And.... We're Back

Its odd where your brain will wander to when you can't get to sleep. As a incessant insomniac I have a lot of time of my hands, usually spent staring at the ceiling and wondering how long I have to lay there until I can justify being up to my sweetie. As Morpheus once again firmly denied me entrance to sleepyville, I found my mind moseying down a path of thought I've tiptoed onto before... but never firmly set about exploring. I think it might be time to change that.

What started it all is the utterance of a common phrase in my childhood home, a blanket explanation of all the ills and hurts in the world - “because of the Fall.” Alluding, I assume, to the Christian belief that life became a valley of tears and struggles to find the perfect penance for our great-great-grandparent's faux pas of chomping down on the wrong piece of fruit. The assumption being life was destined to be a perfect balance with total bliss and joy – then we went and screwed up the Master's plan something fierce and everything we do now is our attempt to get back to that perfect union.

Forgive me if this sounds a bit rambly, it was 4 o'clock in the morning when I started this train, the ride is bound to be bumpy. But, my weary mind reasoned thusly -

Taking everything pounded into me in bible school God is perfect and all-knowing. He also never makes mistakes. So... he had to know when he handed out the opposable thumbs to Adam and Eve, they were going to go a'wandering round the garden. He put the tree of knowledge there, he knew they would find it. He knew it would give them understanding beyond what they had already. And... he had to know they would eat from it. (All-knowing, remember?) So, either God is a miserable prick who gets his jollies at the eventual and inescapable damnation of his creation (which kinda goes against the whole “loving father” deity that is also taught in the self-same bible classes) OR....

He put in the tree, tossed on the thumbs, made sure Eve went snake hunting, and made the sure to get the fruit nice and ripe to ensure she'd share with her honey. Therefore.... isn't THIS, where we are now... at this very moment – what his plan was meant to be all along? How do we grow without struggle? How do we value the joy without living the pain? Its the salt in the cookies metaphor, you have to give the sugar something to work against or it all just tastes... flat.
I WANT struggle, I want to strain, I want to grow, to learn, to never go stagnate. While I can enjoy moments of peace by the riverside... in time I want to look up and see a new horizon to climb to.

Sheesh. I'm gone from this site for several months and I start arguing biblical theology with myself. I really DO need a nap.

I'm still just faltering along a few steps to finding my path, but is it wrong to find the stumbles part of the adventure? Perhaps that why I never felt at home in christianity... peace is fine in the moments, but perfect peace sounds far too much like death to this Valkyrie. Why preach or live a stagnant religion.

Okay. Anybody out there have any suggestions? Have I left my logic circuits in my other pants? How far along the path will these thought lead? And why do I feel like someone is smiling as they watch me take each new step?

I need a drink.

Possibly several.

Back

The funeral was a testament to all things Presbyterian. And, I suppose... that is exactly what the deceased would have wanted.

If....

If your faith is built on cold words mumbled in unison,
If your leader is fired with nothing more then passion for the bake sale tallies,
If your songs of faith and joy are sung as a liturgical dirge,
If your faith is nothing more then a place to go on a Sunday morning...

Can we at least make your ministers take a diction class?

Yesterday found me sitting in the cold hard pews of a church I believed I had escaped as a toddler, watching a cold faced man recite the death rites over the body of a women who had nearly reached the century mark. Vulcan sat close at my side – attempting to hold my hands while steadying an ancient prayerbook to a disapproving god.

The deceased had lived her life with the precision and determination of any good Presbyterian. Black was black, white was white – and all other colors were to be shunned in fear of muddying the straight path to salvation. Her death followed the same rigid rules as her life.

I found myself wondering how any would find peace or closure in a ceremony completely impersonal and remote. A bumbling minister who could only find the time to read the simple obituary typed by a grieving daughter.

Contradictions and confusions, double talk and back talk. “All are welcomed” - provided they are just like us. I find myself moving further and further away from the beliefs of my family, as the years go on the words they proffer fill me with little but a cold and empty feeling deep within me.
Another branch trimmed off the family tree... another step my life takes away from the past... another assurance that I'm not as they are... and perhaps, thats alright.

May she find a peace she never had in this life – and may those scarred by the iron bars of her convictions walk with a freer step.

I've been away from the forge for a bit, Vulcan and I are getting healthy after months of a plague right out of Hades' dreams. I think I'll be spending more time here... I have a lot to figure out.

Back from a Con....

While I hope to have a more in depth article up in a day or two, I figured I would jot down a odds and ends regarding the fetish convention we just returned from. More and more, I find myself being asked “Isn't working a convention a great chance to hang out with your peers? Must be nice to have a whole weekend with those of a similar mindset.”

Ummm.... not so much. Just because I sell the stuff, doesn't make every bit of kink you see wandering around the place something I personally subscribe to. In fact, most events lead to Vulcan and I lengthening the “Sorry, No.” list. Similar mindset? You would be shocked at the Christian, republican, conservatives that show up to these events.* Hades, its those same folks that keep me from being too concerned about being rounded up one day as one of the “dangerous” people. You want to out my life, Senator? First, please explain what you were doing there and what these receipts with your credit card number are doing in my hand (as well as the news feeds I've dropped the copies onto.).

