Off With Your Head.

Time to write. Haven’t done so in a while. Here’s the challenge I’ve run into: I have readers. And now that I have readers… well writers block has set in.

I had a praying mantis pay Me a visit and I think I know how to work through this little issue.

What does the praying mantis have to do with anything? I’ll tell you.

As you probably know praying mantises are amazing predators, very adept and deadly. The female particularly so. You may also know the mating habits of these insects. It may not surprise you to know that the male is occasionally eaten, head first, mid coatis.

It was once thought that this cannibalistic practice took place in all mantis populations. However, it’s been found to be more likely in captive populations, than wild. So this vicious behavior is likely a matter of the female reducing future competition for her offspring.

But I digress… The interesting point is that the male, after losing his head, not only continues to sexually perform, he also performs better.

In other words: no head getting in the way of the body = great sex and highly effective reproduction.

It’s a metaphor for what’s happening to The Kink Project and My writing.

I feel like I’m being held in the cage of readers. Both Spectators and Participants. Accomplices and Bystanders, the bars. Being trapped I need to reproduce effectively, successfully, efficiently. I need to produce narrative. My narrative, and kink discourse.

I thought the solution to My problem had a lot to do with My head getting in the way of the writing, but the mantis and her captive mating behavior is the answer.

It’s not My head I need to be rid of.

It’s yours.

I’m the female here after all. I’m the one reproducing. Not you, the reader.

Do you see where I’m going with this?

My will be done. And fuck your head.

This is not to say I don’t want feed back from My readers. Please, I love feedback.

Let’s carry the metaphor a little farther. Your interactions with Me… including feedback… are the sperm you provide Me. It’s the seeds of future produce.

But I can’t let your head get in the way of things.

So if My writing makes your brain ache, (or any other part of you for that matter), you’ll understand why. It’s okay baby, trust Me. The hurt will fade.

There She Blows.

It’s a cold and rainy hump-day. I’ve just cut all the tomatoes from the vine. Turned on the furnace for the first time this year. And I’m trying to find some indoor activities to work on.

The trip I planned for this weekend isn’t happening, so I’ve four days of nothing ahead of Me. I’m sure I’ll fill the time. I always do… but for the record, these down days are hard on Me. I feel like I aught to be doing… something.

I’ve some laundry in the wash… there are a few things I could clean up around the house…

I suppose what I need to do is slow down a little and take inventory. Do an internal temperature check. Find out what’s going down on the inside. I don’t really want to. Don’t really want to do much of anything. It’s that stupid ‘should’ dialogue. I should work on this… I should do that…

Baugh, I say.