To know Power and Pyramids...
Piramide
It’s an art, you know.
Power is so not resting up there on top of the pyramid, as the head of hierarchy, no.
No.
Ultimate power lies beneath - and even beneath beneath - inside the very foundation of a structure; deep within its intricate pattern of intention - which basically is sort of the only settlement of true honor one has the choice to embrace, or even should want.
Power is to firmly acknowledge a gift - humble and solid as the impenetrable marble pillar which everything rests upon, yeah…
The art is to segment the knowledge, filter it and make it new; conquer joy and truth and invent a million nuances of beauty.
Without that silent strength; the last brick would crumble and fall, like a domino, like a joke - loose itself in the fall, in the silence - not knowing where to land and be foreverfucking lost.
So so lost it aches afterwards, in all the wrong places.
That’s just the fucking rules of the universe, ok.
It’s perhaps easy to forget, since the top up there looks like the crown of a shiny cake, which is one way to see it, sure -like; the last added piece of perfection and therefore its master, huh…
However; what would that cake be like without sustenance and substance?
I say: It would be nothing it did not intended to be.
I say: Mastery is indeed rooted in the layers that uphold that crowning.
So, if that cake is nothing without its ingredients...assume I talk about fucking, because everyone knows what that is. And even if they don’t - they surely know to what I refer, yeah…?
I claim that the art lies not in the fucking; since fucking isn’t an art in itself - it’s just pure instinct and no manners. The art lies in knowing how to support the movements and motions, to read the flickers of emotion, to withhold the infinity of the assembled act and reveal glimpses of the whole in conceptual textures along the way.
Basically; brick by brick - take it apart and put it together - and to dance with imagination in the process.
Those things reside in a sacred place where not everyone dares to go; it takes courage to open the door, to unlock the mystery. It’s a place full of frights and doubts and lingering nuances leading almost nowhere… and yet - despite it, in honor of its echo - someone - the one - maybe You - must pursue it; make it exist - to make real. Turn it into flesh and blood; touchable.
Inside the construction - inside the voluptuous tide of conquering the combined threshold; the art, the fear… - the true undeniable essence awaits - with open arms, once the dare is truly on.
Yes.
In reward, is the absolute control of the senses; organic transparency and the full seismic knowledge in how to abandon… all - to be a liquid river that floats and forms and to be a summer’s eve full of wanton need…
The reward isn’t the reward - it’s ever - only, the journey.
So, in the end; the one who fucks, is in truth getting fucked...
Reallyz.
OK.
Cuz...
I guess that’s my take on powerbottoms. In case anyone should ask.
*znerk*
hmm… srously -------> now I got this inner sentimental memoryflash… because there’s this place in Rome -*Piramide* - which I passed by on daily basis for 2 years - back then the whole thingie acted seemingly totally insignificant, except for rendezvous meet-up with lost friends…
Anyway, it was this cute little - unmistakenly Roman!Vain- mini!pyramid (ok, totally fallos damnit)…and it didn’t mattered much to me at all, 9 times out of 10, until the day when I danced around it like there was ever a tomorrow back in 2000 World Pride… Oh god. NOSTALGYYYYY because I remember myself so…exaggeratedly happy and FREE and… there was gorgeous sailor!Brian and randomly donated kisses and squeeeweeeiiii (…and my boyfriend at the time who acted like it was a big mistake going there at all.) Well.
Heh.
Piramide. I sincerely feel like I owe you something, ok.
I don’t know exactly what it is… but definitely something precious. The foundation of my public coming-out-queer little heart maybe? Like the piece that screams BABTISM to the public. My inner queerness embracing itself - I have no idea. That day, those moments just rests within me now, along with all the other coming-out-processes I’ve put myself through.
From there to connecting it to the queer art of… um.. Powerbottoming. Don’t ask. I was born with a very vivid imagination, but HEY I sense a connection and that is what counts in the field of slash.
Piramide. That’s all I’m sayin’.
