FUNDED BY PATREON
PARANORMAL AND CONTEMPORARY MM EROTIC ROMANCES BY BESTSELLING AUTHOR SADIE SINS
Okay, so a little background. My goal is to find a way to support myself as a writer without needing to play the Amazon publishing game. It is extremely competitive and time consuming to claw to the top on Amazon, promoting and writing for market, and getting a zillion books out half-assed just to get bills paid. For adult, erotic authors like myself who write topics which can get books banned in a flash, all the time put into writing can be lost in a moment depending on whatever whim Amazon has for 'acceptable' fiction on their site at the time. I want to find a way around this discriminatory system, and I believe Patreon is that way.
I'm offering up an ongoing free series, Demon Bonded, with the intention of rewarding patrons who support me for as little as $1 a month. I understand money isn't always there when we want it (oh, I understand XD) so I want to find a way to not only be paid for my writing, but to also allow my writing to reach individuals who can't necessarily shell out cash for an escape into sexy, fun fantasy. The more established financially I become, the more I can offer my published books for less. This particular series, Demon Bonded, is the first experiment where each episode is only $0.99.
I understand this process isn't going to happen overnight, and no matter what I get for donations, Demon Bonded will continue to be written and now free on this site. This serial is not being held hostage, but instead offered as a thank you, and as a hope writers everywhere can find a way to be allowed to create and profit doing what they love. If you haven't yet, please support me on Patreon!
Thank you for your support—be it moral and/or financial—and happy reading. <3
COMPLETED EPISODES AND AUDIOBOOKS
WARNING. This site contains sexually oriented adult material intended for individuals 18 years of age or older. If you are not yet 18, if adult material offends you, or if you are accessing this site from any country or locale where adult material is prohibited by law, please leave now.
Mated To The Demon Prince
Sean knows what those wicked, hellfire eyes want. Him, on his knees, taking every finger, tongue, tail, and tentacle.
This is what being corrupted by a demon feels like. It’s the only explanation. Sean’s not supposed to have fangs or know magic, damn it. And this bs where he’s horny and begging all the time? No, not freaking happening. He’s just a nerd—a hot, gay, totally panicky IT specialist—who needs to find a solution to his destroyed business, asap. He doesn’t have time for whatever weird this shapeshifting demon is into. Soot can’t just claim him whenever he wants, over and over again. He’s about to be homeless!
If Sean doesn’t save a witch from a dragon, it’s game over. But he’s changing, turning into someone he doesn’t recognize. He’s not sure if he can play hero, not even when Soot abducts TJ, Sean’s painfully straight crush, to the top of a tower full of witches, gargoyles, and one very pissed off dragon. TJ doesn’t know who to fear more, the demon prince or whatever it is Sean is turning into.
There has to be a way out. Stealing a 3 million dollar hellcat isn’t a binding contract to be a sex thrall, no matter how much his demon master disagrees.
101,000+ wrds, First Published March, 2018.
Heat level: XXX
WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT MATED TO THE DEMON PRINCE
Omg this book! This was nonstop entertainment from the start. If you've read Sadie Sins before, you probably have an idea of what you're in for. If you haven't ... strap yourself in!
on March 31, 2018
Holy freaking *explitive*, what did I just read and when can I read more of it. Sadie Sins has done it again and this time she has cranked up the heat to 11.
on April 1, 2018
WOW! Holy cheese curls!!! This book is scorching hot and makes you thrive on every word. I loved it!! I there were more stars available I would check each one.
Was it possible to go crazy listening to the man who owned the sexiest lips ever? Even if he was talking nonsense at the time, TJ was still the sexiest man Sean ever had the annoyance of arguing with.
“Just one kitten. He’s so small, he’s like half a kitten. You’d barely notice him.”
Crazy. TJ was going to drive him crazy. “There’s no way in hell.” Sean decisively typed out a string of code and hit enter. “No.”
“Please, man?” TJ whined over the wireless headset Sean was failing to ignore. “He has nowhere else to go. I swear, once you meet him, you’ll totally fall in love. He's the cutest little ball of fluff. And his eyes! Oh, Sean, if you saw his eyes, I just know you'll love him.”
TJ was his friend of forever and an all-around animal lover. Sean usually didn’t hold it against him until moments like this. Moments which were growing more frequent as TJ decided he was lonely and needed an animal friend to brighten his days. Sean didn’t need a cat; he needed a boyfriend. A hot, sexy, preferably fur-free boyfriend who didn’t meddle in his life.
“Stop calling me from work trying to get me to adopt one of those four-legged beasts.” Sean squinted at the nearest of his four computer monitors. “I have enough problems without adding a kitten into the mix. Do you even understand what their fur will do to my setup?” He had three computers dedicated to IT work, and he couldn’t risk them being clogged up by fur, or fleas, or whatever the hell the little beasts covered themselves in. Pets. Why the hell would TJ think he wanted a pet?
TJ, who worked at the local animal shelter, didn’t even pause at Sean’s bitchy tone. “I'm sending you a picture. Once you see him… Ha.” The sounds of a digital camera snapping filtered through his headset as TJ chased down the prospective kitten.
“Leather couch. I have a fucking leather couch,” Sean growled determinedly. “Do you even know how much the blinds on my windows cost? I’m not letting some little clawed monster near my Egyptian cotton sheets. It would be a fucking disaster.” There was no way in hell he was taking in a mangy cat. He didn’t care if it was a baby and it needed a home. He hated pets, and he most certainly hated fur. “I’m allergic,” Sean added in the hopes of stopping the conversation flat.
“Liar.” TJ snorted derisively, only to hiss a moment after. “Oh, claws are not for hugging, little guy. Shit.” The sounds of him struggling with what Sean could only assume was a monstrous kitten with ten extra claws filled his ears. “I emailed you the photo,” TJ returned after a moment. “He's adorable. You have a huge fucking apartment and no one to enjoy it. Stop pretending rooms are for things. Love him, and take him home, and stop being a miserable bastard about everything.”
Sean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The only person he wanted to take home and love currently wouldn’t shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He never should have answered the phone.
Sean’s computer chimed. It was his personal computer, the only one not currently being used to remote into a customer’s hard drive for virus clean up. Damn it. Sean sighed as he rolled his chair to the side and woke the computer from its screensaver mode. He paused and licked his lips when the desktop image appeared. It was a closeup of a hot, short haired man being spit roasted by two buff guys cut mostly out of the shot. It was no accident the hottie in the middle looked just like TJ. Sean spent hours photo-collaging the image to ensure TJ looked as depraved and ruined as possible.
“Well?” TJ prompted excitedly as the silence stretched on.
Sean inhaled sharply and pulled his hand up from where he was unconsciously reaching for his half hard dick. “I don’t want a cat.”
“Just because you don’t like pussy doesn’t mean you can’t like a kitten,” TJ teased cheerfully. “Come on, look at him. He’s adorable. You know you want him.”
Sean grunted at the bad joke and opened the email reluctantly. A pair of bright, blue eyes surrounded by gray fur glittered back from the screen. “I’d have preferred a dick pic. It's hideous.” Sean clicked the email closed and rolled back to the other monitor while TJ wailed dramatically. Seriously, you’d have sworn he physically assaulted the gray, ugly beast. Although not much larger than his fist, the kitten had a squashed nose and a ridiculous amount of fluff. It looked like the sort of thing Sean might mistake for a giant roaming dust ball when vacuuming. Probably even by accident.
“His eyes, Sean. He has the soul of a poet,” TJ insisted.
Sean rolled his own thankfully poet free eyes toward the ceiling. “Will you stop it already? I don’t want a pet. I don’t have time to feed kittens, and exercise them, and give them, you know…” he trailed off with a wave of his hand.
“Basic human companionship?” TJ supplied flatly.
“Attention,” Sean grunted. “Pets are a time suck. All they do is want food, then they poop the food, and sometimes they sleep. All the other time they want stuff from you. They’re just like people. There is nothing of value in any of it.” Living alone was much better. Easier. Not to mention, if he got a kitten, TJ would come over all the time.
Sean bit his lip and slowly rolled back to the other computer screen. His eyes fixed on the image of TJ being fucked senseless by two faceless men with big dicks. A cat could be the perfect excuse to get TJ to visit more. He could pretend the fluffball was sick or needed training. It could lead to them playing on the floor with TJ all sexy laughs that demanded kisses and blowjobs…
Sean shook his head roughly and reached down to squeeze his hard cock through his sweatpants. Bad. Very bad. TJ was his friend, his completely straight friend. TJ was his shy, sweet, straight friend Sean kept promising to himself he’d stop thinking about sexually. Just… Fuck, but just look at him! TJ was so hot, so unassumingly sexy with those flashing brown eyes and plump lips. He had that hot Latin lover look but with none of the confident swagger. No, TJ was impossibly shy, and it made Sean want to do things to him. Dirty things. Mean things that would have TJ begging him to stop all while cumming a river.
Sean clicked to a folder on his desktop. He teased his tongue over his teeth as he opened up the first of many nude images he had of men who looked suspiciously close to the same build and face of his sexy best friend. He was such a cockslut. Get TJ on his knees in front of a dick, and he would totally be a cockslut…
“This is exactly why you need a pet, Sean. You have no fucking clue how to share your life.” TJ’s voice took on a quality Sean tried very hard to block out as he gave a few experimental tugs on his cock. “You seriously need to get away from your computers before you forget how to talk to people. If you give them a chance, they might even like you.”
“They shouldn’t. I’m a fucking bastard and you know it,” Sean muttered. He closed his eyes as he held onto a mental image of TJ with his ass cheeks spread open, and his fluttering pucker waiting for his tongue, his fingers, his cock. If TJ even knew half of what he thought about when it came to his straight best friend, he would never talk to him again.
“Bullshit,” TJ snapped. “Sure, you say some stupid stuff, but that’s it. Everyone says stupid shit. People like you, Sean. I like you, and I happen to be an amazing judge of character. You should come out with me and some of my coworkers. We have a thing every Friday. It’s super chill, and I know you’d have fun if you gave it a chance.”
“I can’t go out,” Sean said a little too harshly. Fuck, he was so hard. Actually having TJ talking in his ear while he was playing with himself was beyond hot. It really didn’t matter what he was saying, just that it was him. The sound of TJ’s breath, his voice was all Sean needed. He could easily imagine TJ in the room, kneeling between his thighs with those perfect lips of his wrapped around his cock.
Aw, fuck. Sean wriggled in his chair and spread his legs wider. With one hand he pushed his pants down his hips, and with the other he reached in and pulled his hard cock out. Sean held his breath when TJ’s voice returned and washed over him.
“I know. I’m not asking you to actually leave the apartment. I was thinking we might have it at your place.”
“Oh,” Sean murmured as he stroked down his rigid shaft. Fuck, this was such a bad idea. “You want it here?”
“Don’t say no right away. Just hear me out,” TJ rushed on. And fuck, didn’t it just sound so fucking good to have TJ try to convince him to fuck him? To take him, and show him what being with a man would be like? Sean bit his lip and tried to drown out what his friend was actually saying.
“They’re really friendly, really nice. Some even help to train the service dogs, so they understand, you know, about people not all being the same. No one would judge you…”
“Uh huh,” Sean whispered as he clicked to another picture. This one was of a TJ lookalike with his hard dick hanging out of a pair of tight white briefs. TJ’s expression bordered on despair, and Sean made the image smaller so he could see the desktop screenshot of TJ being double teamed at the same time.
“And if you got to know people, maybe you’d be more compelled to want to go out, right? I mean, you can’t want to just stay in your apartment forever.”
“Right.” Sean breathed out slowly. His head tilted back as he thrust into his warm palm. “So right. TJ, could you just…?”
“What? What’s wrong?”
Sean grinned as he reached for the bottle of lube he kept in the desk drawer specifically for browsing porn. “Nothing. Just wondering how many dogs humped you today.”
“Fuck off, you ass. They’re just very enthusiastic to see me.”
“Yeah, but how many?” Sean snickered at TJ’s angry growl. He was forced to bite his lip and fight a moan as his lube-slick fingers wrapped around his cock. Fuck. Fuck, he wasn’t going to last like this. Talking to TJ was far more interesting when he could masturbate. “Two? Three? Seven?”
“Damn it, Sean. I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you. This is important. It might be life changing for you.”
“Uh huh.” His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly fucked into his hand. “So… you were saying?”
TJ huffed as he tried to regain his train of thought. “Damn it, okay. I just think it would be good motivation, something positive to make you want to go out into the world.”
“A kitten?” Sean asked with brows furrowed.
“No, having friends over. That is, well, meeting my friends, making friends, and, you know, getting to know people. I think it’ll help you want to leave your place.”
“TJ, driving me out of my apartment isn’t really… Oh.” Sean’s breath skipped as his balls tightened. Fuck, he was already close, so fucking close. He licked his lips and tried to pull back from the edge. He didn’t want to come yet. TJ in his ear was too fucking sexy to rush.
Hell, if he said his name like that one more time, he was going to blow. “Hold on a sec. I’m trying to focus.”
“Oh. Sorry.” TJ gave him a beat but just couldn’t seem to stay silent for long. “You sound out of breath. Tell me you’re not freaking out over this. I don’t want to freak you out. This is supposed to help, you know?”
“Uh huh. Eight…” Sean murmured as he stroked his cock from base to swollen tip. He squeezed around his sensitive head and slicked his palm in a tight twist before sliding down his shaft again. He was well aware how breathless he sounded and was too far gone to care. He wanted to fuck TJ. He wanted to fuck him hard, relentlessly, until he was crying his name. “Nine.” He glared at the computer screen where his slutty TJ was sucking cock like he was made for it, begging for it. Sean stroked his throbbing length tighter and wondered what TJ’s ass would feel like gripping around him, riding him, as he took every inch of his cock. “Ten.”
“So, what do you think?” TJ prodded, oblivious to how Sean was fading in and out of the conversation.
