Bondage and Rope

I have fallen to my knees unable to rise, what kind of trap is this? What kind of chains has tied my hands and feet? It is so strange, so wonderful this helplessness of mine.

Rumi

I’ve mentioned before a bit about my views and opinions of bondage.  I’ve said that I like bondage.  I’ve also mentioned that I’m more a fan of rope than chain.  All the same, chain makes people think of bonds more than rope.  For what reason, I’m not really sure, but it just does.  If you’re chained, you’re bound.  If you’re roped, your… hanged?  I’m not really sure what the connection is with rope.  I like being bound.  I’d prefer not to experience being hanged again.  At least not without any other support to keep from experiencing the full effect of being hanged.

I have history with rope.  I have a lot of history with rope.  Some of it is good, some of it is bad, but there aren’t any hard feelings with the rope itself.  I still like rope.  I suspect I will always like rope.

I used to be a boy scout.  I suppose I still am one.  The training never quite leaves you.  I learned how to tie many different knots.  I would be able to relax and focus on the knots.  The square knot.  The bowline.  The sheet bend.  The clove hitch.  The two half hitches.  The taut-line hitch.  The list can go on.  I’ve tied all of these knots hundreds of times.  Perhaps hundreds of thousands of times.  I can tie any one of them in my sleep.

There are a few other knots I know.  I know how to tie a slip knot.  I know how to tie a horse knot.  I know how to tie a hangman’s noose.  These aren’t knots I learned how to tie in boy scouts.  But I’ve practiced these knots over and over again as well.  I can probably tie these in my sleep or blind as well.

I’ve tied myself up before.  I’ve practiced various knots on myself for different reasons.  When I was a kid, I would practice knots on myself to test the strength of them.  When I was older, I would practice knots on myself to test the quality.  Every knot has to be perfect.  Especially when there is only one chance to get it right.

I can’t tie a hangman’s noose anymore.  I can’t bring myself to tie the knot without feeling the urge to slip it around my neck and feel it tighten.  Without feeling the urge to use another knot to suspend the noose just above my own height.  I have no real desire to kill myself anymore, but the temptation is always there, just to feel the constricting rope again, to feel the rush of adrenaline, the panic, as I start to lose consciousness.

I still like rope.  I still like knots.  But I’m starting to find other forms of bondage a bit more satisfying.  I like the feel of a tight, but not constricting, cord or chain around my neck, where I can feel every beat of my heart and every breath on my neck.  I like the feel of my leather collar around my wrist, not tight, but constantly there reminding me of who I belong to and who I am bound to.  I like the idea of being immobilized by rope, rather than simply secured by it.  I want to be either attached to a firm frame, or tied in a manner that movement is impossible.

I’ll always prefer rope over chain or leather or any other form of bondage.  Rope can be tied tightly or loosely.  Rope takes time to tie correctly, to tie precisely.  Rope builds up anticipation.  Chain and leather with locks or buckles takes only moments to be adjusted into place.  There is room for adjustment, but it’s not as precise as what rope can be.

Rope can never be tied exactly the same twice.  The firmness of the hands, the thickness of the rope, even the humidity of the air can influence how the rope is tied.  Chain and leather can be reattached the exact same way each time due to precise holes in the leather or counting the links in the chain.  The rope can be the personification of the one tying the knots.  The chain and leather can be the same for each person and therefore holds less of the identity of the one sculpting the ties.

I like bondage.  I like rope.  I think I shall always enjoy at least a bit of both.

Breakfast

When the toast is burned,

and the milk is turned,

and Cap’t Crunch is wavin’ farewell…

Newsboys  - Breakfast

Well, I won’t have to worry much about if milk is turned, or if Cap’t Crunch is wavin’ farewell.  I wouldn’t be too pleased to have burnt toast though.  All the same, I have two choices for breakfast each morning now.  Some of those days involve toast.  None of those days involve Cap’t Crunch or, since I’m one of those rare people who enjoy cereal without milk, milk.  My breakfasts now will involve a lot of eggs and fruit.  No more eggs going bad for me.

I’m really looking forward to it.  I’ve already enjoyed it.  This morning I was able to choose between oatmeal with fruit or pancakes with syrup.  I chose to have oatmeal with slices of banana in it.  I wasn’t in the mood to stand over a skillet to make a stack of pancakes.  Tomorrow I get to choose between cereal and buttered toast and mixed fruit.  I’ll decide tomorrow which I’d like.

Its not a very demanding menu that I’ve been given.  I still get to choose a bit.  I can choose which fruit or which cereal or which muffin I’d like to eat sometimes.  But then I also have Sunday to eat whatever I’d like for breakfast.  Perhaps even doughnuts at church.

I like that I’ll be eating fruit and eggs for breakfast.  I am in the habit of eating breakfast, so eating in the morning won’t be a problem at all.  I’ve normally been grabbing cereal, granola bars, oatmeal.. whatever is quick and easy at the moment.  This is a bit more planned and therefore will be easier to eat a bit healthier in the mornings.  Fruit and protein will be good for me in the mornings too, not just as snacks (fruit) and lunch/dinner (protein).

