Last night, a dance into uncertainty, through fear, walking off the edge of a cliff and soaring back through shadows.


I first saw images of someone with their mouth sutured shut in my late teens, but years earlier my first boyfriend had told dirty fantasy stories to me about the concept.  It is what it is, my sex life being my own journey- and yet it is used to grab me hard, force me to wake up, take me on journeys.

In 2003 or so I was at an event and actually saw it done.  Sterile procedure, an interesting sight to behold- and yet, I was fine.  I was fine until I saw her scream.  Face to face I opened my eyes to find her face a few feet from mine.  Screaming through her sutures.  My mind sailed away, a fugue state descended, and I walked out of the space.  Walked away from my lover.  Walked away.  I could not process, could not cope, could not be there any more.

When fantasy becomes fear, the mix becomes fascinating.  Does the taboo draw me on, or the pain?  Where are the lines between Eros and Thanatos, between love and death?

Enter the working of 2 weeks ago.  Enter the underworld.  Enter me, clamp down on my lip and suture in his hand held tight with forceps.  Enter… gasp.  Metal punctures through.

Timelines shift.  It did not go so smoothly.  A few weeks ago when the plan came up, I started hyperventilating.  I need to.  I have to go here.  I wrote in a notebook that night:

I must face my fears, embrace them, love them.  This is the truth of finding God.
Piece at a time.

When we got to the space, to the gathering of friends who would bear witness… I felt my tongue getting dry.  My back ached, my head was spinning.  Like when I first went up on hooks, I debated if this really was the right place and time for this.  When it was hooks, I locked myself in a utility closet and pulled, and pulled, tears for the dead streaming out.  My father’s father, a man I had not wept for, as hooks pulled and pulled with paint buckets and ladders piled high.

Where people fuck, and strut, and are embracing hedonism is not always a time and place for the spirit.  And sometimes it is the perfect place.  This time was neither.  This time it just was.  However, what it did give me was a fellow beast seeing my hackles raised, looking and me, and grounding me out.  Feral to feral, snarl to snarl, he held me tight.  I breathed, shoulders lowered.  I breathed, spine relaxed.  I breathed, and was back.

The waves of emotion were intense.  Maniacal laughter, stars soaring, longing moans, deep growls, high pitched whines… they come in waves.  I come in waves.  I come back and forth to skin and sweat in waves.  Metal pushes through.

I close my eyes and see Marcus there, wondering if I’ll be joining him.

I close my eyes and see Euphrena there, kissing me on the cheek and having a long conversation with Tigre, this is the nature of flow.  This is the nature of flow.  This is the nature of flow.

I close my eyes and see Catherine there, smiling.

I close my eyes and see flames leap high, see rage and pain and the flash of a muzzle.

I close my eyes and am being fisted by a monster I love, and know I can not have.

I close my eyes.

Are you with me?  The question echoes from flesh-side across my screams.  My head is thrown back, they are concerned that I am going to pass out.  My chin is on my chest, they are concerned I am already unconcious.

I am hyper-conscious.  I am aware.  I give a thumbs up.  I close my eyes.

Blood drips out of my mouth.

My mouth is gone.

I am gone.

I am here, with blood dripping out of my mouth.

From the other side of the grave, I am sewn in, sewn shut.  I flex black leather wings, and am reminded of the mantle.  I close my eyes, and love.