“How many was it?” Sean chuckled when TJ swore in his ear. “Eleven.”
“Dude, I’m serious. This is… Why are you counting?” TJ’s voice, if possible, became angrier. “Are you exercising right now, you asshole?”
Sean groaned and threw his head back. “I’m seriously trying,” he lied shamelessly as he thrust into his palm again. “Twelve.” TJ would be tighter. He’d be tight, and the noises he’d make being opened by his cock would be loud, desperate. His. Sean’s breath stuttered, and he stilled the rocking of his hips and tried not to give in to the delicious pressure building. “Fourteen,” he shuddered.
“You forgot thirteen,” TJ muttered. “Let me know when you’re done and can actually focus on me.”
He was focused. He was so focused his balls were going to turn blue. “You’re an attention whore,” Sean whispered. He wondered if TJ could hear it, the hard, hungry part of him that wanted him to be his whore. He wanted him always on his knees, waiting for him, TJ’s body his and only his.
“No, I’m just trying to have a conversation,” TJ shot back. “Do you remember those, man? You know, where you don’t stare at a computer all day?”
“I’d go stir crazy… fifteen… if I just sat in front of a computer all day.” Sean’s gaze slipped from the tip of his cock dripping precum, up to the image of TJ with his mouth wide open and full of dick. “What, you want to come to my gym? I’d let you come.” He’d let TJ cum as many times as he wanted. He’d suck him until he was begging for release. He’d fuck that tight hole of his and his mouth; TJ’s lips were made for fucking. They were so plump, so fucking red and perfect for drizzling cum all over…
“Maybe,” TJ mused as the sound of a cage closing echoed over the line. “Free is always good. Gym memberships are so expensive in the city.”
Sean squeezed his eyes shut as a vision flashed in his mind of TJ bent over a weight-bench in a pair of skimpy shorts tangled around his sneakers. TJ’s face and shoulders were bright red, his caramel toned ass and thighs rock hard and wet with sweat. The moans he made were so perfect as he took Sean’s cock and every hard, demanding thrust he pounded into him.
“Fuck.” Sean grit his jaw tight, and his head fell back as his entire body jerked in the computer chair. He came with a drawn-out growl as hot, milky streams of cum pulsed from his tip and splattered onto his sweat drenched stomach and flexing abs.
“Ha, you know, on second thought…” TJ chuckled awkwardly, the sound nearly drowned out by barking as he passed the kennel. “I don’t want to tell you what you sound like, man, but it’s obscene. Pornographic. I hope you go to the gym alone, or people might get the wrong idea.”
Sean, who covered his hand over the mouthpiece of his headset to keep from letting TJ hear the many swears he was cursing as he tried to recover his breathing, returned to his counting in a more even tone. “Twenty… Twenty-one…”
“You’re so full of shit,” TJ exclaimed. “You’re at fifteen, tops.”
“Do you want to count?” Sean’s grin felt too tight on his face as a familiar depression sank around him. It was a dream, a lie of his head. It was always going to be a fantasy even with TJ’s voice whispering in his ear. “What exactly are you saying?” Sean reached for the box of tissues he kept in the same drawer as the lube and wiped the cooling cum from his stomach. “You think when guys do pushups it sounds like they’re fucking? Pervert.”
TJ snorted. His voice was a little too high-pitched when he retorted, “No, I think when you do pushups it sounds like you’re cumming. Totally different, you deviant.”
Sean stared moodily at the ceiling, his mind still full of images of TJ acting like a hungry cockslut for him. Not real. Fuck, it wasn’t ever going to be real. Sean ran his fingers over his chest and thumbed his nipple through his t-shirt. “Just how often do you think about me cumming, straight boy?”
“Gah, stop being gross! I said it sounded. Sounded! I didn’t say I was thinking about it.”
“Right, right. My mistake.” Sean gave TJ enough time to think he let it drop, then added in a low voice, “You’re thinking about my dick right now, aren’t you?”
“Damn it!” TJ yelped while Sean chuckled darkly.
“Hey, you’re the one bringing up fluffy pussy and cum jokes. You’ve got a filthy mind, TJ. I swear you called me just so you could have someone to traumatize.”
TJ’s breath hitched, and all the laughter drained from his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“For fuck sake,” Sean growled. “What, you think because I can’t leave the building, I can’t handle a dirty joke?” His voice was edged with an anger sourced straight from his own guilt. He was jerking off to the sound of his best friend’s voice while TJ—fucking perfect prince TJ—was worried he hurt his feelings.
“You know I would never…” TJ’s words were so slow and cautious, Sean couldn’t bear to hear them. Fuck, he was such an asshole. The things he wanted to do to TJ felt like a sick, demented disease he wasn’t ever going to be free of. He couldn’t have him. He wanted him, and he was never going to have him, and he was just fucking everything up no matter how much distance he tried to put between them. Why the fuck did he keep doing shit like this?
“Sean?” TJ called worriedly. “I said I was sorry.”
“Stop. It’s fine. I’m just fucking with you,” Sean snapped, desperate to have the conversation drop. “Stop acting like some virginal princess who can’t handle a dick joke. It’s just a fucking joke.” Sean groaned internally as he heard the callous words tumble from his mouth. Fuck, he was just digging a hole straight to Hell at this point. He was such an asshole. TJ was a virgin and so fucking sensitive about it, and still, still the perfect fuck was focused on trying to make sure Sean’s feelings weren’t hurt. Shit, why couldn’t he stop being such a dick?
Sean went to pull his pants up, and his gaze fixed on a droplet of cum he’d missed. His eyelids grew heavy as he thought of TJ licking at his skin to clean it. He’d hold it, savor it, a spot of pearly white on his red tongue. “You thirsty?” Sean asked. He couldn’t stop himself even now, even after having once again said something totally shitty to his best friend.
“Uh, a little, I guess,” TJ answered, his tone subdued. “Why, is my voice weird? I was shouting at one of the dogs earlier. It slipped its leash and booked it straight for the street.”
Sean closed his eyes and bit his lower lip hard. TJ sounded like he was sucking cock. He sounded like he was waiting for cum to be dribbled onto those perfect lips of his. He sounded like he was panting in his ear, inches away while touching himself.
“About the cat…” TJ was definitely more subdued. He was being cautious, tiptoeing around him, and Sean hated it.
TJ paused, and this time the awkward silence didn’t fill with laughter. “You know what I mean.”
Sean did, and he took no joy in harassing TJ over it. For whatever reason, TJ was a glutton for punishment today and still hadn’t hung up. He’d been calling him every day now. Sean wasn’t exactly sure why, but maybe he was really worried about the ugly little cat.
“The kitten. He’s a boy, for one. Not that you can tell when they’re so little.” TJ’s tone changed as he tried to lighten the mood like the upstanding, unattainable, perfect being he was always going to be. “He needs someone to love him, Sean. He’s all alone in the world and, well, when I see him I think of you.”
Sean sighed heavily. “Thanks, that totally makes me not want to slit my wrists. Care to throw in how I suck at dating and will never be happy as well?”
“Fuck—Sean, that’s not what I meant!” Sean was pretty sure he could literally hear TJ’s heart crack through the headset. “I want to bring the kitten over so you can meet him. What are you doing today?”
“Jerking off. All day,” Sean said without humor. It was probably true. He couldn’t stop thinking about TJ. Getting away with masturbating while on the phone with him sure as fuck hadn’t helped anything. TJ heard him cum. TJ heard him cum, and even thought he heard him cum. Fuck, yeah, he could totally jerk off to that for an entire day.
Sean sat up and tucked away the tissues and bottle of lube as he waited to see if his rude comment had pushed TJ to hang up or not. “When’s a better day?” TJ persisted, the stubborn fuck, his voice obnoxiously cheerful.
Sean grinned bitterly. “You ever think maybe you’re crowding me, man? I’ve got a shit ton of work to get done.”
“Take a break,” TJ snapped, and all the pleasantries stripped away. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, dipshit. It’s not like you have anywhere to go.”
Angry swearing. The perfect prince was close to breaking. Sean stood from his chair and headed for the kitchen. “Oh, are we throwing that in my face now? Maybe if you spent more time dating instead of worrying over my pathetic ass, you’d be laid by now.”
“My fuck—Sean! No. Giving a fuck about you is not worrying, first of all. Second, you are not pathetic, and I’m so fucking sick of you saying shit about yourself like that.”
Sean rolled his eyes. He should have insulted the cat. TJ was less likely to go into lecture mode when he wasn’t saying truthful as shit stuff about himself. “Uh huh, yup, I’m a perfect angel. You’re right, I’m brilliant. Genius. Yes, I’m a genius.” Sean kept his voice a bored drawl even as agitation tensed his muscles tighter and tighter. He hated this. He hated this more than TJ trying to get him to make friends like he was some pathetic outcast on the playground.
Sean stalked back into the living room and paced as TJ angrily rattled off all the many reasons he wasn’t a piece of shit while Sean continued to treat his best friend like a piece of shit.
“Are you done?” Sean asked when TJ finally took a breath.
“No. You’re an asshole,” TJ added sharply. “You’re totally being an asshole right now. You’ve been acting like an asshole for ages, and I’m sick of it. Stop being an asshole, Sean!”
This was when he was supposed to ask TJ something embarrassing that would send him over the edge and hang up with the declaration of never talking to him again. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Sean couldn’t bring himself to actually say it. If he were a decent human being, he’d just tell him. He’d tell him he loved him. TJ could have a nice cry about how he could never love him back, and then—only then—would it be a promise that TJ would never, ever talk to him again. Because, for whatever fucked up reason, TJ kept coming back no matter how shitty Sean acted.
Sean sighed dejectedly and threw himself into his chair. “Fine.”
“W-What? Wait, what?” TJ stuttered in shock.
“Bring the cat down,” Sean grunted. “Just don’t expect anything. I need order, and a fluffball will only fuck up everything. Not to mention litter boxes are totally disgusting.”
“Please, not having a litter box is way grosser,” TJ joked half-heartedly. “Uh… okay, then.” He managed to not sound happy even though he’d gotten the answer he wanted. Sean was far too used to that tone. He worked hard to make sure TJ wasn’t happy around him.
Fuck, he hated his life.
TJ coughed nervously. “Sean, about Friday. I really do think it would…”
An odd sensation weighed the air around him, and Sean blinked as the hair stood up on his arms. He looked up nervously as the lights faded and buzzed through the apartment. “What?” Flashes suddenly sparked and cracked alarmingly around the room, and he jumped out of his seat with a yelp. “Fuck!”
Sean whirled around, turned back to his computer, and stared in growing dread as the project he was working on for the last two hours flickered strange, glowing symbols.
“Oh, fuck. Mother fuck, no. No, no, no!” Sean grabbed at his hair as sparks shot up all around his computers.
“What… Sean? What a… his…?”
Sean twisted the headset off his ear so he didn’t have to hear TJ’s static confusion. This couldn’t be happening. Hours of work gone. Hours.
The flashing abruptly stopped, but Sean’s work screen didn’t return to normal. A single, large symbol stretched across the otherwise blank screen.
He reached forward and clicked the monitor power, but nothing changed. The symbol remained on the screen, an obnoxious purple burning toward hot pink the longer it glowed. His mind whirred, and Sean crossed the hardwood floor with large strides to the windows. He shoved the blinds aside and peered down with dawning horror at the moving truck out front of his apartment building. “Aw, fuck. This can’t be happening.”
Spirit Movers. Fucker.
“Sean, what the hell is happening? Why is my phone screen glowing purple?”
TJ’s voice finally jolted Sean back, and he twisted his headset into place. “It’s a witch. A witch is moving in.”
Quickie newsletter this week, pretty sure. XD I might actually be early too. I’ve been waking up at 1am the last week and I’m enjoying all the quiet time when the house is asleep. I think the fever actually helped me, weird as that may sound. I feel so chill. My thoughts are calm, I’m editing super fast, life feels good. Maybe my immune system needed a flu to fight to remind the body, ‘hey, this is what things feel like when we’re actually battling something dangerous. Chill already over the allergies.’ Lol, or maybe not. But I’m feeling fine, stable (fingers crossed) and I’m getting shit done, so I have no complaints!
Whoo, the final draft/edit of Hellcat is flying. Gail is being an amazing help (thank you, Gail!) and I suspect this book is going to be officially done by next week. I need to get the cover adjusted slightly, seeing as the name has changed. Hellcat will eventually have a sequel, so the name Hellcat is now the series title instead of the new title, which is ‘Mated To The Demon Prince.’ Just in case you were wondering what Hellcat is about, mating and demon princes are a part of it. *wink*
My first XXX novel and it’ll just squeeze in at 100,000 words. I’m super excited. I didn’t think I’d be able to balance so much heat with plot, but I found a way. I have a feeling the sequel may end up being even naughtier, seeing as it’s all about kidnapping and ruining a certain secondary character in the first book. *eyebrow waggle* But one thing at a time.
That Free Month Thing Was Apparently A Fail
Apologies are in order. So I thought by adding a month to everyone’s subscription would, you know, give everyone a free month. Simple. Apparently not. :/ You need to cancel your paypal payment to actually see the free month. What happens is you cancel payment and you’ll still be a member until the end of the added month. Ideally, that will be when Paypal prompts you again. (Ideally. Not holding my breath.)
Seriously sorry this damn thing has been so buggy. I’ve been handing out refunds for those who I notice are having a problem, but I’m not usually looking at that side of the website. I just assume it ‘works’ you know? Silly me. This is for long term members too, btw. If you did a yearly subscription and cancel payment at the end, you’ll have a free month to read then.
Once Hellcat is completed, I’m going to be looking at my subscription membership software. Very likely I’ll be updating it—possibly scrapping it for a new system all together. Whatever that choice will be, it won’t actually be happening until I finish writing Sorcerer Slayer. I want to get that gorgeous beast done (160,000 words already written, whoot!) and I want it to be now, not later. I have gone into neurotic fits every time I go to fix the website, and I just don’t want to be that crazy person right now. One day, I’ll be able to afford to hire someone for this shit. @[email protected]
I absolutely understand why people want money, so they don’t have to deal with annoying shit.
