Piano

Once my father yelled at me: : "Ayeshaaa, stop harassing that piano". I must have been 5 or 6 years old at that time, but i remember his anger and despair vividly. The poor man couldn't help himself, as he wasn't adjusted yet, to a daughter who clearly tried to find her own way in the rather rigid and dogmatic world of classical music. Same story in school, in church or the synagogue, during ballet lessons, well anyplace were people wanted me to comply with their rules and regulations. I hated all that, rebelled against it, and resisted it to exhaustion.

I love to play the piano and can spend hours caressing, fighting, and seducing a Steinway or Baldwin, to get out of them what i want. I manipulate, vary, reorganize, and violate the work of famous composers, taking possession of their souls, and bring them to life again. I'm still here, but via the piano, i communicate with them in the afterlife, taking their work to a higher level, into a different dimension, making it better. More or less what i occasionally do with Nanshakh's drawings, of which there's an example on top of this blog. His original was in black and white.

What i want, is to unite with the piano and the composer, in one orgiastic threesome. Same story when on horseback, having a sexual encounter, dressing up in leather, or having a meal. I want to unite, physically and mentally, with whoever or whatever i'm involved with. The degree to which this actually happens varies of cors, depending heavily on the mood i'm in. But my passion for it, is always there. U should see me eating a strawberry, lol.

In fact, i'm not playing the piano, i'm dominating the thing.

As the years passed, i became a mother myself. My daughter is a grown up now, living her own life, and is as crazy about the piano as i am. In contrast to my own youth, i kept piano teachers far from her. All i did was encouraging her to touch it, to enjoy the music she got out of it, and to enslave it. When she's visiting me, we test each other: Who's the best at the piano. It's almost a ritual. We dress for the occasion, as if it were a public recital. We love to wear contrasting colors. If i would be in black velvet, silver jewelry, and red heels, her choice could be, off white leather, black pearls, and matching boots. Add to this a room with only candlelight, et voilà, the perfect setting to collide. We compete vigorously, each time convinced that in the end, there only can be one. How wrong we r, cos in the end the 2 of us unite too, in one passionate 4-hand, communicating on a different level, and wiping away any distance between us, or whatever is left from our silly competition. It's very intense, and strengthening the bond between us over and over again. It's a very sweaty affair too, and we desperately need to shower when our musical hurricane came to a rest.

There must be positive chemistry between me and a composer. Like i have with Chopin. Otherwise i refuse to play his/her music. This not only depends on the music itself. For instance, there was a time i adored Franz Liszt, till i learned about his anti-semitism. I loved to play him, as most of his works were challenging to me, asking from me all that i got. It hurt to let him go. Very much so. For me there's no middle road tho. I'll never play him again, although his hate for the Jews was by far not as virulent as Wagner's, who on top of that hated women, or rather, was afraid of them, as is displayed in all his works, were women (mostly) die a fatal death. Same story when it comes to art, and especially poetry. Once i find out an artist's personality is contaminated with xenophobia, fascism, or related filth, it's over.

I selected 3 videos of women who i believe possess the passion i was talking about. Do not only listen to the music, but observe their body language as well.

Ohoh..........here's a fourth one.



Et une autre.........tralalalala.




Y mas

En verdomd astnie waar is....hier ister nog eentje, hehehe

Look at me slave

Look at me slave
When i spit into ur mouth
To trigger ur lust

Look at me slave
When the hood goes on
And the smell of rubber
Takes possession of ur ego

Look at me slave
When i’m uncoiling my whip
Anticipating ur blood

Look at me slave
When skyscraper heels
Approach ur aching body
To open ur flesh

Look at me slave
When my leather stained temple
Mutes ur voice

Look at me slave
When razor edged nails
Dig deep into the wounds
I inflicted upon u

Look at me slave
When the iron sinks in
Branding u with my name

Look at me slave
When i dance
In front of u
Touching myself

Look at me slave
When in ecstasy
U make love to my boots

Look at me slave
When ur manhood is forced
To rise and stand tall
Only to collapse in agony

Look at me slave
When i abandon u
To enslave a woman instead

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Yearn for me slave
When alone in ur cell
Bound in strict leather
Chained to the floor
Awaiting the hour
That never will come

I'm Medicine for..........

