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photography, Kitti, art, me, kink

Kitti, the Unstoppable Hex Machine

...and a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries...

Confustication and Bemuddlement!!
photography, Kitti, art, me, kink

I are currently in a state of "WTFness"

Basically... the one I thought would make all my dreams come true, ended up falling flat on his proverbial face.  This led to me watching Jools Holland and trying to fill my entire body with wine, even though I knew I had to be up early in the morning.

Then, the one that was *supposed* to be a one-off crazy one-night-stand type of thing ended up getting under my skin... a lot further than I thought I could handle anymore, plus he seemed to really like me and was speaking about future meetings and things.  I was just beginning to like the idea of a regular play partner (more liking the idea of being *his*) and some other crazy girl seems to have caged him already.  Such is life...  

When are people going to realise the possession is not 9/10ths of the law?  When will everyone stop trying to own everything, and each other, and just be free?  Still... being owned is rather a nice feeling, at least for the first few weeks.

What on earth has happened to me?  I've gone from being this eccentric, slightly aloof, sort of desirable fetish scene socialite to this scared, rejected little girl again.  Rocking backwards and forwards in a corner, scrawling things on the wall with a sharpened fingernail about how I must be better next time, and wondering how the fuck someone bettered me.  Although... it's possible they didn't, and I was just lied to.  I'd prefer not to believe that one though...

Of course, the fact that I am *this* emotional about it could mean 1 of 3 things... Either:
  • I liked him far too much to ever make a successful go of it, and it would have ended in tears and blood and horror and heartbreak (as is usual for me), or..
  • I'm creating reasons to be emotional so as not to fall back into that nasty emotionless state I was in just a few months ago, or..
  • I'm creating reasons to believe that I am psychologically unwell, and so self-medicate myself into one of those three-day stupors again.
I'm not sure about anyone reading this, but I don't much fancy any of those.

I suppose my only option, really, is to keep on trucking.  Continue being an eccentric, slightly aloof, sort of desirable fetish scene socialite and play with as many Doms, Couples and Switches as I possibly can  (safety first, of course).

And remember:  You don't find Chuck Norris.  Chuck Norris finds you.

Kit. xx

The First Cut
photography, Kitti, art, me, kink

The first poem I've written for nearly three years.

To be honest, it stinks of teenage angst... but I think it's important to stay true to one's roots.

It's called "If I Let You Walk All Over Me, Maybe You Won't Ruin My Carpet".

You'll find it below.

If I let you walk all over me, maybe you won’t scuff my carpet,

It cost a lot to make, and was an effort to fit.

It’s already quite faded, and there’s that stain by the door

But if it didn’t exist, then I’d fall through the floor.


If I let you scar my flesh, maybe you’ll not burn my carpet,

It holds me up from the street on my own little parapet.

True, it’s not perfect, and frayed at one edge,

But it catches me, safe, when I fall out of bed.


If you hit me in the face, maybe you’ll ignore my walls,

They keep my ceiling from crashing onto my floor.

Yes, there are dull spaces where pictures once were,

But if you’re hitting me, at least you’re not hitting her.


You can do what you like to me, just leave my curtains,

They warm me; they hide me; that much is for certain.

Ok, they’re too long, and they don’t match the bed,

But they’ll slow down the brick that was aimed at my head.


If I let you into me, then you’ll not break down my door,

I know if it was human, it would give you what for.

Its wood is in bad shape and the lock always sticks,

But it keeps what’s outside from blowing me to bits.


Perhaps if you leave me, then I’ll be free.

I could leave my little room, and its protection of me.

Exposed to the elements, I’ll corrode and I’ll rust,

Like a forgotten statue, that betrayed it’s artists trust.