Anyways, the website bullshit can wait a month or so; Sorcerer Slayer is fucking happening! And Demon Bonded. The next episode is all drafted out, I just gotta give it my attention.
Oliris is born!
Okay, so I stumbled across a book I’ve been waiting for. Apparently it’s out!!! Lol. So, a year ago… wait, 2 years ago? Has it been two? (Sorry, I can’t remember time when it comes to what I’m now dubbing ‘the mold years.’ I remember things happened, not so much when.) Anywho, S. Neff had invited me to have a sneak peek of her book while she was writing. It was fabulous—I rarely read fantasy anymore but she brought the concrete into it and made it feel real—and I’ve been waiting ever since, and I suddenly stumbled across it yesterday. She’s an amazing artist, just saying, and I totally remembered the cover.
Anyways, I’m just so glad all her hard work paid off, and her book is finally out! An author’s first book can be super intimidating (as can all the ones that follow. @[email protected]
*cough* I mean, it totally gets easier. >_> ) Sometimes it can feel like the world is against you; time, money, even family and friends are suddenly battling for your ability to just get some words down. I’m always so happy to see someone get to the finish line. Congrats!
For those who missed last week’s Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, they wrote a LGBTQ positive bunny book for kids! It’s all about bunny love and marriage equality—which, eh, I think marriage is archaic and overrated, but yay to those who enjoy the tax status. All proceeds go to the Trevor Project and Aids United.
I wanted to point out this one star comment… Whoa. Okay, so there were only 400 or so comments a week ago. Holy fuck. And look at those resellers jacking the price up, the shameless opportunists. XD Anyways, someone wrote something along the lines of ‘…this book is a shallow misrepresentation of very sensitive issues, should not be read to children…” And I had to ask myself, why is sexuality in any form a sensitive issue? Why is gay marriage sensitive for anyone—except perhaps the people who aren’t allowed to marry because of something as trivial as gender? Why do some people want the range of human sexuality to just disappear, and why do they want the people who ask to be treated equally to be quiet because it’s ‘sensitive?’
I feel like people who want ‘sensitive’ things to disappear are really people who are uncomfortable with the world as it is. They hope as long as they don’t see it and think about it, they’re safe. ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ was a fine example of sensitive human beings freaking the fuck out that gay people existed, but they were also trying to compromise by saying ‘just as long as we don’t know, you’re allowed to be gay and around us. But once we do know, you need to disappear cuz gay people can’t exist. Get out of my bubble.’
It’s pretty intense. It’s a whole lot of that perspective thing I was talking about last week. Blaming other people for your own discomfort and emotions—blaming a book for existing. (Oh, and yeah, I totally troll negative reviews on shit because I want to understand how and why people react. It’s great for writing realistic dialog, and great for understanding life in general. I study this stuff. XD)
The world shouldn’t have to disappear for some people to feel comfortable. Not accepting a blue sky doesn’t turn it red, and not accepting the vast range of sexuality doesn’t make it go away. Why should anyone ever have to feel shame or go away just because some people can’t handle the reality around them? It’s not the world’s fault some people are sensitive; it’s theirs.
Exposure therapy for the uncomfortable is a beautiful thing. Not only do they get to have a revelation every time they find their boundaries and push past, but there are so many people waiting to embrace them once they get past their shit and see how varied and beautiful the world is. Come on over and bring the hugs already. <3
Sexy Yaoi Game!
Oh, before I forget—I know, I’m all over the place this week. XD It looks like To Trust an Incubus Bara Yaoi BL Gay Dating Sim Visual Novel is going to happen! I’ve been watching this project closely, partly because I’m interested in one day making a yaoi Demon Bonded game. I can’t wait to see what Yamilia does to make this beauty come to life.
Adam Delaney was saved by a man with a criminal past. A man whose reality is different to most other people in this world, but for Adam, Rho Bennet is a savior.
Marcus Troy is the man everyone fears.
Rho Bennett considers himself the drug kingpin’s right hand, but things change when Rho brings home Adam, an orphan boy who never had a real family and who is having a rough time finding his place in the world.
Rho’s instinct is to protect the boy but when Marcus sets his sights for Adam, everything changes. Marcus wants Adam at any cost. He will do anything in his power to get him.
The Devil doesn't always laugh.
Sometimes, he weeps with you.
So if you guys ever want to stalk me, here are some links (I don't mind if you are in it for the penis jokes)
Is it wrong of me to be falling for the Man of the House? I was only gone for two months, and I'm sure he wasn't this irresistible before I left.
But there's no way that either he or I can act on these feelings that we're developing for each other... is there?
When love is this strong, surely there is nothing that can stand in its way.
No judgements, no taboos, no relationships...
This is a dark, steamy taboo romance story that contains cheating and some moderate psychological terror.
I fell in love with the enemy.
He was unpredictable. Hardened. Dangerous.
He was my omega.
Carter Thompson is an alpha wolf shifter, an outcast in a world full of betas. Sanctuary city is the last hope for his people. He just has to find it. However, his plans are turned upside down when he’s caught in the rifle sight of a handsome soldier with a huge secret.
As a soldier for the beta army, twenty-eight-year-old omega Liam is granted a life of minuscule privileges, until a surprise pregnancy puts his fragile safety in mortal danger. Now Sanctuary City is Liam and his baby’s last chance. But an irresistible attraction to a rebel alpha soldier may be his downfall.
Escaping with Carter Thompson is a desperate roll of the dice. Falling in love should not be in the cards. They are opposites. They should never have fallen in love, but they both understand loss and want a better future. Will that be enough to keep them together as Liam’s former comrades in arms close in?
Senana Saz Rays has been sentenced to four years of slave labor on prison planet Indiku after assaulting his state appointed psychiatrist. Leaving his lover Rhyan behind on earth, Sena spends his time on the planet Indiku working with the coveted medicinal leeri flowers. Although a slave, he can’t help but find peace in the mundane life he’s lived on the alien planet and the wondrous sightings of the indigenous Zanzi that look so much like mythical earth dragons. Senana is just one year shy of going home and being with Rhyan again when all thoughts of freedom are swiped away as a massive Zanzi takes him from the leeri fields and back to the mountains it calls home.
La’el is a proud Zanzi. His only wish was to find a life mate and experience the bond his parents share. When he finally finds him in the leeri fields he doesn’t hesitate to take Sena— even their vast physical differences won’t dissuade the young Zanzi. La’el will do anything to prove to Sena that they are meant to be together, even if he’s unsure how to convince his human mate.
Both La’el and Sena are about to find out that there is more between them than either of them could ever imagine. Their bond affects more than just their fate, but also reveals a true evil buried in the heart of Indiku, and all the way back to Earth.
If having to go through his first heat wasn't bad enough for werewolf Ryan Moss, kidnapping and tying up his rival of forever, Shane Cooper, guarantees to make it eventful. Too bad Ryan's wolf thinks the boy is perfect for mating no matter how straight Shane says he is.
23,000+ wrds, paranormal, werewolf, straight to gay, noncon, bdsm. Published: June 3, 2016
Welcome to this week’s story. This may turn out to be a fever-dream, I warn you now. Perhaps an essay. I want this to tell the variety of perception, the way we filter reality and forget that the filter has more power than the intention. But the fever keeps coming back. Pretty sure it’s the flu. I added a month to every subscriber to the website cuz I don’t want to freak out about being sick and stressing. Also, I think it’s a good excuse to allow myself to tackle the final draft of Hellcat without feeling overwhelmed. Life happens, so enjoy your free month of reading The Library while I write complicated and potentially meaningless essays about reality. XD (Don’t forget, Heat is free this month!
I love it, though. I love the art of perspective. It’s everything I use to create a false reality out of words that is familiar enough to compel an emotional response. It’s also what allows me to read critical reviews directed at my work and not be held back, not feel pain, not identity with it at all. It’s where I can take the side of what some might think is a selfish monster and show that a belief system is the only reason they feel that way. This is everything I do on so many levels from writing, to living in the world, to overcoming PTSD and autoimmune and allergies.
This post is about empowerment for every single person on the globe.
This is going to be a long newsletter. Most of you are used to me talking about pushing boundaries when it comes to censorship and erotica, etc; this newsletter is about mental boundaries concerning reality itself. I hope you enjoy it.
Morality Is A Concept, Not A Fact
So, to start, I don’t believe in right and wrong. When I write characters and jump perspective, they all feel like they’re thinking the ‘right’ thing when you see through their eyes. This is because right and wrong are perception that only exist in the mind. Morality is a man-made concept to define how we want the world to be, while we dismiss how the world actually is.
There are those upset about last week’s post who believe right and wrong are facts, and they would like others to be punished for fitting into the ‘wrong’ category they have defined. Having an opinion that differs from these individuals is enough to be in their ‘wrong’ category. Yes, a thought—a simple thought—when in the filter of morality can define someone as ‘wrong.’ That’s the whole basis of shame right there. When a morality filter is placed on something like body image or sexuality to define someone as ‘wrong.’
Some people are so caught up in their emotional pain, they think my choice to type on my computer is an attack on individuals personally to ‘prove they are wrong.’ Sorry, there. I don’t actually know you exist. You don’t actually know I exist.
If you would like to prove you exist so I find your argument 100% fact, please send me your name, birth date, phone number, social security number, bank account and routing information, and a current photo ID. Now, I can’t process this information without $120, but if you’re willing to make a direct deposit to my Paypal…
Sorry, couldn’t help myself. XD Bad, Sadie. Bad. Am I not being serious enough? Whoops.
I remember not too long ago (I’m 35, for those wondering) I had expressed to my boyfriend of about 8 years now that it was more hurtful to be blind to someone else’s pain, than it was to hurt them intentionally. I likened it to walking and missing the fact you were crushing someone beneath your boots—how cruel! Ignorance was, in my mind, more intentionally cruel than intentional cruelness.
This is about the most irrational statement I have ever made in my life. Not knowing you’re hurting someone is a deliberate attack on them? Madness.
It was an irrational belief, and I once believed it wholeheartedly and expected people to conform to that idea. Surprisingly enough, they did not. XD But I can understand where that feeling comes from even if I don’t live my life by it anymore. I didn’t want my pain to go unrecognized. I certainly didn’t want to hear that people could step on my feelings and not be punished, even if they were blind to what they did. That wasn’t fair!
Some people are extremely angry about all of this. I am not one of those people. You can try to make me angry. You can hope I’m watching the screen while you’re pouring your righteous rage into your keyboard. It won’t do any good. My feelings come from within me and it is my choice how I want to feel. That people are blind to their choices when it comes to their feelings, beliefs and actions is what this week’s newsletter is all about. It’s what last week’s newsletter rant was all about. Did the angry people miss the point? Shocked. They’re trapped in their perspective, and whooo, it just makes them charming to interact with.
For Those Who Believe Words Hurt You; Brace Yourself For A Wakeup Call
I make a habit to question ‘reality.’ Most of the world as we see it is a story instead of real. We experience it in our heads, and things in our heads aren’t actually real.
To be exact, everything I read on my computer is text on a screen. Everything. That’s all it is. Sometimes it’s on a bigger screen, or a smaller screen. Sometimes I’m in my bedroom or grocery store or beside a loved one. Sometimes the screen has images, still and/or moving, and audio of a voice or music. On that screen are replications and interpretations of life.
Nothing on a screen is real.
Now, I understand people would like me to be very upset by the words and images I see on these screens, these replications of life. I, on the other hand, work very hard to not be outraged over the things that flicker across my computer screen. I do not always succeed in this endeavor. :D
It is an amazing challenge considering the political upheaval that keeps ending up on my screens, the end of the world certainty, earthquakes and fires and extreme range of human suffering just waiting to be known in my mind. But all I must do is step away from the screen and realize my life is not changed. The world is not in the screen. My cats know; unless a mouse pointer is zipping around, they don’t look at screens at all. There’s nothing real on a screen to a cat but motion.
So, what is in my computer, or television, or phone screen if not reality? My perceptions of the world. There is no one there but me staring at symbols and images and hearing sound while I choose to interpret a story out of it all. When I am sane and rational, I can see this. I can see that the things on a screen are no more than light and shadow that my brain interprets as ‘real.’ What happens when I’m not being rational?
A Rational Reaction To An Irrational Situation
Have you ever seen a dog go from calm and relaxed to suddenly alert and angry? It starts barking and growling aggressively for no reason. You can’t figure out why until you realize the dog is looking at the television screen. Usually the dog is fine; it doesn’t even seem to notice the TV. But sometimes it hears a noise or sees a shape that reminds it of something in the real world, and the dog reacts. It freaks. There is suddenly someone in the room when before there wasn’t. Danger.
This dog is acting in a rational way to an irrational subject. All these reactions to protect its territory from a potential intruder makes complete sense. It’s what the dog perceives as an intruder that is where we define the situation as irrational. It’s just a sound, it’s merely a shadow on a screen. The dog is believing a ‘story’ of reality instead of actual reality, and that is where it all goes crazy.
Eventually the dog uses its other senses to realize that there isn’t something alive in the room, just a screen. Once the dog realizes there is no scent of an animal, no dimension to the character on the screen, no actual being as a source to the noise, the dog calms down. It stops caring the screen exists because the dog knows there is nothing real on it.
Humans, on the other hand, have a much harder time differentiating fantasy from reality. They look at screens—the way you’re reading my words on a screen this moment—and think that what’s happening in the text is real. They react to that belief, be it through emotional response or physical. Some completely forget that the things on the screen are just imitations of life, and they spend most of their time thinking about what they see there.
Why should I be upset over anything I read on a screen? What would be wrong in my brain that I would feel outraged and emotionally distressed when I’m aware I’m safe in the world and that the contents on a screen aren’t real? Reacting would be irrational. I know it’s irrational because I used to have PTSD, where I felt like I was in danger all the time when there was nothing actually there to harm me.
