Sketchbook Page(NSFW) & Blood Brass Knuckles

Warning: corporate enviornment is not safe for creativity. Don’t look unless you think middle management might like to jack off to this drawing:


(Middle Management is only jacking off to the words “luxury condo” and “product”.)

Anyway, I want blog this next thing out, TRIGGER WARNING for self-injury, rape, and The Media/public perception.

I was in Ray’s before I met up with Eric yesterday and they’re always selling a stack of Daily News on the counter. They were talking about the “Cannibal Cop” who was arrested a while back (at the time only the Spanish newspapers and stations really treated it as a major story, the English ones were all about the killer nanny, I think. I don’t know how this stuff gets decided.) The Cannibal Cop was caught plotting to abduct, rape and eat his wife and her friends. Discussing logistics with co-conspirators, posting the potential victims names, photos, personal information, etc. But they’re trying to insist this is just a fantasy sex thing and there was this ugly ill-informed meathead looking journalist writing how this was TOTALLY NOT A PROBLEM because it’s just a sex thing and it was in his vanilla little brain no different from 50 Shades Of Yuppie or whatever except that even as stupid and pathetic as that is it’s A)fiction and B)both characters know the score, right? Doesn’t the Wall Street Shithead (I’m too lazy to look up the character’s name. I think it’s  “Crystal Ball”.) confess his yawn “deep dark secret” in the first book? Also Justine? Not a real person. “O”? Not a real person. Severin? Not a real person. Everything Maruo’s ever drawn? Buncha cartoon characters. All the people in the real life fetish world? Real people, but so are the people they’re acting this shit out with who are IN ON IT. Unlike the wife and her friends in this situation, which was clearly a kidnapping plot. Subs and not frightened by their partners, subs have a hand in orchestrating play scenarios and can issue safewords if they feel out of line. People who are frightened of their partners are likely experiencing ABUSE not KINK. (And by the way,fantasizing about eating or being eaten by someone is vore not bdsm, you incompetent, non-researching worthless journalists.) It bugs me that sex positivism, which I’m very in favor of, has been misinterpreted and mangled by some people to mean you can behave in any bullying or abusive way so long as you claim it’s a “kink”, yet somehow people who have experienced REAL violence, can get triggered, etc. have to accept anything–they’re not allowed boundaries, they’re shamed for feeling unsafe, they’re re-victimized on a milder level. When did sex-positivism lose the stuff about boundaries and personal pleasure? When did domestic violence, to the point where people are conspiring to take out a whole circle of women, just become “kink”?

Eric used to work at The Vault and has developed a nose for distinguishing between players, posers…and predators. He says he can’t think of anyone then who wouldn’t have found this sort of thing creepy as fuck, the way it involves these real women without their knowledge–let alone consent. He says it wouldn’t have flown, we know other bdsm players in the present day who are calling bullshit on this as much as I am right now. I don’t to my knowledge know any vorephiliacs, but I hope they’re also seeing through this and calling it for what it is, just the same. Eric was able to calm me down, ironically, not by trying to minimize this or tell me it’s not so bad or otherwise trying to get me to stop, but by being as pissed off and disgusted by it as I was, but also being strong and reassuring and by my side. By getting communication with the others who agreed. Eventually I relaxed enough to eat lunch and go to an exhibit of Allen Ginsberg’s photography before coming home and falling asleep for 24 hours.

Before I saw him though, I managed to become completely paranoid of this stupid culture again, buy razors at a 99 cent store, and work on my arm up under my jacket sleeve. I found a semi-secluded area near a dumpster behind some scaffolding, there was an SUV parked there too to obstruct the view of anyone walking across the street. I had that tingling sense around my arm where some fool in a baby blue parka comes into the scaffold with a “hey baby what ya doin’?” I REALLY didn’t like him coming in and blocking the front of the scaffold but when I took the razor out from my sleeve he left me alone. Now I’ve got this bloom of blood on my shirt and I have to remember how to get it out…Seltzer? Baking soda? But I’m kind of amused that it’s taken the shape of a fist with brass knuckles. But it does need to get cleaned.



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