Above u find yet another picture from the masterful hand of Nanshakh. This time in its unedited form. Consider it a tribute to this giant among the giants. It was drawn by him a couple of years ago, and meant to grasp my physical appearance and personality. These days one can encounter this fabulous illustration on many sites around the Net, often stolen, but also decorating the site of a pro who caught his heart and to whom he is supposedly a slave now. Well, so to speak eh, cos i don't think he's participating in the flock of human dogs she's entertaining.

Ø men who believe they r masters
Ø women who eat too much
Ø people who r constantly telling others “I love you”
Ø jokers full of wit
Ø nazis in drag
Ø pimps who r beating their whores
Ø d/s aficionados lacking a d or a s
Ø housewives chatting in a gym
Ø smokers resisting lung cancer
Ø poets writing clichés
Ø slaves who behave like subs
Ø generals away from the frontlines
Ø women who want to emancipate
Ø CEO’s who think it’s them running the company
Ø mistresses with virtual slaves
Ø politicians cheating on honest agendas
Ø she-males who refuse to be sexy
Ø scumbags with no balls
Ø rubber lovers neglecting their rubber
Ø males claiming to be lesbian
Ø parents exploiting their children
Ø women who r bowing to men
Ø cowards trying to escape from the whip
Ø masters who believe they r men

Ø and………..
Ø the rest of the congregation still waiting in the waiting room

Told u………i’m a regular Florence Nightingale, the Lady with the Lamp, Ruthless Rubber Nurse, enhancing ur discomfort and pain.

Top Ten Questions of Life

As u can see, again the drawing above is from Nanshakh. It represents his original, painted at the time we were in constant contact. Nowadays he's more occupied with a new flame, who seems to answer more to his fantasies and deep rooted desire to become an absolute nobody ruled by a woman driven by the idea of what mainstreamers call "female supremacy". A detail of it has a permanent place on the right side of my blog, as i consider this drawing one of his best. As i did with many of his illustrations, i tempered with the coloring to create a somewhat different atmosphere. In most cases he appreciated my interventions.

Q#00 Why do so many males want to be a slut?
Answer: That way they can safely degrade women even more.

Q#01 Why do male creatures adore silly bimbos and giggling sluts?
Answer: When around elegant women with an attitude, their ego and libido shrink.

Q#02 Why do mainstream femdoms want their subs to act like dogs?
Answer: They r incapable of enslaving humans and handling slaves.

Q#03 Why would u want to show ur cock in ur profile?
Answer: Watching the photo-shopped version of ur little man, makes it grow.

Q#04 Why is hypnotizing, or being hypnotized so wonderful?
Answer: It nullifies in both parties any awareness of being weak.

Q#05 Why r most people so quiet when visiting blogs and social networks?
Answer: They’re stuck with too many contradicting emotions, when on the same page with me.

Q#06 Why r there a zillion more males wanting to be a woman, than females wanting to be a man?
Answer: I can’t afford to reveal this, as all males would be in drag in no time.

Q#07 Why is there a disproportional amount of lesbians online?
Answer: It’s the only way extremely heterosexual machos dare to approach women.

Q#08 Why do so many males keep insisting they’re dominant?
Answer: They confuse messing the place up, with having power.

Q#09 Why do so many females constantly tell other females, they’re in love with them?
Answer: Cos they hate them.

Q#10 Why r most women potentially smarter than males, but actually more stupid?
Answer: They can make any male crawl and do their bidding, but choose to crawl themselves.

Any questions?