PTSD Is A Perception Disorder
What should help to understand the context of last week’s rant is that I’ve had PTSD since a toddler. What is PTSD? Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. You’ve probably heard about it with veterans of war. Mine is actually sourced from childhood abuse. Basically, it’s when the brain gets trapped in an emotional and chemical loop as part of a built in survival mechanism.
This survival mechanism exists to keep you aware that danger can occur and you need to be ready. Except, PTSD disregards that the event that sent the brain into this coping response is no longer occurring. The chemicals continue to flood the body until the body breaks down, unable to produce the stress hormones that keep it alive. Or the brain finds it all too unbearable and seeks death. So while your body thinks it’s fighting for its life for years on end with no actual danger in sight, it is literally killing itself.
I spent over 30 years with my brain and body chemistry insisting constantly that I was moments from being attacked. Every day. It didn’t matter the beauty around me, the safety and freedom, the fact that I was an adult in a world of my choosing. I was trapped in my brain and it was a horror show. I learned to break free of that chemical survival response occurring in my body—years of IFS therapy and mindfulness, well worth the time spent—and the key of it had to do with changing my thought and belief patterns. It was the only way to become free of what my brain was insisting was ‘real,’ even though I could very well see reality was completely different.
What I found fascinating was once I removed the damaging belief system, the chemical system began to calm without the constant messages from the brain triggering the body to ‘fight, flight, freeze or submit.’ The stress hormones were being released in response to the thought patterns. And once the chemical response calmed, it became easy to see the addictive nature of thought patterns and how thoughts create chemicals in the body that we perceive as emotions.
Emotions are responses to thoughts, not to events. The thoughts may have nothing to do with the actual situation at hand, but usually something from the past. An example:
A little while ago, my brother went to the doctors to get help for a cold and they prescribed him antidepressants. I freaked out. How dare they prescribe him a psych med that could harm him and diagnose him while he had a fever! Something needed to be done to keep doctors from throwing pills at people without any fucking research!
It was an intense reaction, one that had me upset for days. What I was reacting to wasn’t the situation of ‘my brother was prescribed antidepressants,’ but my thoughts about the situation. Part of my thoughts had to do with my memories of how being prescribed antidepressants led to me considering suicide 10 years ago. It was an extremely unpleasant, confusing situation that lasted for a year as I kept waiting for doctors to ‘fix’ me like they promised, while their medication kept making me crazy. These thoughts and beliefs, which I refer to as emotional software, had more power over my perceptions of the world than the fact that my brother is not me, is absolutely responsible for his choices, and no one has forced him to do anything. You can hand anyone a pill, but it is their choice to take it.
When I came back to reality and realized this, the uncomfortable emotions and my need for ‘something to be done’ alleviated. I could see rationally again, stop wasting hours to days worrying over a moment long gone, and move on with my life.
I had mental associations that worked as triggers to pull me from the reality of the world and trap me in my mind when it came to that situation. Emotional software. Some of these triggers were words like SSRI and doctor. The words themselves were triggers for the concepts held only in my mind. When I think of the word doctor, I’m thinking of every experience I ever had with a doctor—or at least one really shitty experience. It’s extremely hard to see reality when I’m trapped in memories and thoughts that can pop up in a moment because of one concept.
A Rational Reaction To A Perspective Disorder
Remember the dog example? So, to give you an idea of what PTSD would be in the same sense, imagine a puppy is sitting, minding its own business, when a man walks by and trips over it. This puppy experiences extreme pain, and thinks it’s being attacked as this much larger being tumbles and crushes the dog beneath his weight. The puppy survives this, but doesn’t move past this event mentally. The survival process has kicked in—the need to fight, flight, freeze or submit—and all those chemicals are pumping through the system sending associated messages to the brain of danger, danger, danger. But the off switch is never flipped.
The puppy’s behavior changes. It’s alert, afraid, watching every corner; there’s no way to know where the danger will come from. But the puppy remembers: man. A man was what fell on it, so man = pain. The dog is aggressive/afraid toward all men from that day forward. It doesn’t matter if a man never hurts the dog again. If the PTSD switch isn’t flipped off or the perspective changed, the chemicals will continue to flow and the dog will react to its emotional software of man = pain.
If this dog’s behavior is observed by other dogs, lets say puppies of its own, and they keep hearing this message of man = pain, those dogs may take up this belief and change their behavior to match even though they never experienced the PTSD triggering event of the first dog. But if separated from the first dog, and allowed to make mental associations on their own, these dogs may become free of the man = pain concept far easier because they’re not experiencing the same chemical responses in their body and brain as the PTSD dog is.
PTSD On The Brain
I have lived both the trapping of the mind in PTSD and the process of breaking free. I still have a brain that can require my constant awareness. 30 years of a PTSD molded brain (and there is no way to know if my brain would have been different without PTSD) has revealed an addiction to thinking—this post is a total clue of that, btw. XD Long ass addiction to hearing myself type. A neurotic need to say things the ‘right’ way when I know no such thing exists. @[email protected]
I have an addiction to patterns, such as video games and mind puzzles (2048 and suduko were favs). I have felt addictive properties in digital painting and the need to reach a ‘balance’ on the screen. My brain catches on these simple things that other people can just ignore completely. I have a chemical addiction to opiods. I have had 3 opiod pain pills in my life, and it was the second pill when I knew it was an addiction. It is awareness that allows me freedom, otherwise I would be a victim to every screen, every pattern, every pain pill a doctor insists ‘one won’t hurt.’ That’s how I ended up taking that 3rd opiod, btw. I had an infected tooth pulled during emergency surgery and the nurse swore up and down one isn’t addictive, it’s just pain relief. I put myself in danger to please a perceive ‘authority’ because a part of me wanted that pill more than it wanted to accept the reality of my body chemistry and dependency.
I have a body and brain set up to be dragged into false realities, and I don’t believe I’m unique in this. It can be easy to see with a chemical dependency or even a screen based pattern. Thinking? Feeling victimized by everything? These too are addictive behaviors.
In humans, a concept can become emotional software depending on our emotional associations. This is a survival trait. Think of the first time you touched something that burned. You can’t feel that pain anymore, but you may have a memory of pain associated with that thought to prevent you from grabbing a burning branch. If that feeling memory is so strong you wince, your heart races, or you truly feel you’re experiencing pain, you’re looking at your emotional software taking over. It’s the difference of some people experiencing vertigo when they look off the side of a cliff while others don’t.
When we choose our perceptions—the ‘meaning’ of events—and they become our beliefs, we are choosing how we are going to emotionally respond to something. How we emotionally respond usually results in how we act. So, if you find you’re unhappy with your actions—such as staring at a screen ruminating for hours on end—the best place to start is to look at the emotions that spurred you to that action, and then deeper, to your beliefs of the world where the source of those emotions spring from. I don’t delete emails anymore. My inbox fills up with thousands of emails and I don’t bother to spend hours to ‘throw them away’ because I realized my need to have the inbox empty was dumb. Now I just don’t care and it’s wonderful.
The key in all this? By being aware of what we choose to believe, we are less likely to freak out over life and react in ways that harm self or others. When we do freak out, we have a way to discern and unravel the thought patterns that lead to the unwanted responses. When it comes to PTSD, awareness resets the emotional software back to a more logical, less reactive insanity.
Sanity Is Subjective
Someone described me as a psychopath because I don’t reflect their value of pain back on this issue. On any issue, actually. I believe pain has no value. I believe nothing has value, but instead, our perspectives give value to everything. Seeing as it’s clear this person perceives actual pain to be in words on a screen, the rational of their accusation doesn’t really hit home for me. I find it completely irrational that someone would put perceptions above reality. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen—I lived it for years with PTSD.
People have murdered, committed genocide, enslaved other humans, overthrown and forced religious beliefs on others all because they placed perception above reality. The Nazis believed that their beliefs of the Jewish people justified mass murder. There are politicians in the US who believe it’s acceptable to discriminate against LGBTQs because of their beliefs about the norms of sexuality. The belief that a gun might prevent murder is currently being held over the reality of people murdered by guns.
Believing that the things in your head are real—more real than the actual world—doesn’t really show as a sign of emotional stability. From this vantage, it looks like these individuals are so out of touch with reality, they can’t even discern it from their own minds. Mob mentality is very good at validating reactionary emotions and justifying them over real life consequences. All it takes is a bunch of voices raised in anger, and all the rational voices to be silent for a mob to win. So, as a hopefully rational voice this week (just ignore the fever XD,) I choose to not be silent and instead attempt to open closed minds.
Morality And Pain Are Beliefs
The point of the PTSD perspective here is, when I was ranting last week, I was taking all the experience I have in my life and really saying to myself, ‘Gabrielle, this is how you avoid falling back into the brain-fuck that is PTSD and addictive thinking. Do not fall back into believing pain has value, because if you do, then rape, abuse, neglect, foster care, survivor’s guilt, and all that self-esteem insanity will have to be placed back on your psyche’s metaphorical shoulders and carried to define everything you are. Pain cannot be your identity, it cannot be your psyche. It is unbearable to live that way. It will destroy you. This is how you free yourself from pain. Do not value pain, but release it and get on with your life.’
If you’re reading this and actually have PTSD, I’m sure you’re thinking about running away at this point, if you haven’t already. I understand. You don’t want that answer. You don’t want that freedom. I mean, you may tell yourself you do, but then you’d have to face all the things you hate about yourself to get it, right? You’d have to face the shit that happened, the way you reacted to the shit that happened, the way you believe you are the shit that happened. It was all ‘wrong’ and there is no way to fix it. You’d also have to deal with all the people who want you to believe that pain is important, that it’s more important than actual reality. They’re really fucking loud about it.
PTSD can make you really loud about pain being valuable, because PTSD tries to define a human by pain, by the avoidance of pain, by the pushing through of pain, by the numbing of pain and disassociation so that the inflicted person can continue to cope while still not returning to reality. In seeking to avoid pain, you are still defining everything by pain. It’s flight instead of fight, but it’s still a pain reaction. In contrast, accepting pain and realizing it has little value outside of informing you not to repeat an action, allows you to release your obsession with pain and move on.
Something the rabidly angry people reading things that ‘hurt’ them are not learning as they seek to repeat their pain and inflict it on those who disagree with their opinions. Those who value pain intend to inflict or avoid inflicting it. They believe pain is so important, they want to inflict it to prove how important it is to feel that way. They believe pain can live in words, so they hurl words hoping to strike and scar. At the same time, they interpret words to do the same—even words that were never intended to harm anyone.
For those unaware, Hitler was horrendously abused as a child. There are many brutal dictators abused as children; it’s a common theme. The effects of PTSD on the brain can turn a person into a rigid being of beliefs and rules that demand others to fit into those rigid rules so that the PTSD individual can feel comfortable in the world (as comfortable as the disorder will allow.) They create strong ideas of morality, right and wrong, and then demand others to stick to those concepts.
Now, you might think ‘how the hell could Hitler and his followers ever think what they were doing was right?!’ Perception. Their morality was as insane as going ‘my genetics make me superior to you, so I am right and you are wrong, and I’m allowed to murder you.’ Life is perception. Both sides of any war believe they are ‘right’ and it doesn’t stop the murder. Morality is a mental concept used to justify atrocious action all the time.
Fun thought: if you feel like something should be ‘right,’ and you actually *force* others to follow that belief to make it so, you’re being an intolerable dickbag. It might not be full out oppression or genocide, but it’s really not a habit of behavior to encourage. Social constructs and interactions are agreements among independent people, not rigid laws and fact.
Freedom from PTSD comes with acknowledging that morality exists only in your mind. If you believe that there is a ‘right’ and a ‘wrong,’ and that you must be one of the options, you will likely suffer with PTSD until you die. Your brain will keep trying to create rigid ‘rules’ about how the world can only be *this,* and if you are *this,* you’ll finally be okay. (Ex. The world is dangerous but if I am alert and prepared, I will be safe.) Your brain will forever cycle, trying to come to terms with the traumatic event that put you in that state, while also trying to define you and the world by morality and sense. It’s impossible.
People are not events. We are not actions. We are not moments in time or thoughts. We are not the things that happen to us, or the things people call us, or the things we want and achieve. We cannot be wrong, and we cannot reach being right. If you find you are ‘right,’ you are in a rigid belief system that isn’t real and cannot last. It’s all a big perception mess that feels real in the head, because PTSD insists it’s real. PTSD needs you to believe the thoughts in your head are real for PTSD to continue.
Intention Means Nothing To Perception
If my intentions actually mattered in the big sway of things, it would be far easier to communicate. But it is perception, not intention that has power over the human mind. What do I mean by that? Well, if you jlijj hiohiol oihh hoihow eerf…
As you can see, my ‘intention’ to explain can be limited by your perception of the meaning of words. We need a common language. Not just English, in this case, but common. As an author, I follow a trend of ‘dumbing down’ my words. I don’t think the term really suits, though. I like to think I’m avoiding uncommon, unnecessary words that might slow or stop most people as they go to look up what things mean. As an erotic author of darker subject matter, you’ll also find a lot of profanities in my word pool. One, because I swear like that in real life, so it’s a natural replication of my speech. Two, because if a reader becomes offended by words like fuck (my favorite curse word, btw,) I don’t have to worry about them getting to extreme concepts that will surely offend them far more. This can work against me if I really want a reader to stay and read, which is why I’m holding back on swearing for this post.
There are other things just in my writing style that could prevent anyone from fully understanding. When I write informative statements—a technique I learned in school for essay writing—there can be a double-edged reaction. Some people will find the way this post is written to be persuasive, decisive, and to the point. Others will find it condescending and pretentious. Not even for the content (although surely that will be a reason,) but because of the way I make statements as if they’re facts. Some people want to hear ‘maybe’ or ‘please’ or ‘this is only my opinion’ or a million wishy washy statements to ensure that these simple words aren’t attacking them. It will be very difficult to reach through such perspectives because already the language barrier is so great. I’m putting words on a screen and a reader has already decided the way the words are arranged is wrong.