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of folks who rattle around off the main track at cons. But, for the most part, for every cool person you meet (surprisingly I did meet a few this go round) the number of fluffy bunny wanna be's begging to be tossed into a cage is astonishing. Dozens who want to explain their roles with the elder gods, gothlings aplenty who feel a strong enough connection to you to share they “really ARE vampires, and they knew I would understand.”, and enough of what Vulcan and I have dubbed “Power Pagans”. The southern Baptists of the pagan world, shall we say. Folks who don't just have a connection with the deities of their choice, the self same deities have THEIR number on speed dial for the trickier problems the world may face. Ahh well. I figure it is all grist for my one day bestseller detailing the ins and outs of the fetish world.

To that end... a few choice pieces to share and then its back to cleaning up the mead hall for this Valkyrie. Seems the skogkatts got a bit pissy about us leaving them for the weekend and tore the place to shreds. The life of a modern Valkyrie is a busy one.....

1- If you happen to feel you look very fetching in assless chaps, well done you. However, next time you decide to fondle each other in front of my booth for an hour without buying, I will be forced to build “Nair on a Stick” so that I may continue to work without being distracted by, let's all be honest here... Wookie Butt. It isn't always just about the time you spend in the gym when it comes to revealing outfits. Hair management is a necessary as well. No one wants to sit around wondering if you are wearing a g-string... or your fur has simply matted into a naturally occurring thong. Girls have to shave if they want to wear certain things, time to make the leap yourself.

2- Okay. I admit it. While I can sorta, kinda, if I really really work at, maybe... get my head wrapped around the concepts of pony and puppy play... plushies scare the shit out of me. Ask me to swing a sword at the infidels, make me clean up after every hero has made themselves sick in the mead hall... just don't come near me. Sorry to be childish. But honestly. Can someone please explain how someone wakes up one day and thinks “You know what would be fun? I think I want to try fucking my teddy bear.” or worse, “I think it would be fun to BE a teddy bear that is getting fucked.” And here I just slept with my stuffed penguin. Who knew I was missing out on someone's version of heavenly delight?

3- An object lesson, shall we say. When wandering around a con, do not first antagonize the merchant and THEN insist on being locked into the cage. If this occurs, being shocked when I wander off for a bathroom and coffee break with the only working key (to your knowledge anyway) is foolish. Just be glad I came back at all.

4- No. I do not want to join your coven. No. I do not want to beat you. No, I will not let you beat me. If you have just dipped your toe into the BDSM world, understanding one small fact will get you far. The person shoving folks into and out of cages is not usually one that will be going into one herself. Pushing the issue is tantamount to taunting a tiger. After a point I WILL react. And frankly honey, you aren't gonna enjoy it.

5- Your kink is your kink. No better and no worse then anyone else's.

6- For reasons known only to the gods, they placed our convention next door to the eastcoasts largest Bridal Show. There is nothing I can ever see again that will tickle my heart as much as watching a grown man with a long grey beard ala' Gandalf and wearing nothing more then a pleather Alice in Wonderland minidress and 6 inch maryjanes skip his way through a sea of frightened Bridezillas. Its the small things in life that make it worth living.


Now, I'm off to try and suck up to some pissy skogkatts.


*Okay. Confession time. I vote republican. Mainly because I can protect all my other rights just fine as long as you leave my money and my ability to protect myself intact. I don't need a nanny to make the other kids play fair, and I don't need to be told how to be a good person. Toss in the fact your standard redneck backs down a fuck lot faster when he is confronted by someone who is willing to beat his ass down if necessary then if you just try to reason with him. Leave me my weapons and my assests... and I can protect the rest. Well... all that and its more fun to rape the system from within. I live for the sound of people's mental gears getting knocked out of gear when they realize I'm not your average housewife.

Hey... gotta make your fun where you can, ya know?

My Neighbors Always Look At Us Funny

When Vulcan (put the hammer down and wave dear) and I bought our new home last year, the neighborhood curtains were twitching for days as we carried our various life accouterments into the home. It might have been the swords, could have been the light sabers Vulcan makes in his spare time, or perhaps it was simply the epic level stacks of books being lugged up our stairs. We tried our best to be good neighbors, keeping the more.... esoteric items boxed and covered as they were carried into the home. The thought of having the neighborhood kids asking mommy and daddy suburbanite why we were building cages... or what did we need all those blowtorches for had me shuddering in my shoes. After a few weeks the curtain switches calmed down (helped by a plate of cookies and a lighthearted “If you see boys in the back having a sword fight... please don't call the cops. They are just practicing for an event!) and the older boys on the street even began to call us the “Cool” folks, noticing the toys both Vulcan and I wandered about with. I have found, on the average, teenage boys are easy to impress. One afternoon spent weeding with a large bowie knife stuck in my back sheath (Hey! Those weeds are tough little bastards. Easier to use a large knife then a hoe.) had me labeled as both mysterious and dangerous... while ample sweets and talks with their mothers had me confirmed as a “Nice” girl who stayed home and kept house.