Unrest

Too long i was at rest
Too long asleep
A restless sleep
A restless rest
A slumber lulled by
A fantasy of peace

There is no peace
But there is war
A war i was so eager to forget
A war at land
A war in the city
A war in the street

I hate this peace
That is not peace at all
A peace so rotten
A peace so soothing
A peace so foul
A peace so comforting

I want to kill once more
To destroy this peace
A conflict i desire
A gun in my hand
A warrior at me side
A coward slain

I hate this peace
This peace of indifference
A planet under siege
A man pimped out
A woman castrated
A child abandoned

I want to kill once more
To erase this peace
A graveyard i desire
A slaughterhouse i crave
A battlefield in blood
A culture collapsing

I hate this peace
This peace of compromise
A farce
A lie
A decomposing dove
A golden calf

I want to kill once more
To crush this peace
To face this torture
To take revenge
To eradicate my error and shame
To lessen my rage

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I walked in my garden last night
Heavy rain clouds were hunting a full moon
White clouds they were
Colliding with extreme force
Uniting without battle in harmony
Teaching me how to free my unrest

The Gardener

Bang! There he was. Big truck. Big trailer. Lots of garden tools, electrical ones as well as those working on gas. Plenty of fertilizer and insecticides. The man himself was big too, with a big smile, and very self-confident. A man of the garden world so to speak. I was informed, he had attended garden school, and graduated summa cum laude as the best of his class. Indeed he was a class apart. His references were impressive. He had worked for the crème de la crème of society, was celebrated by the jet set, and had gathered several trophies during garden contests. He was a gardener all right, if not THE gardener. Not that he did a lot of gardening himself nowadays. For that he had his workers, while he restricted his actions to managing his staff. He watched them like a hawk in heat, not missing anything they were doing, correcting , guiding, and disciplining them, if they dared to deviate from the rules, his rules.

His gardens looked beautiful. His trees blossomed when blossom-time was there. His flowers bloomed, and his lawns were greener than green itself. And no weeds whatsoever! There was order in his gardens. He hated chaos. All that had the capability to grow, had to grow in line. His line. His law. In his gardens, no bugs allowed, no roaches, no spiders, no snakes, no ants, no nothing. He called these creatures, pests, and everybody knows that pests r the pest, and need to be eradicated, erased, and killed. So he sprayed, and sprayed, and sprayed some more. Clean beautiful gardens, that’s what he was after, that’s what gardening was all about. He was the master of it all.

His scrubs were trimmed. His trees were trimmed as well. And not just like that. Oh no! No way! He trimmed a certain shape out of them. I saw one in the shape of a bird. This was not too bad, as he allowed not so many birds in his gardens. Too much bird-shit u know. Can’t have that. Besides, when there is an overload of birds around, imagine the noise they would make during sunrise and sunset. Can’t have that either. It rumored he killed any stray cat on sight, hanging them by the neck from tree branches he would cut off later. Especially male cats were his victims, as they would piss everywhere if allowed to cruise his gardens. Not that he would spare the female ones as they too had that nasty habit of digging holes in his ground. The only ones who were allowed to dig holes were of cors his subordinates, and only when told so. Rabbits, rats, dogs, moles, and mice? Come on, have a heart. Not in his gardens. Preferably he worked for the elderly, as mostly they had no small kids running around anymore. Just picture it: Toddlers playing on his lawns, damaging his grass. Blasphemy!

He had a contract with a large nursery for instant delivery, as many of his plants died after a short while, and needed to be replaced regularly to keep his gardens beautiful.

And then there was this other guy. He would never import flowers and trees that weren’t native to his gardens. He saved rainwater in special containers, masoned according to old customs. The connected drip irrigation was used as needed, and not simply time released. He observed the phases of the moon, and only trimmed plants within a timeframe of five days b4 or after a full moon, depending on how fast he wanted them to grow. He loved animals, and never called them pests. He knew the value of for instance a lady-bird, when it comes to balance the presence of plant-lice. Spraying pesticides was alien to him. He loved the sight of a spider sitting there, waiting for the fly. He enjoyed the movements of the heron standing on one leg in the pond. He loved to see a cat licking the dewdrops off the grass in the early morning light. He studied the skies and behavior of animals, so he would know when rain would fall, and if a breeze would turn into a storm. He never raked leaves from under a tree to clean up the place. He made his borders high enough, so all that came off of his plants could decompose the natural way, giving life again to the living ones. When he touched the soil, the soil touched him back.