*HUGS*
It’s an art, you know.
Power is so not resting up there on top of the pyramid, as the head of hierarchy, no.
No.
Ultimate power lies beneath - and even beneath beneath - inside the very foundation of a structure; deep within its intricate pattern of intention - which basically is sort of the only settlement of true honor one has the choice to embrace, or even should want.
Power is to firmly acknowledge a gift - humble and solid as the impenetrable marble pillar which everything rests upon, yeah…
The art is to segment the knowledge, filter it and make it new; conquer joy and truth and invent a million nuances of beauty.
Without that silent strength; the last brick would crumble and fall, like a domino, like a joke - loose itself in the fall, in the silence - not knowing where to land and be foreverfucking lost.
So so lost it aches afterwards, in all the wrong places.
That’s just the fucking rules of the universe, ok.
It’s perhaps easy to forget, since the top up there looks like the crown of a shiny cake, which is one way to see it, sure -like; the last added piece of perfection and therefore its master, huh…
However; what would that cake be like without sustenance and substance?
I say: It would be nothing it did not intended to be.
I say: Mastery is indeed rooted in the layers that uphold that crowning.
So, if that cake is nothing without its ingredients...assume I talk about fucking, because everyone knows what that is. And even if they don’t - they surely know to what I refer, yeah…?
I claim that the art lies not in the fucking; since fucking isn’t an art in itself - it’s just pure instinct and no manners. The art lies in knowing how to support the movements and motions, to read the flickers of emotion, to withhold the infinity of the assembled act and reveal glimpses of the whole in conceptual textures along the way.
Basically; brick by brick - take it apart and put it together - and to dance with imagination in the process.
Those things reside in a sacred place where not everyone dares to go; it takes courage to open the door, to unlock the mystery. It’s a place full of frights and doubts and lingering nuances leading almost nowhere… and yet - despite it, in honor of its echo - someone - the one - maybe You - must pursue it; make it exist - to make real. Turn it into flesh and blood; touchable.
Inside the construction - inside the voluptuous tide of conquering the combined threshold; the art, the fear… - the true undeniable essence awaits - with open arms, once the dare is truly on.
Yes.
In reward, is the absolute control of the senses; organic transparency and the full seismic knowledge in how to abandon… all - to be a liquid river that floats and forms and to be a summer’s eve full of wanton need…
The reward isn’t the reward - it’s ever - only, the journey.
So, in the end; the one who fucks, is in truth getting fucked...
Reallyz.
OK.
Cuz...
I guess that’s my take on powerbottoms. In case anyone should ask.
*znerk*
hmm… srously -------> now I got this inner sentimental memoryflash… because there’s this place in Rome -*Piramide* - which I passed by on daily basis for 2 years - back then the whole thingie acted seemingly totally insignificant, except for rendezvous meet-up with lost friends…
Anyway, it was this cute little - unmistakenly Roman!Vain- mini!pyramid (ok, totally fallos damnit)…and it didn’t mattered much to me at all, 9 times out of 10, until the day when I danced around it like there was ever a tomorrow back in 2000 World Pride… Oh god. NOSTALGYYYYY because I remember myself so…exaggeratedly happy and FREE and… there was gorgeous sailor!Brian and randomly donated kisses and squeeeweeeiiii (…and my boyfriend at the time who acted like it was a big mistake going there at all.) Well.
Heh.
Piramide. I sincerely feel like I owe you something, ok.
I don’t know exactly what it is… but definitely something precious. The foundation of my public coming-out-queer little heart maybe? Like the piece that screams BABTISM to the public. My inner queerness embracing itself - I have no idea. That day, those moments just rests within me now, along with all the other coming-out-processes I’ve put myself through.
From there to connecting it to the queer art of… um.. Powerbottoming. Don’t ask. I was born with a very vivid imagination, but HEY I sense a connection and that is what counts in the field of slash.
Piramide. That’s all I’m sayin’.
*HUGS*