Win win. At least for a while.

However, after a month or so, I began to notice the neighbor who shares a driveway with us began to act a tad bit funny around Vulcan and I. Nothing too overt, just this vague confused face when he saw me, and a tendency to pull back when he saw us. The kids also began to play more in the backyard and on the other side of the house then they did on the side facing us where there basketball hoop hung.

After about a month, I finally decided to confront him and see what, if anything, was wrong. Had they seen something that offended them? Was there something he was concerned about? I waited until a warm sunny Saturday and approached him.

Much hemming and hawing, and then he broke.

“I, well. It's just....”

“Yes?” I asked.

Gathering himself up he machined gunned the words so fast it took me a moment to understand what he was saying. “Afewweeksagoyouhadyourwindowsopenandsaidsomethingso loudlyIcouldn'thelpoverhearingandIwasn'ttryingtoeasedropbutitcaughtmyattentionand
itsallyourbusinessbut.......”

Now I was REALLY confused. I couldn't remember any loud, ahem, moments between Vulcan and I, at least not anything out of the ordinary. I pray pretty quietly, so even if he was the type to get offended over the odd oath to a god he might not recognize, he couldn't have heard that... so what?

“I'm sorry. What did you hear?” I asked.

Turning bright red he finally blurted out, “It's not the lesbianism that I mind... but the incest is a bit much!”

Utter blankness... followed by a dawning understanding coupled with a snort and a giggle I could not contain if Odin himself ordered it.

I motioned to my blushing neighbor and had him follow me up my porch steps to the glass paneled side door. Pointing to the living room beyond the doorway, I asked “Did it come from here?”

Mumbling and looking nervous he nodded.

I pointed again to the center of the room where 2 of Vulcan and I's four felines were snoozing in a stray sunbeam.

“Three of our cats are sisters.... I think you overheard me groaning over one of their...overly affectionate grooming sessions.” As the words came out of my mouth, both cats awoke, stretched, and began to lick each other vigorously.

“You mean,” he began to stutter, “it was CATS I heard you yelling at?”

“Yup. What did you THINK we did over here?” I asked.

“I, you, I mean....” he began to slowly knock his head against the door frame. Stopping, he turned a sheepish face towards me and said, “I think I might have misinterpreted a few things.”

As he turned and began to walk away, he stopped for a moment and looked back. “Was that a WHIP I saw hanging on the wall?”

With a grin I waved and walked back into the house, closing the door behind me.

Even when completely innocent, my neighbors look at us oddly.

A Welcome From Your Friendly Neighborhood Valkyrie

Please excuse the mess, we're still setting up the forge. Pull up a free anvil and make yourself comfortable.

Oh, who am I? So sorry, I thought we had been introduced. The name is Mist. I'm taking a break from my Valkyrie duties and trying my hand at a little merchanting here in the mortal realm. You folks get up to the most interesting predicaments. Thought it looked like fun.

Alright. You got me, in this particular incarnation I may not spend the majority of my time combing battlesites for heroes who dodged right when they shoulda gone for a long left lean. Nowadays, I spend more time keeping the home fires burning in a small village in modern suburbia - your usual housewife, more or less. Except, every few weeks or so I venture out with my husband and his business partner into the wild and woolly world of fetish fun. I work as their secretary in this tie-me-up time-me-down plane. You know how it goes, receipts for restraints, general upkeep on the cages, care and feeding of the victim... I mean customers, of course.

This site is a place for me to allow my other side to come to the forefront. Nothing I, or my husband for that matter, do is cause for shame, guilt, or a deep abiding requirement for couch time at the local head shrinker. So why decide to keep a mostly anonymous blog? While I hold my views proudly, and have no need to hide my face in shame... I do have family. So does he. Friends, coworkers, family members who just don't quite get the whole concept. So, out of respect for them... and the hope of making it through just ONE Christmas where my dear southern baptist momma doesn't run crying from the table... we have this place.

Life just seems to be more interesting for me. Things... good, bad, and mildly (sometimes MORE then mildly) surreal. Perhaps its the series of seriously odd jobs I work, perhaps its the crowd I walk alongside at times. Or, perhaps I got tapped for "Chief Entertainment Channel of the Middle and Lower Gods" this go through. Either way, I plan to use this place as a free zone to share my life, my hopes, and a few of my experiences.

To that end - this is an ADULT BLOG. Seriously, folks. Some days it will be mild... but I occasionally run in some hard core zones. No kids, no using this as a homepage for your work computer. BE sensible.

Also, here is the general "Mission Statement" if you will. I have a pretty relaxed view of life. My lines as pretty far in the distance... but I hold them inviolate. My feelings are this - As long as its all consenting ADULTS and you are sticking to your species... have fun. Might not be MY cup of earl grey, but go forth and frolic. Just don't expect me to participate, and know I may have a hard time either hiding the giggle or the confusion. Cross the adult/consent/species line? Well, at that point I have to step out of the booth and take up my job as Valkyrie. As long as we have THAT clear...

Let's see what happens, shall we?