Explaining my intentions still can’t mean they’re understood or even had an effect. I can tell you that in my rants, I have no intention of hurting anyone. I can point out how I choose not to name or link anyone in this situation because even in my fun rants, I choose to be responsible with where I direct potential shrapnel. I understand real life consequences can come from insanity on screens. I have no interest in creating more drama, more pain, or singling anyone out. Those who want pain will find it without me. I just want to remark with my opinion of things. But in sharing my opinion, I do my best to act as responsibly as I perceive it to be, because I don’t want to be shitty toward people while they’re freaking out over things on their particular screen.
What I think is shitty is different from what you think shitty is. Tomorrow, that definition may be completely different from today. Nothing I can do about it. We are all different with different beliefs and perceptions. So when I say something, be it in person or on a screen, I understand my words aren’t interpreted fully the way I intend. They’re read the way each individual perceives. I can do my best to express myself, but it will never be as powerful as whatever is going on in the mind of who is reading my words. You know, if they can get past me writing fuck all the time. XD
Here are a few examples of words that can be perceived strongly even though they’re just symbols on a screen. Cunt. Rape. Aids. Scam. Victim. God. Torture. Cancer. Traitor. Molestation. Trump. Slut. Mother. Failure. Prison. I could go into racial slurs but I feel the point is made. Earlier I mentioned Doctor and SSRI. These are symbols on a page—mouth sounds when spoken—but the power of these words lives in the mind of the person perceiving them. The power is the concept you hold when you think of these words. These concepts are part of your emotional software.
You might believe, ‘No, these words mean the same thing to everyone because it’s fact!’ I recommend you listen to a foreign language you aren’t familiar with, and find some mouth sounds that sound suspiciously like these mouth sounds and yet don’t mean the same thing. Your brain will still have the reaction as if they are the words you know.
Perception is stronger than intention because intention comes from outside us, while perception is our filter on everything that is let in. No one can see outside their filter, but they can attempt to adjust that filter to see things without their emotional software.
Reality Is Defined By The Mind
If I never saw another screen again, the Internet would cease to exist for me. Everyone on the Internet would cease to exist. The only reason I might think they are still out there would be because I would have memories of interaction. If I realize those memories are just thoughts in my head, or those memories are forgotten, the Internet would no longer exist to me. This is the power of perception. Our world is defined by our minds.
I stress ‘defined,’ instead of suggesting reality is actualized by our minds. For example, allergies. I am allergic to over 20 different substances, many of them mold. Mold is very prominent in foods, especially grains, as well as houses, buildings, growing on the lawn, etc. It’s everywhere. For the most part, I cannot see the substances I’m allergic to, therefore I cannot prove that they exist outside of my random reactions. When I first discovered my severe health problems were rooted in allergies, I felt victimized. I had the perspective that the world—nature itself—was trying to kill me (or at least keep me very sick.) It took a while for me to choose a new perspective. The one where I acknowledged that the world hasn’t done anything; my immune system has decided to target certain substances in the world and freak out. I was doing this. My body is doing this.
Now, does that stop me from being allergic? Not really. Reality is reality. But it allows for a completely different set of reactions and actions based off of my perspective. I no longer needed to obsess looking for ways to isolate from allergens or feel depressed because nature hates me. I could instead look into improving my immune function through supplements and allergy shots, and be conscious about how I feel when I breathe around things I fear might have allergens. The immune system is connected to stress levels, so to keep from having my body freak out over inert substances in the air, I decided to work on my brain not freaking out.
My perspective allowed me to have a different path, one that has made living with allergies and an autoimmune disorder (when the immune system attacks the body) far more bearable than the dramatic soap opera I had initially conceived it to be. Seeing as autoimmune disorders tend to go hand in hand with PTSD, there could be more than just a belief that being calm has calming results. PTSD is a battle in the mind about what can be real and part of self. Autoimmune is a battle in the body about what part is the body and if it should be attacked. Theoretically, when you stop attacking yourself in your mind, you may set a standard with the rest of your body to stop attacking itself.
When you walk away physically from something, but you can’t let it go, it’s because your mind is fixated on something not actually there. While one person can turn a screen off and never think of the contents on that screen again, someone else can turn a screen off and spend sleepless nights thinking of the contents on that screen. They might spend hours arguing in their head, not eating, snapping at their loved ones, ruminating over and over again day after day.
‘That thing I read or saw… That thing. It’s doing this to me. That thing is making me crazy. If only I could understand it. It needs to make sense. That person who wrote that thing—they’re the ones who did this to me! They hurt me. They need to pay.’
The choice to fixate is what makes people lose touch with reality. The need to understand and define the meaningless traps us in a world of beliefs. I would know; I’ve been there. But hey, let’s explore. Let’s have a look at that asshole who made you do that thing you didn’t want to do. Let’s meet an author.
An Example Of A Greasy Salesman
Who do you perceive me, the author of this post, to be? I can choose to offer a different perspective in the hopes of changing how you see me. Like, the fact I’m covered in butter right now! Head to toe, salted and everything, butter. I’m avoiding salicylates because of my allergies. Did you know you can have a histamine response without an immune response? That means you can have the same symptoms of allergies, just without the immune system going crazy. So, since salicylates are in just about every fruit and most plants we eat, and plant based oils are in all my body lotions, I’m slicking up with butter until I find something better. It smells delicious. XD
Now, did that paragraph force you to go out and buy butter, or research allergies and histamines? Are you covered in butter right now to see what it’s like? Do you actually know for a fact I’m covered in butter? There is no way for you to know, (but I am! XD) What if I told you Sadie Sins is offering a limited edition body lotion based off of my new butter research, and if you preorder now, you too can be buttery and histamine reaction free? What if I said, if you don’t preorder, I’m going to send mobsters to your house to force you to try my buttery concoction whether you like it or not? (I know, intriguing. Where would I get a bunch of buttered up mobsters to slick you up against your will? Are they hot? Naturally. <3)
I know, it all just seems so silly when it’s butter. What about if it’s a book? What about if it’s for my cat and dog who both need life saving operations asap? (My cats are fine, btw, no worries, and I don’t own a dog.) I could say absolutely anything to try to persuade someone to send money my way.
I can say anything at any time. It’s just an arrangements of symbols on a page. They could have been placed there months ago or a moment. Words are everywhere. But what are you doing when you’re reading those words? Well, what do you do when you interact with someone on the street? You perceive to the best of your ability. In the real world, you believe your eyes, ears, nose, mouth, touch, and brain are all working correctly to paint a picture of reality of the person in front of you. On a computer screen? All you have is your brain and eyes, sometimes ears.
When you choose to trust someone, you aren’t choosing to trust what you know about them. You’re choosing to trust what you believe you know, while ignoring what you don’t know. Some people, like myself, choose to trust while accepting that we don’t know for certain that anything is true or real.
You may have thought differently of me with that little butter example—like I’m weird, possibly very slippery atm. Quirky. A manipulative asshole. Whatever. I can’t control how people think or what they do—I can’t control if people continue reading. You could have walked away already because no one is obligated to read what’s in front of them. If they feel obligated, that’s a perception in their mind, not a reality.
What if you look at the date of this post and it turns out to be a week in the past? A month? A year? Is everything in this post a lie now because, hey, a year from now I may not be covered in butter? The text said I was in butter, so it must be true. What if a year from now, it comes out in Buttergate to reveal that no, I have never slathered myself in butter. Only margarine! (Margarine likely has salicylates, so I don’t recommend it.) You have been mislead. You have been betrayed. Or, you know, you got sucked into a story and lost track of reality, because you forgot everything you’re reading is just words on a screen. Everything on your screen is a story, an imitation of life.
I readily admit I do not know the world. I’m still discovering parts of my own brain and psyche; how can I know everything and be certain of its validity? How can I know anything without the filter of my brain? My brain defines my reality. I can only trust that how it’s defined is real, and part of that trust is understanding that what is before me might change in an instant to reveal something more accurate. It’s acknowledging that a computer screen is not a human being. That a drawing or photo is not a human being. That the written account of someone’s past is not a human being. A corporation is not a fucking human being.
If you would like to prove to me without a shadow of a doubt that you are indeed a real human being and be awarded a certificate to validate your existence, please send me naked videos of yourself. Keep it sexy. I’m afraid my email has a processing fee of $50 for every mb of data sent, so first initiate a direct deposit of $1000 to my Paypal, and I’ll refund you whatever is left over once the videos are received…
I know, I can’t help it. It’s funny to me. Lol. You can either be at my very whim, hostage to the things I choose to write on my computer, or you can admit you are the only one in control of your actions. Considering I’m not rich, I’m pretty sure when I say ‘give me money’ it doesn’t force anyone to do anything. (But please, feel free to prove me wrong. That’ll show me. Hardcore.) We all have the choice to walk the fuck away from the screen. We all have the choice to disengage our minds from the screen.
The Insanity Of Humanity
If I believed people were victims, then I would be blaming victims. Victim is a concept of the mind; a person can’t be a concept. I’m pointing out that there is a choice being intentionally ignored because people want to see someone be punished for what happened. A righteous ending to an angry, ‘unfair’ story. They want a sacrifice, and they will find as many as they can to make them feel like the world makes sense.
If the world made sense, genocide wouldn’t exist; wars wouldn’t happen; sexual attraction, skin color, and belief systems wouldn’t be a justification for murder, oppression and imprisonment. We wouldn’t seek out and attack each other for differences of opinion. Chain letters wouldn’t have ever been a thing—seriously, don’t get me started on this wanton choice of insane belief. Annoying as fuck madness, chain letters. If you disagree, forward this newsletter to twenty of your closest, dearest friends before April 1st, or a gremlin will hide inside your closet and turn all your clothes baby-poop green. I swear it’s true. My cousin’s, neighbor’s, best friend’s father-in-law knew a guy who saw it happen. His clothes were gross. Don’t risk it!
The world does not make sense, at least, the world created by human perception. The need for sense and reason comes from humanity, not reality. I cannot change it; I can only point it out. The same way I cannot change that pain is a perception that lives only in the mind.
Prove Your Pain Is Real
Can you? Can you even find your pain? Can you hold it up and show it? Can you let someone borrow it? What about a thought? Can you prove thoughts are real? Yes, you can describe and write a thought down or speak one, but that’s not a thought, that’s just an imitations of a thought. Thoughts aren’t symbols on pieces of paper. Both thoughts and pain live in one place; the mind.
Phantom limb pain is where a body part that is no longer attached is perceived to tingle, twitch, move and/or hurt. This is not a haunting by a limb; this is an indication that body sensations are all translated and defined in the brain to the point that we don’t need a body to believe we have one. It’s why certain drugs can stop pain; not because the wound or injury is gone, but because the perception of the pain is disrupted.
Pain feels real. That sensation occurs in the brain and is translated as being in the body, but it ‘feels’ real. Emotional pain can also feel real. You have a brain capable of recreating the sensations of an actual limb that is no longer attached. The brain is wondrous, but it can also trap you in a delusion depending on if you believe your emotional pain is real.
PTSD is a disorder that works with body sensations and chemicals to make an individual believe that thoughts of pain are actually real. That’s a good sign that even brains not inflicted with PTSD have a system in place that can create this illusion. PTSD is just the lack of finding the off switch when it comes to a built in survival mechanism. That means the biological machine you’re living in has all the systems in place to make you believe pure illusion.
You don’t have a body sensation to interpret a source with emotional pain. But once emotional pain is defined in the brain, the body/brain can release a chemical cocktail to insist that what you’re feeling is actually real. All emotional pain has to cling to is the mind’s belief that what you’re feeling is real and important. It’s a choice many people don’t think they have control over. They do. It is completely up to you to decide if the pain—the hurt, the anger, the outrage, the need for justice—if any of it is actually important and worth feeling pain over.
You may be asking if it’s right or wrong to no longer have huge, reactionary emotions to everything around you. That’s a morality judgment reserved for those who need to feel like there are rules and meaning to keep the world and society in order. If you can trust that you can exist in this world pain free (or at least, pain less) and not be someone who goes out and murders for kicks, then that trust is enough. You never knew the real world to begin with. Right and wrong never existed. If you honestly think that belief in morality is the reason you’re not a murdering psychopath, well, good luck with that. You might want to forget everything you just read to keep from murdering everyone you know including yourself. Clearly you’re not in charge of your actions (this is sarcasm, just to be clear.)
It’s just you and your brain in all this. There is no one to trust but yourself, so you might as well place it there.
How Do You Really Know Reality?
Can you look at another human being and truly know if they are thinking, if they are feeling? When you look in the mirror, can you see your thoughts and emotions?
You can see someone move and interact with their environment. You can watch someone stare at a screen for hours and hours on end, living in a false world in their head stimulated by images and text on a screen. But do you know if brain activity is occurring? What if the muscles in their face are paralyzed and there is no facial expression to go off of? Have you ever seen a thought? You’re reading a reaction to my thoughts, but this is not a thought, only text. Can you grab someone’s happiness and hold it? What about pluck someone’s depression from their shoulder?
It is absolutely your belief that defines if you perceive other people to be the same as you on an emotional and intellectual level, because there is no tangible way to truly know. I choose to assume that everyone is my equal, capable of doing the things I do. I choose to assume that my senses aren’t lying, and I’m truly living in a human body, on a planet, surrounded by other humans. Not to get too Matrix here, but this is a choice of belief because all we have are our perceptions. I can point out that screens can’t be lived in, but they are creating a perception of reality because of the brain. The brain is capable of creating layers of reality, and there is no way to know if our perceptions are honest to actual reality.
Our brains are the only reason we can perceive to have senses in the first place. Everything we know, everything we see, all comes from our brain.