Ideas and Chocolate

Las cosas claras y el chocolate espeso.*

Spanish proverb

I try to put my ideas into words.  I try to put my thoughts into words.  I feel like I fail every time.  I can’t ever put my exact thought into a word, at least not in any word I know.  I can never match the English words to the mess that is created in my head.  The thoughts themselves are rarely words.  Sometimes sounds or shapes or colors.  Sometimes the mix of the three.  I get words too, but the more complex the thought the less of an idea I get in words.

I suppose a lot of my thoughts are just feelings too.  Good feelings or bad feelings.  And these feelings are even harder to identify than words.  I know the difference between anger and sadness and joy.  Knowing what I’m feeling them and connecting them to the correct word is what’s difficult.

I’m working on making my ideas and thoughts clearer.  My ideas are easier to put into words.  They generally start as words.  Their consistency and brevity are often not quite as nice as I would have liked, but they tend to be clear.

When words fail and the sky falls, there is chocolate.  Chocolate is always good.  Chocolate that melts in ones mouth is best.  I can always have chocolate.  Well, almost always.  If there isn’t chocolate, I can always go to the store and get some.

*Ideas should be clear and chocolate thick.

Gender Roles

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails

And puppy dog tails.

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice

And everything nice.

What Are Little Boys Made Of?

Gender roles have always confused me.  Well, confused may not be quite the word.  Why must we have a separate code of standards for girls and boys?  Why are girls expected to like pink and purple, and boys expected to like blue and green?  Why are girls expected to play with dolls and boys with trains?  Why can’t girls like green and boys play with dolls?

I have never been so irritated as when a parent dropped off her son and promptly told him to put down the baby doll another child had handed him because it was a girl’s toy and he was a boy.  Are we really still in a day and age where we have to identify what a person may or may not do based on a gender?

I was able to console the girl who had shared very well, something we encourage, and tell her that the boy just didn’t want to play dolls with her at the moment.  I suggested that another girl who also had a doll in her hand may want to play with her.  I later saw the little boy wandering towards the play kitchen we have.  It is sad that this boy’s interests will likely be smothered and replaced by things his mother finds suitable for boys.

I can’t say that as adults we’re any better.  Women generally make less money in the same job position.  Women are still thought of as needing help to lift anything remotely heavy.  Women are thought of as useless in a “manly” task such as anything with computers or automobiles.  And yet we claim that women have the same freedoms that men have?  What makes this any different than not allowing a little boy to play with a doll?

Will we ever have equality?  Will men ever admit publically that women can be better than them at something that doesn’t involve cooking, cleaning, or child care?  Will we ever come to a day where girls can play with trains and boys can play with dolls and no one, not one single person, will judge either party?

Rules

No man is above the law and no man is below it; nor do we ask any man's permission when we ask him to obey it. Obedience to the law is demanded as a right; not asked as a favor.
Theodore Roosevelt

I like rules.  I always have liked rules.  I like that they bring order to things.  I like that they’re a clear example of what is expected of me.  I’ve always enjoyed knowing that others around me will follow the rules.  Until they don’t.

Rules of the road are rather clear.  Everyone in the country must pass a state test over these rules before they are given a drivers license.  A few examples of such rules are drive on the road, stop at a red light, and don’t drink while driving.  Unfortunately, not every person believes that these rules apply to them.  Hence, until they don’t.

Driving to work tonight, the same car almost made me wreck three separate times.  For this, I am baffled.  I am stopped at a red light, and a car drives around me, off the road, to pull ahead of me.  The driver motions to the left with his thumb out the window, pointing either at me, or at the direction he (and I) plan to turn.  To which he is indicating, I’m not completely sure.  I am pulled to the left side of the lane to give a car room to turn right at the intersection, as it is allowed for a car to turn right on a red light.  This is where I first thought the truck was going.

While he pulled back onto the road, I had to reverse my car in order to keep him from hitting my front right side.

When the light turned green, he pulled ahead and I pulled around him because he was going below the speed limit and I wanted to go faster.  He didn’t appreciate this.

While driving on the road, he swerved around me and cut back to pass me; I had to slam on the breaks in order to keep him from hitting my front left side.

He apparently really didn’t appreciate that I passed him.

After he pulled in front of me, he proceeded to slam on breaks and come to an almost complete stop in front of me.  I slammed on the breaks and veered into a right turn lane to avoid rear-ending the truck, to take a different route to work, and to avoid further conflict with this truck.

As I pulled past him in the turning lane, I glanced out my window to get a look at this driver.  In one hand he held a cigarette and a beer bottle, opened.  In the other, he held a cell phone to his ear.  I do not know which hand was holding the wheel, only that he also had two passengers, one in the front passenger seat and one unbuckled in the back seat.

I like rules.  I like it when I follow rules.  I like it when others around me follow the rules.  Until they don’t.  I do not appreciate it when I am forced, three times, to avoid a wreck in my car by the same person’s stupidity and irresponsibility.  I would have loved to call local law enforcement to have these rules enforced, however by the time local law enforcement would have arrived, the truck would have been long gone.