it. I must have loads of dozens of dead or stale links.

I see that saratoga is going strong. The thoughtful and considerate swan commented on yesterday's post, so she's around, obviously . . . I look forward to going over there and catching up. What's become of nina? Geisha, if you're out there, send Me a message on yahoo.

I am going to go through the link list . . . doing so is not only good blog management and good manners, but going through it after a long hiatus isn't unlike dumping out a shoebox full of snapshots on the floor and touching on the memories and emotions, recalling what inspired Me in the first place to add that link.

Time to start the cleanup . . . I'm dressed for it!

Serves Me Right (No Pun Intended)

I, of all people, should've known better.

Should've known better than to title My last post "Back."

If you look, you'll see that post dates from August 2008. So clearly, I wasn't "back."

And I really should know that while the road to hell might not really be paved with good intentions, it's at the very least littered with them.

It reinforces for Me how important it is to battle the seduction of intentions, and trust only the reality of actions.

The cart goes before the horse, always. Actions lead to what we seek when we talk about "change"; intentions lull us into thinking we are changing.

So ridiculously simple, despite the surface nonsensical sound, but so insidiously difficult to apply.

I am not "back" until I am.

One step, here.