I’m not a Flat-Earther, but the movement bring up an interesting point of perspective. Unless you can use your senses to fully perceive something, you can never truly ‘know.’ The scale of the Earth is too large to honestly know if it’s round through human senses. We know because we create tools to measure, compare, map, photograph, math, etc, etc, but to the human mind, our reality is still only what we perceive through our senses and what we choose to believe. Sometimes those senses can be ignored completely to be replaced purely by belief so things make ‘sense.’
Identity Is Crafted Through Beliefs
Last week’s newsletter was never about the author and what they did or who they were. It was how I felt about the reaction from the community. I’m not defending or blaming anyone; that author made every choice he/she/they made. Every person has their line of what they think is appropriate, but just because my line is different doesn’t mean I’m going to condemn someone for their line. I have seen this line everywhere, but it’s this particular community that takes it personally. People tell stories all the time. People get swept up into things all the time. I was commenting on the community—the same group of people who bought into the false identity in the first place, and who are now buying into the ‘pain must be avenged’ story. The community who keeps looking for justifications to feel hurt, while ignoring the pattern of behavior they’re perpetuating.
How frustrating to know it will continue because people don’t want to see the part they play. How frustrating to realize anyone could accuse any author for not being ‘real,’ and ruin years of work. I cannot prove to you I am real. How do I know that? Because you cannot prove to me you are real. (But if you really want to prove it, send money to… XD)
We are going on belief and trust here, and for all I know, you’re a Russian spy bot that signed up to my newsletter. Yes, all 6000 of you. *suspicious glare*
Perception of reality in this modern world has revealed to have real world consequences. The harder that perception is clung to, the easier it is to make someone act against their own interests as they buy into a story and lose track of their behavior. I’m not just talking financial consequences, I’m talking cults, road rage, self harm, stopping the activities you love because someone wants you to be different. It’s very easy to blame the trigger, the words on the screen or the author of those words, but it’s your actual actions in response to your beliefs that are the defining key in these scenarios. I watch people continue to feed the behavior of turning intangible pain into concrete vengeance, instead of stopping and learning and being responsible for their beliefs.
I feel connected to the MM and LGBTQ community. It is this connection where my emotional software lies on this subject. A part of me identifies with the community and the genre where there are so many readers who love MM. I see pain here. I see a disconnect from reality as people keep screaming their pain at absolute strangers, demanding they stop hurting them. I feel invested and want to see the best for the community, even as I know that is completely up to the individuals within the community. I see the rigidness of belief in identity the community clings to as the source of a lot of drama and pain, not to mention the justification of these witch hunts as they seek to punish those who don’t fit their expectations.
I do not say this to be shocking, or condemning, just honest to my experiences. I have never been discriminated against outside of the LGBTQ community for my sexuality. I have been discriminated against within the LGBTQ community repeatedly for my sexuality. This is a community obsessed with identity based on gender and sexuality, and how those things appear in the body and the world. But gender is a concept. Sexuality is a concept. Attractiveness is a concept. The need to escape these concepts is forcing these thoughts to be important in some people’s minds. It’s just in the mind, but people keep defining themselves and others by these concepts. Identity becomes integral for this community when identity doesn’t even exist.
In the same way the PTSD brain is obsessed with pain as value, so too does the community obsess with the pain of not being allowed to be who they identify as. It is an obsession. While others can change their clothes and be allowed to be exactly who they are—or someone else completely as they choose—those obsessed with identity must reaffirm all identity again and again, labeling, defining, insisting others cannot be really be who they are because *insert rigid defining rule that everyone must follow or leave.* The details become so important. The concepts define and trap humans in their perspectives, and try to prevent them from moving and being free.
This is not everyone in the community. This is not even the majority. It’s easy to notice the loud, critical voices and define them as an entire group—especially when they’re being really loud. But communities are groups of people who identify as similar in particular aspects, so these rigid beliefs of identity are more prominent within the community than those who hover at the edges or step away to be independent. In the need to escape, to be allowed to be free from being discriminated for sexual identity, certain individuals act in ways that discriminate against others for their identity. That rigidness can push others out.
Grand example: Veganism. A concept when forced on others can becomes so overbearing, people want to escape. Vegetarians aren’t ‘good enough,’ and meat eaters aren’t allowed to exist and need to be educated or removed completely. Not all vegans are like this, but the ones who are so caught up in the identity define the negativity of the entire concept of Veganism.
Last week I expressed my frustration with this pattern of behavior in the community. What was heard, on the other hand, well. That’s where perception trumps intention. I’m sure I wasn’t as clear as I’d prefer with the fever—and the fact I was ranting XD—but that is the way of communication. I can express myself to the best of my ability, but if no one else can read English, the message is already lost.
The Weight Of The World
I can tell from some comments, there are individuals who would rather I consider the events that brought these reactions into being in the author situation, instead of focusing on the community’s response. They want to tell me a story so that I will feel the same emotions of outrage, because they feel these emotions are important and justified. Some think I’m uninformed. Clearly if I were informed, I wouldn’t feel the way I do! It’s just impossible, right?
I’m informed, but it is still a story to me. I will not debate the right and wrong of punishing all of humanity when Eve gave Adam the apple; it’s a nonsense story that has no meaning on reality. I won’t get caught up in the morality of eating meat when we live on a planet where every organism consumes organisms to live. Reality is reality, and only things that happen now are real.
Many things don’t happen, but we believe they do. Many things happen that we will never know. Do they require our emotional response when they have never reached our knowledge? Why does knowledge of an event require the same pain as an event we actually experience? Why is that illusion of pain so important that every imitation of life requires it?
Let’s say a terrible event was filmed. During the filming, only the person with the camera saw it. This event only existed in reality for one person for that one moment. But when that film was shown, shared across the Internet, and repeated for years, the replica of the moment then lives in the minds of every single person who viewed and felt pain to know it could have existed. One moment of pain that could have been allowed to slip away, instead becomes a devastation across nations and generations with no end, carried in the minds of billions.
What if it turns out the film was actually fiction? The event was staged? Does it matter, when the response is the same and people believe that pain is real?
If it’s perceived as ‘real,’ people feel obligated to respond as if it’s real. Does the perception of pain make you obligated to feel pain? I say to be free, no. There is enough pain in our actual lives without carrying the pain of the entire human race, past, future, and fantasy. Today can never be today if we’re carrying yesterday’s pain in our hearts.
This isn’t some sort of hypothetical; this is a requirement in the modern world. People watch the news all the time and it’s filled with images of tragedy and pain on a loop. We’re dealing with dictators who send out absolute lies to populations including films of fiction, and insist it’s all real. Fox News is a perfect example of lies sold as reality to a nation. I’ve never seen the state news of North Korea, but it’s a false perspective fed to an entire population. We call Reality TV reality when it’s absolutely bullshit. We are living in a complicated world of perspectives, one that will be growing more confusing, more difficult to distinguish between reality and perception as our technology improves and lines keep blurring.
There is no changing that reality is filtered through our minds. Our perspectives are our individual reality. If we cling rigidly to our perspective, we will forever be battling with the inconsistencies as someone stands beside us and sees a new view. Even though an individual’s perspective is his/her complete reality, it actually does nothing to change the reality that individual is perceiving outside of ‘meaning.’ Reality will continue to change, grow, degrade, shift, adjust, adapt. We must be as malleable as the perception of reality itself, or we may end up killing each other to prove the world is a globe instead of flat.
You can carry all that pain you perceive with you, or you can realize that the events you view and read don’t require your emotional distress. Until you can disengage and realize you have a choice in your beliefs and actions, you won’t be able to truly understand the nonsense of the author situation. I understand some think their feelings are what’s important, but that is exactly why they can’t see past them. Those emotions and the concepts attached to them have become more valuable than the situation in their minds. Which is why they are filtering reality through those emotions to create a perception of the world where the emotions are valued above everything else. That emotional software is unique to that individual, yet they’re trying to define reality by it for everyone.
It makes it hard to find common ground. It makes it so someone can’t even express a difference of perspective without the individuals emotionally invested feeling the need to make that opinion disappear. It makes it so the people who feel that their pain is more valuable than all else must ensure it doesn’t happen again—something that is completely impossible to do, btw—and act in ways that restrict and harm others to ensure that intent.
While it can be easy without PTSD to step back and take stock of the situation and realize things aren’t as first appeared, PTSD requires far more. It requires the complete tearing down of reality depending on the individual and how deep the ‘triggering event’ is associated with concepts. For me, it required ego death, one I experienced fully for about a day and a half.
I lost about a month or so of writing as I slowly rebuilt back into a more relatable being (subjective, I’m sure! XD) But for a while there, I was completely unhinged from what most people would perceive as reality (or, as Wendy calls it—love this term!—consensual reality.) I read a passage about ego death and my brain had a moment of, ‘wait, that’s possible?’ and bam. PTSD memory released and the absolute rewriting of my emotional software. All because my brain perceived it was ‘allowed’ to change.
Everything was bliss, funny, interesting, including my own emotions. You think my response to this author thing might sound callous? I was laughing at the mudslide victims in California for not leaving their homes when there were forest fires. The fire didn’t get them, but the damn mud did when one was way more expected and seen! What a ridiculous joke, life. To ‘argue’ online was to do it while laughing at the amazing sensation of the emotions I would feel. My bf thought I was being patronizing or funny as fuck depending on the subject. We laughed so much those days because nothing could hurt, nothing could encroach on my perspective of reality and taint it with fears of the future or mental concepts of the past. It was freedom.
It did, unfortunately, make my writing very difficult. All the rules—there are so many rules! You don’t even understand all the stupid concepts we call rules—time, language, symbols, speech patterns and mouth sounds. Ugh. So much bullshit. I didn’t want to care, I didn’t want to write sentences at all or polish anything. I just wanted to throw words at the screen and let them stick. An idea was enough, damn it!
Lol, but Hellcat sucked. That first draft had no ego, no character life, and I realized I needed to don that ego persona again to write those characters with a more genuine feel. There is always the possibility that the persona of Sadie Sins can be slipped off and folded up when I stop writing. It’s expected, like any performance artist. But I also know the same is true of Gabrielle. Ego death was just a matter of slipping that persona off as well and realizing for everything I can do to write a character, I can write myself into being. And who is anyone outside of me to say I can’t? They have no control over who I can be.
Some people find this concept to be freeing, the realization that you are not the accumulation of everything that happened to you. When you have lived through ‘horrors’—be they real or in your mind—it is very easy to identify self as events or actions or thoughts or wants. Freedom from that identity is bliss. Others may find the concept of ego death enraging. They need their pain and suffering to have value because their identity needs value. They need to feel it all, and for others to feel it, and for every single human on this planet—before, now, and after—to conform to their beliefs of the world. One perspective demands people to change or disappear to make one human being happy. The other perspective asks you to accept the world as it is, and who you are in the world as a choice.
We think the events of our lives do this, that they define us, but really it’s our perceptions of what we value. We choose to pluck from the hours and years of past footage, add in values and beliefs and costumes, and go ‘this is me.’ And let me just say, how interesting a choice to seek all the misery and decide that is who you are instead of all the beauty.
The Dangers Of Rigid Thinking
The reason I came to this mindset was because I wanted freedom from PTSD. I had a severe perception disorder that caused physical and psychological damage in my life, and required so much more to break free than just touching a screen and going ‘oh, that’s just a flat surface with symbols on it. Stop freaking.’ The level of perception change I went through is unusual (to the best of my knowledge.) That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t seek to open the mind and adapt to the world as it is.
There is a danger to perceiving rigidly when the world is malleable. One is the reason I brought the whole thing up—being scammed. How many people have invested thousands into educational courses or business schemes only to discover ‘it’s a scam?’ They’re not getting what they perceive their money and time is worth. How many keep with it, still pouring money in because they ‘invested?’ They feel they gave their time and money and belief and they can’t back down now. They believe they have to make it work, or it proves they’re a failure or a chump.
How about cults? I just explained in this newsletter how reality is purely our perception. Do you think I’m the first person to figure that out? This truth is absolutely exploited by every religious institution out there (not to mention marketing company.) The more insidious are the ones who tear down the boundaries of ‘reality’ and then tell their followers what the only reality can be. They grab the brain when it’s malleable, and then they give their followers a rigid belief system that they lock in. It can start right in the cradle for ‘religions’ or at any other point in your life. Adults are not immune to rigid perceptions; quite the opposite. Suddenly you’re out millions of dollars, acting like a maniac on television while promoting your latest movie and praising Xenu. Or you’re promoting to all your followers on social media that the Earth really is flat because you can’t see the curve when you’re in a plane. Or that the Illuminati, a race of lizard people you haven’t met, is actually real because text on a screen said so. Or that it’s okay to murder someone over a drawing because they insinuated that it was a representation of Muhammad.
What about suicide and cyber bullying? There is an extreme rage, and an even deeper sorrow as the mind tries to comprehend what could drive a youth to take their own life. When you believe the cruel messages, you’re lost to them. When you give your self esteem over to the worst voices you hear or read, and choose not to walk away, you’re allowing so much pain to define you, forge you, and ultimately destroy you. No one makes you engage, no one makes you define self by the voices of others. We need to understand perception and our choices, because we make irrational choices when we fail to see reality.
This is not a morality definition on suicide (or any of the examples above.) I truly believe suicide is the ultimate choice of self and no one has a right to interfere. But to allow that choice to be made not from a place of acceptance of death, but to escape perceived pain can be absolutely mind boggling. If this is the only existence you perceive, why fill it with so much unbearable misery that you must erase from life completely? Ego death for a rebirth and you can have a whole new life instead of stopping it all.
You may not want to be the person who has a mental concept that the noise a car makes as it pulls up beside you means that the other car wants to run you off the road and you need to drive dangerously in response. You may not want to believe the water you’re drinking is safe—even though it totally doesn’t taste right and it lights on fire—but ‘an authority,’ the gas company said it was fine. You may not want to keep paying on a car loan you can’t afford just because you think you’ll have ‘failed’ or be ‘worthless’ or have ‘broken a promise.’ Don’t be the dumbass killing celebrities because you think The Catcher In The Rye is talking to you!
It’s not necessarily what people believe that leads to irrational or dangerous actions. We all believe things that can’t be proved and may never be. It’s that some believe so completely, that they ignored the basic instinct to not harm or be harmed. Consider a mouse still and content in a field, and a cat that doesn’t sense it across the yard. But when the mouse perceives a danger, perceives it *must* react, danger, danger, danger, and goes bolting out to avoid that mental concept of danger, the cat sees and pounces. It’s the same with the gun debate in America. The mental concept that a ‘gun will protect me because I don’t want to be shot’ is raging against reality. All guns do is shoot. That’s what they’re designed for, shooting bullets to hit things. If you don’t want to be shot, don’t surround yourself with the things that shoot.
What life are you trapping yourself in right this moment? Are you allowed to have fun? Are you allowed to pursue the things you enjoy? Do you deserve to suffer? Do you need to take an hour to ensure your hair and makeup is perfect or you’re not a valuable person? If you don’t make $20 an hour, are you a complete failure? If your loved one doesn’t read your mind and acknowledge your emotions, do they hate you? Do you spend your days writing erotica but perceive that the world thinks you’re weird/wrong for it (I fought this belief a good year while telling myself I was winning.)
The only way to break free is to realize you’re doing it to yourself. You’re choosing to believe these ideas have value, and as such you must logic your way out of them. You need to strip it away instead because there is no value to be found.
It can be difficult to see reality past the emotional software. I truly don’t know if it’s harder for those with PTSD or without, because I have only ever had one brain. But I do know you can be inflicted with a perspective disorder all the way back to the beginning of your life, and still find a way free. You don’t have to be trapped in your brain and the painful concepts you unwittingly create. You can open your mind and see that the real world is still the real world, and your thoughts about it don’t fuck it up or save it. Reality remains reality and you remain you.
A Note Of Compassion
Some of you smarties might be pointing out, ‘Sadie, if you’re so fucking with it, why were you ranting last week?’ Lol. Well, it’s fun, for starters. Because I’m a human being and wonderfully imperfect. It took me stopping, realizing I was perceiving an entire movement of pitchforks over some bitchy posts on the Internet about an author I don’t even know—although I liked one of his/her books. Nice sex scenes—and then I reacted like an angry mob was coming after every author out there and I needed to defend. Rawr! Partially because I’m well aware of how impossible it is to really know someone and how these techniques, such as pen names and ghostwriting are so commonplace in the writing community. Partly because I failed to stop and take a step back and remember just because a few voices on the Internet are saying shit doesn’t mean anything.
Like, legit. No offense, but someone bitching in a review about one of my books is not a book written. A minute to bitch verses hours/days/months to write a book? Yeah, I’ll let you know when I care. People bitch all the time, and it’s only if you listen that it even has an impact. We pay people to listen—looking at you, Congress—and they still don’t bother. But I had made a choice to listen. I read those little sordid details of ‘why this mattered!’ and I projected that concern of ‘you people are fucking delusional’ into the future and had a nice rant for the sake of all my author friends and for myself. I know, very mature of me. I also yell at the television for being dumb. (One of us is dumb and it’s probably not the two dimensional TV. XD)
This again comes back to the morality and value concept. I can choose to feel shame for fucking up by reacting to my emotional software—even though ‘fucking up’ is also just a concept and no one can actually fail. I can choose to ignore what I did, and steam forward while insisting rigidly that everyone should see things my way. Or I can accept that I’m human, I do things, and sometimes I would rather not do things. And it’s not the rant I would want to undo—it was a good, informative rant. I’d rather have not had the perception that a bunch of humans who I innately care about would forever continue to rail at invisible demons in their heads and blame it on the authors who are very good at crafting similar demons with words.
I trapped these people in my mind as being trapped. I don’t want them to be trapped, so I need to stop seeing them that way.
It comes down to compassion. I have compassion for self and for everyone I perceive. It’s not always seen, but the intention is there far beneath the messiness of emotional software and erratic reactions.
There’s Nothing In The Dark But You And Your Mind
If you find my rants entertaining, know I find ranting to be an entertaining way to spend some time. XD But my rants are short, they pass as fast as it takes to write them out, and I return to the real world because that’s where I want to be. What you’re reading is just an echo of my thoughts. For those who want to live in their computer screen thinking that is the real world, that is where they want to be and it will be very hard to understand each other because of it.
I don’t believe the world in the screen is real. I don’t even know if you actually exist; you’re no more than text on a screen to me—but you’re seriously awesome text, just saying. Whoot, sexy font. XD It is your belief that I am real that makes me real to you. Otherwise, you would notice all I am is text and a few images on your screen, and actual people are more than that. You supply my existence for you with your belief. For all you know, this post is years old and I’m dead.
I will leave last week’s rant there for those who need to say whatever it is they feel compelled to say. You will not be challenged by me, you will not be questioned, persuaded, embraced, asked to change or be judged. I will not be your witness or your conflict. I promise you silence as you vent, which I realize I should have offered from the very beginning. You are alone with only yourself and your perceptions every time you sit in front of your computer, and this is no different. You have only yourself to understand, insult, convince, struggle against, and ultimately forgive. It can feel very cathartic to bitch online and state your beliefs. I know I enjoy it. XD
I see your pain. You may want me to see your anger or your intelligence, but I see your pain. Truly, I hope you find peace.
We’re all trying to cope with the fact we’re alive. Some people find the way to cope is to throw themselves into the details, to swear up and down if they find some value in it all, everything will be okay. They will ‘do’ something, they will ‘be’ someone, and the world will change. They want control. They tell themselves things they can never know the truth of to make it through another dark night, then distract themselves with all the shiny bright things in the light. It’s fine. Cope. Scream at the world for not being within your control. I know plenty who have gone to their graves still screaming at the world instead of embracing and loving the moments they have. It wasn’t ‘wrong,’ just very lonely.
I choose freedom from pain while others cling tight, and it’s perfectly fine. I don’t need to protect you from your minds because you are not victims—no matter how many people would like me to believe you are too dumb and incapable of making choices. I will not take responsibility for your reactions and your feelings because they are yours, not mine. The way I conduct myself is by my belief systems, not by any social obligation to conform to perceived norms. You’re still the one in control of how you feel and act. If you don’t feel in control, I suggest mindfulness. It’s very calming and makes the world interesting instead of full of pain. Two sources that helped me greatly and eventually led to my current perspective is Byron Katie
and Eckhart Tolle
This post was about empowerment for every single person on this globe. If you find it to be otherwise, if you believe what I’m saying leaves people behind, leaves them victimized and broken while others are allowed to live the way they want, that is a belief you need to look inside and question. Because if you don’t believe you have an innate right to decide how you want to see the world, then you don’t believe others have that right or ability.
The human race is moving day by day closer to globalization, a reaching and connecting with absolutely different cultures with different belief systems all seen on an array of screens. It is very easy to feel ‘superior’ when we see a culture different, one where people act against their own interests, or more specifically, against our interests. It is only through malleable perspectives and responsibility of reactions and actions that we’re going to find common ground and keep a balance. America is still battling perceptions from moments far into the past, such as slavery and gender/race/sexuality inequality. How long will the human race carry every mistake and pain instead of finally moving forward fresh and free?
I hope your interpretation of my words is remotely close to my intentions. As for your reactions to that interpretation, well, I have no way to predict or control any of it. The text on the screen means absolutely nothing without a human mind to read, and as such, it is yours to own. I am merely the intention who wrote it. You are alone in your mind with your opinions and perceptions of pain. If you want to continue living in that pain while deciding it is meaningful and worthwhile to suffer, that is your choice completely. Just know it is a choice, and at any moment you’re allowed to feel differently.
Hey, babes ^^
So let me start by saying I don’t want to craft walls and bars with words so that people feel this is the only reality. This is the difficulty of society—the difficulty of being a storyteller when people reading the story don’t understand reality is not actually confined by our perception of it. We are confined by our perceptions of reality. I’m going to tell a story about how I see parts of reality and why I write what I write. This reality is not shared by everyone—thank fuck—but I’d love to hear your responses. I love to talk about this shit. XD Oh, and fuck, I will be getting back to the comments of last week. I got most of you—I’m so excited you’re excited about the Demon Virus interactive story! I just got caught up in writing and didn’t want to leave.
With that out of the way, I love the premise of this book and I want to talk about it! I haven’t read it yet, to be totally upfront. Once Hellcat is done I’m going to indulge in fun, damn it! (and yeah, this kind of reading is totally fun for me and my inner nerd… as is writing… as is writing Hellcat—I’m actually having lots of fun. XD) But just reading the premise, I think you can understand where ‘Sadie Sins’ might be really on board with this whole concept and it has my mind sparking.
After fifty years of progress and the advent of gay marriage, statistics on the well-being of gay men are as grim as ever. Rates of suicide, alcoholism, and drug abuse have not budged. Anxiety, depression, loneliness, and poor health are just as widespread. Studies have shown that gay men who live in urban gay communities actually are worse off, not better.
The utopia promised by gay marriage has not materialized. Gay men seem to have run out of ideas for future progress. There is little acknowledgment of the fact that something remains badly wrong. Nor is there a diagnosis of what is wrong.
This book proposes that the diagnosis is obvious if we look at the origins of male sexuality and how it was expressed in other cultures. The anti-sex Puritan system in which we are now immersed is relatively recent in human history. Yet in less than 2,000 years, knowledge of how other cultures lived and loved has been systematically wiped out. The forms of male sexuality were remarkably similar from culture to culture. But starting with the early Europeans in the last years of Rome and continuing around the globe as Europeans colonized the continents, natural male sexualities have been cruelly repressed and then obliviated. We are all Puritans now.
The greatest taboo of all in male sexuality remains unchallenged and is still heavily enforced. That is the taboo of male-male sex, which until 2003 was still a crime. This book argues that the plight of gay men is only a piece of a much larger catastrophe — the Puritanical repression of the sexualities of all men, in an attempt to harness the enormous power of male sexuality for social purposes in the name of moral progress, with promises of greater glories to be found in heaven. The damage that Puritanism caused to human beings and to stable social systems was never noticed. In fact the damage and misery were regarded as good. It was seen as payback to the devil.
This book is not arguing for something new, untested, unknown, and radical. Rather, the challenge is to return to something very old — the joy of male-male sex — which took similar forms in most of the cultures that we have knowledge of. In such worlds, it was understood that some men are more masculine than others, that some men are gayer than others, and that heterosexuality and homosexuality are complementary and of equal value. And those old worlds were worlds in which every gay man was able to take for granted what to us today is the impossible dream — sex with a straight best friend.
The Root of Sin is a Story
This is the root of all my stories, from the dirtiest noncon/dubcon/beast/incest/degradation to the sexy, happy fluff. This is why I write sex, to offer a narrative that to ‘give in’ to your fears and break the societal constructs surrounding sex will allow you to find pleasure instead of the sin. The sin is a lie, it’s something we were taught, not something that exists. But our brains hold power over us, our narratives—the narratives of society, of the casual little phrases we don’t even think about that create the bars to the cage that say sex is bad and wanting sex means you’re bad. That sweat, shit, tears, cum, vomit, urine, blood, flesh, bones—these things that are a part of living in a human body, something every single person on this planet experiences—is on some level bad and offensive. The body must be hidden and those who don’t hide theirs are narcissists, deviants, godless, seducers, sluts, asking to be harmed because to have a body is to deserve to be raped. These are the narratives we hear every day, little stories that filter in and our brains pick up and form a construct of the world around us.
This is also the root of censorship—I know, that other thing I love talking about! XD I find censorship extra fascinating because rarely is it just for reality but for imitations of reality. If you’ve been watching news about Trump and his ‘shithole’ comment, I hope you’re laughing as loudly as I am every time a newsperson goes to say the word shithole and instead they say something like “bleephole” or “you-know-what hole” XD OMG. They can’t even quote reality. Someone, somewhere is demanding these people not say certain words, and my fuck, they fucking listen, don’t they? They create a complete construct around avoiding certain mouthsounds, and those who don’t conform are punished. Book censorship of course is just as insane—the belief that an idea is wrong and shouldn’t be allowed to exist or people will be harmed.
Sit with that for a bit. Lol. So many people afraid of their brains, claiming their actions are powerless to their thoughts. How easy it would be to justify murder if we truly believed we weren’t responsible for our actions? We thought about killing someone, then we did—blame the thing that gave us the idea, not the choice of committing an action. Society can see how ludicrous that is for murder—usually, don’t get me started on the Stand Your Ground law—but for sex? For an internal desire expressed in the body that our history (and some current cultures) claim is just as atrocious as murder? Far less rational thought occurs when reacting to a societal message of morality.
The Societal System
Society pushes to say ‘don’t accept who you are unless… *insert demand*’ Unless you look a certain way, unless you act a certain way, unless you get that paycheck of a certain amount, unless some god loves you, unless you sacrifice, unless you earned it, unless you prove you’re worthy, unless your parents/teacher/priest/doctor/boss/celebrity/friend/someone approves… unless you’re something else. The message is you aren’t good enough as is; you must be something else and then you will be acceptable and loved. And this isn’t just the big society, that vague ‘them’ that encompasses a state or continent. There are tons of societies from groups of friends, to families, to the workplace, to your singular mind, and in this particular book’s case, the gay community.
I fear just the act of placing the gay label is the first step in this slippery slope of crafting cages and demanding of yourself to be something else concerning sexuality. It was in the lesbian scene I saw the most fighting, the most cruelty, the most anger. I met women abused by men who turned to women, only to be abused again. Or to abuse others. To seek drugs, to steal, to break up relationships, to blame others for their actions. Everyone was a hookup instead of a person. Everyone a savior to prove they’re worthy instead of a person. I saw women who demonized men, women who demonized mothers, women who demonized beautiful women—really, just pick a ‘type’ and someone hated them because of how they looked, how they acted, how they existed.
I saw so much unhappiness in that place, including the beautiful group of males who crossdressed as females and were so defensive, it felt like I was in a war scene when they stepped off stage and walked through a sea of women and seemed to expect to be attacked/judged/mocked. And given the sea of these hurt women, they might have had experience to feel that way. I saw women who desperately needed to have their peers reflect them so they could see who they were. It was identity through the control of others. Identity through comparing. Identity through reacting. They could only find themselves when interacting with others—others who had to fit their narrative or were punished. And why did those who were hurt by not fitting stay to fit? Because they gained identity by staying, by being labeled. Every person there was there by choice.
I can’t speak for gay men in that scene. Why? Because the sexes were segregated when it came to gay and lesbian and the clubs and parties I found myself at. I think part of the whole meat market aspect of that scene was, if you’re not in the market, you’re not welcome. I dunno. Maybe they couldn’t reflect off of such a different looking person—a man—so they kept them away? Maybe what the did reflect pushed them away? I can speculate but I don’t actually know. If I knew there were men out there who hated me just because of my gender the way some of those women hated men (even if those roots were based in abuse,) I probably wouldn’t be in a rush to hang out. XD
A Living Narrative
So, this is a story of the past that doesn't exist anymore. One place in time through the eyes of one curious woman whose brain loves to find patterns in people and understand. These are moments in my life I remember to write the narrative of today--even if today is completely different. And this is part of the problem; we as humans take the past and project it into the future. We decide everything we know makes us a fortune teller. XD
During that time I spoke with women who left the scene who confided how painful it had been for them, how insane it was compared to being sexually evolved out in the world. I was still watching the scene trying to understand why everyone seemed to have a prescription or a drug or a trauma they were taking while calling themselves these two dimensional labels and looking to be seen but not really known. I was straight out of the psych ward hanging with a lesbian (who by the time I left was considering identifying as a male) who was fresh out of prison, and I had a bipolar bisexual girlfriend (who called herself a lesbian once she started dating me but nearly married a man right before.) The bubble I was in was real but that doesn’t mean it was the entire view.
After the psych ward, where you’re labeled by your brain/behavioral ‘malfunction’—you know, the true way to identify who you are, by the thing that fucks up your life completely and you can never be free of. XD The illness that makes you wrong compared to everyone else; that’s who you are. Sigh. Now that’s a system of suffering that keeps people suffering, and after the psych ward, the scene just seemed all too familiar. You can be sexually free, but only when you label, so make sure you know what your label is and don’t try to change it. We already have identified you by this label and we don’t want to be confused or worse, annoyed. Your sexuality is a judgment on us, especially if you ever fucked us—don’t you dare be bisexual or trans, cus that just confuses the fuck out of us and our sexual identity.
It was a beautiful chaos of pain as people tried to discover themselves while stepping on everyone’s toes. As much as they hurt each other, they hurt themselves even more, and the ones who stayed—so many stay until they find what they need—they hurt themselves the most.
Why Do We Do It?
I love people, I truly do. I love their insanity as they claw at themselves demanding the impossible while hoping against hope if they reach that goal, the suffering will finally stop. And while they’re clawing at themselves, they’re screaming at anyone who looks a little like them, demanding the same of them—be perfect, be this, be the thing I need so I can be free already. Hurry the fuck up and be what I want! XD Ah, it’s so powerful, so amazing, so fucking cruel and beautiful and we demand of our loved ones first, don’t we? Those who provide us the most on a material and emotional level we then refuse to allow to be free of our filter. If you change, then who am I?
I can look back and see how lost I was when I was this person who needed others to be a certain way so I could feel safe in the world. Err… like a year ago. XD This part is not an old story and she still pops up time to time. What an exhaustion trying to get people to change just so I could calm the fuck down over stupid shit like dishes. And what pain I inflicted on myself with my own demands.
Lol, that’s why my writing is so different these last months with less a focus on completion and more on actually writing the story as it wants to be. I finally learned to stop demanding so much of myself, and I’m still learning. A writer can be an ass to herself and decide if editing isn’t perfect, you suck. (whoops.) If that novel isn’t published by the end of the month, you’re a horrible person. And then you can find other writers to agree with that inner bitchy voice. It’s easier to see the interactions with my loved ones and stop, but the pain I commit on myself by having all those inner demands? Whooo, it has taken time.
It takes time not to respond to my loved ones when they come to me to identify them. When some days they want to feel weak and helpless in the world and they lash at me to give them the promise that I’m strong enough to carry it all for them, or that I perceive them incapable so they don’t have to try. Sometimes they define me by the mold toxicity so that they can be my hero for a little bit even if it means I can’t be my hero. It’s not a one way street—everyone is in a relationship by choice to gain whatever it is they need. Some people are afraid to move forward and they want someone to point it out to them so that they can tell themselves they don’t have to move forward, they can just be angry at you, bitch. XD Or they ask you for advice, ask you to carry them and do it for them, and when you don’t, ah, what a washing away of responsibility. Such bliss. They don’t have to do it because they handed you the responsibility, and if you don’t do it, oh, well, it gets to slip away and be unimportant, dragged out only during later arguments to ‘win’ in the battle of dominance for the right to narrate the shared story. Lol, it’s beautiful.
This could be the pain of the group, of the lgbt community that holds itself back, that demands others be a certain way because they have to be a symbol, a representation of an entire sexual movement. It has to look a certain way, and if you don’t fit you shouldn’t be allowed to exist as you are—change for us so we look the way we should.
Freedom to marry doesn’t give you anything when you’re not free to be yourself. It doesn’t change the way you think the world still sees you. It doesn’t change the way you still see yourself. It’s not only straight people who have the ability to judge. I see so many who have struggled to find their sexual identity and they feel threatened by the existence of someone similar but different. I have plenty of gay people still tell me bisexuality isn’t real. Some fear the spectrum because then they don’t know where they fit, who they are without the sexuality label nice and clear. I love writing straight to gay because of this—to show that facing the fear of being different from your self expectations can lead to pleasure.
My theme as a writer seems to be submission to inner dark desire=pleasure. XD I knew nothing about bdsm when I started writing erotica—I thought it was a super tacky genre from the few books I read at the time with all their equipment and living in clubs and their silly rules. All I saw was the structure and none of the underlying emotion. Now, after studying the push and pull of the human psyche as it seeks relief in others, I see the struggle of relinquishing to self.
So funny, the battle of the ego just looking for an escape to let go, looking for someone to save them because they don’t want to think they have the power. If they have the power, then they’re obligated to change their life, right? No thank you, just hand that over to the guy with the whip. XD Keep the changes in a safe place, one room, one little therapeutic dose of giving away control, giving in to desire without fear of consequence in the real world. A structured fantasy with the only one to judge being yourself and your partner.
I like the premise of the book, of the greater society, of history and religion and the rejection of the human form being the roots of this problem. I want to see if it goes further. The roots still feed the plants that bear fruit, and where do we see the hurt coming from when history is dust, and morality is merely a system in place that no one is actually controlling? Why do those newspeople really hold back from swearing on television? Do they give a fuck about the concept of morality, or do they care about losing their jobs? Individual humans in this world punish them, and those who are punished choose to accept that’s the trade off to being free to speak certain words on TV—ha! I live in a country where we hold up free speech as some big right while saying it’s not allowed on television. Wow. Individuals strike out at others, demand from them what they demand of themselves to keep the world one way. They perpetuate the message while being bombarded by the message.
We are intelligent beings with technology and information beyond anything we have had before, but we still repeat the broken messages that keep us trapped. Why? Because we open our mouths and speak them. We do this; we are society. We teach our kids to be ashamed of the very bodies they are born into, while we look for ways to stop hating ourselves. We tell ourselves we can’t win in fights we never bother to battle. We create a god we must impress, must live up to, or we will suffer damnation. We decide that speaking up deserves pain, so only the most brave speak up. We create all the monsters that we end up battling or avoiding, while blaming the monsters.
Is that an ugly thought? Should it be censored so people don’t have to feel uncomfortable? The beauty of these systems that hurt us is how a changing of the message can save us. If the system in place is redefined, everything it touches redefines. Oh, let’s say the Pope declared sin nothing more than a fallacy of the mind used to control society, and every church in the system took up that belief and spread it to the followers. The next generation of Roman Catholics (and whoever listens to the Pope) could be free of sin. Actually free, instead of the indoctrination of bestowing original sin on every child born just so they could ‘baptize’ it away.
What if the psychiatric community decided to look into how allergies are linked to mental illness? What if they taught how most people who have allergies but don’t produce a certain response are far more likely to suffer mentally from bipolar to depression to mania to agitation to ocd to fits of rage, hence the rise of suicides during high pollen counts? What if when your kids are taught about nutrition, they’re not taught skewed information in there by companies—sugar—who don’t want people to know their product is not required on any level?
Systems allow for very big changes in a short amount of time and hey, they’re already in place. The media is such a system, which is why we have some channels spewing the extreme conservative narrative of ‘fear your neighbor and self,’ and others the extreme liberal narrative of ‘nothing you do is good enough unless you reach our blessed heights.’ I’m a liberal and my fuck, it’s like being a vegan among vegans—you’re never fucking good enough. Lately, I feel like I’m back in church answering to some faceless god of morality claiming gloom and doom if ideas exist and it totally sucks. No wonder Trump is terrified of the media. It’s a system bigger than him capable of changing the narrative of the world, the narrative he can’t reflect off of. He chose his enemy and his enemy grows bigger because of it.
But the caveat? Even when a system changes, it’s still up to the individual to change, to let the old message go. To allow through their filter of the world for things to be different, for things to be fun and not so fucking serious. Ugh, everyone is so damn serious. Do you know how many authors I see resend newsletters over fucking typos? Typos. Gah. I had an old guy glaring at me Christmas Eve—the entire night—and only found out when he said goodbye that he was offended by my lipring. XD I had it for 10 years but he was certain it would be infected by tomorrow because something in his past made his perception of my reality look dangerous.
Our brains are the system of oppression we’re trapped in. We perceive the messages and give them importance enough to actually follow them. Every message out in the world was first conceived in someone’s mind, which was then expressed through language where other minds picked it up, decided it was important, and followed or rejected. I used to think a vow of silence was about being able to finally hear yourself; now I wonder if it’s to do no harm on the world through the influence of words. But the words aren’t the harm, it’s still the minds that turn them into something more and act upon that belief.
There are so many people out there afraid of their thoughts. I wonder when they’ll see that they choose to act, they choose to make thoughts into an action? They choose to believe a message and hold onto it, making it part of their identity.
We Are the Storyteller
In our brains live these realities, these perceptions, these characters born of narratives—I think you’ve all met my characters in stories. XD But just as I’m an obvious storyteller, we are all telling a story about the world and about ourself. We tell the story that our attraction and gender is a part of our identity, that our job gives us value, that our family is a reflection of ourself, that if we’re not liked then we are bad/lacking, that our face defines our beauty, that to lose everything is to really lose everything.
It can be so hard to break out of that story, to see that we still persist even when everything changes. Maybe that is the joy of reading. For me it is the joy of writing. I write freedom (sexy, dirty freedom, lol) for every character I conceive. Maybe to experience a narrative—any narrative—between pages feels safer, allows us to see how we can wiggle free of the story of our life and be something else—but safely, in our brains, because that is where that story lives.
The reality is, for all my intentions, I can only hope people find freedom in my books. For some, they may be perpetuating the cage they’re trapped in, seeing their own self dissatisfaction reflected in the characters and never following to where it’s okay to be okay with yourself. Lol, those outraged reviews from poor souls so angry about the sex or the swearing or the lack of consent or the typos; I don’t think they got it. XD Maybe a few more rounds in the story until they see it can’t hurt them, pleasure is actually pleasure no matter the circumstances in a story. Orgasm = good. My characters still seek freedom and I will still record it, but there is no way to control how any of it is perceived. It’s all in the reader’s mind.
The individual is the god of their story, their world, their life. As your personal storyteller, do you choose to be the hero, the victim, the protector, the caretaker, the child, the clown, the villain? Do you let it change or are you stuck with one identity, struggling to be more than your job or your role in a family or the thing that fucks your brain up? So many stories we write about life, but are any of them as satisfying as the ones where we learn to love ourselves? And… insert masturbation joke here. XD
I have rambled the fuck away. Today I’m an artist, an observer of life who seeks understanding in the name of freedom from my own brain. I hope in my little journey, you have found some too. Let the walls fall down and get some fresh air, eh?
An Iron Eagle Gym Novel
Lance Packet just got a contract to shoot an erotic BDSM deck of cards; the only problem is finding models. So far everyone he’s interviewed thinks he’s looking for sex for hire. Then in walk three perfect examples of men: Tide and his friends, Tyrone and Bran.
Tide Germaine is a model and a Dom. He and his best friend Tyrone opened The Iron Eagle Gym as a place for gay men in the lifestyle to work out, do scenes, and congregate with like-minded men. The modeling is just another job for Tide, but it soon turns into a grand seduction as Tide falls for the shy, self-conscious photographer. The problem is Lance doesn’t believe he’s in Tide’s league, and he’s not at all sure about the Dom and sub thing.
It’s not going to be easy, but Tide’s going to have to convince Lance he belongs at Tide’s side as both lover and sub.
A night of romance, passion, and love that they’ll never forget...
Love and passion are in the air as the newlywed couples share their first night together as husbands. Finally released from their celibacy pact, the men are more than ready for a long night of warm romance and heated love. But they aren’t the only ones sharing their hearts and their bodies as other couples, yet to be wed, make the most of this enchanting evening as well.
Note: This is an M/M romance and should be read by readers 18yo and above only.
Nick has had a crush on his older brother for as long as he could remember. Justin is just so perfect; handsome, strong with blond hair and blue eyes. It's impossible to look anywhere else. Nick never thought he'd ever tell his brother how he felt. That was until Justin went on a school trip out of country and Nick got lonely and really drunk.