In his gardens many birds sang, and left a lot of shit behind as well, just like it occurs in places where no human hand is disturbing the course of events. When he worked in his gardens, or was strolling them at the end of the day, no animals where running away from him, as he was part of their environment, using his skills to empower nature, instead of dominating and crippling it.

His gardens were not only beautiful. They were alive!

Dada........Promise and Failure

Of cors the superb drawing above is from Nanshakh. As usual i had to temper a bit with the coloring :)

No, i’m not referring to that creep from Uganda, who killed close to 500,000 people, but to an art/cultural movement at the beginning of the twentieth century. Zürich was their city. The place they gathered was called Cabaret Voltaire. Dada developed anti-art, as a way to express its disgust with society in general, and contemporary art in particular, accusing the latter of collaborating with the bourgeois elite, contributing to war, and supporting other cancerous phenomena, by embracing traditional norms and values, instead of revolutionizing them. It’s an art form i feel related to, as i’m in favor of contrast, anarchy, uncommon sense, chaos, irrationality, and constant criticism of the establishment, by putting and keeping same under tremendous pressure, in order to at least embank its insatiable hunger for restricting people’s freedom by developing and implementing zillions of rules, laws, and other systems of repression.

I guess Dadaïsts, in a way, felt related to the work of Voltaire, his satire, and daring opposition to the powerful French institutions of his time, as well as religion. One could argue, that Voltaire was a revolutionary, operating under extreme difficult circumstances, and a champion of freedom and social reform. And yet, he’s also an example of how deep rooted Anti-Semitism is, as he hated the Jews, and considered them barbaric and inferior. The same counts for other giants in art and literature, i.e. Blake, Liszt, and many others.

Dada in its purest from didn’t last long. The movement split up after a while, giving birth to several new branches. From the Paris chapter came Surrealism, which is another art form i’m holding close to my heart.

It’s sad that movements like Dada die, never get accepted by the masses, and never r understood. On the contrary, they r seen as insane, counter productive, and a danger to society. A society which is killing its roots, and destroying the foundation on which it originally was built, by eradicating individual creativity, independence, freedom, power, desire, potential, deviance from the norm, and initiative. It’s an illusion to believe these traits r encouraged by our social, political, and educational systems. Sure, the ‘elite’ of our society wants us to believe they r advocating development and growth of these traits, by telling us how important they r for a sane and just world. But they don't mean it. Bunch of greedy liars, that's what they r, condoned and supported by indifferent, and equally greedy morons.

Aaaahhhhh……….but there’s Neo-Dadaïsm, and even Neo-Neo-Dadaïsm. Such a relief. But i’ll stick to FFD. Much more realistic, and not dependent on the ‘one man one vote’ hysteria. Voltaire was right when he postulated, that democracy was inferior to enlightened despotism. Together with that other notorious one, Donatien de Sade, he might have been a good slave to a Jewish Gypsy woman after all, although she would never have accepted him to her inner circle.

Then Nanshakh wrote:

For all his wit, brightness, shortcomings, and insufferable traits, Voltaire is also somewhat a disappointing character, at least under the daring revolutionary angle. And mind you, I really like Voltaire. But he was not much consistent with his purported opposition to the establishment. After all, while criticising the "ancien regime" (which was the current regime at the time) his first and foremost ambition was to be admitted at the court at Versailles. Where he eventually and reluctantly managed to be accepted, but not for long... One evening, to try to stop his mistress from losing heavily at the game at the queen's table, he eventually whispered to her that the queen was cheating (which everybody knew except his mistress), and so she had better stop playing before losing too much. He whispered it in English, but someone understood English at the table, so they had to run, but run, run very fast to escape. To run and go into hiding. Again. By the way, after that most colossal of all blunders, he went into hiding in Madame's castle, Madame being the King's sister. That residence was reputed to have the most beautiful lambris (wainscotings?) of France. So it's in those most extreme and difficult circumstances that the champion of social reform operated one of his routine retreats, enjoying the very refined conversation of his extremely cultured hostess, and her exquisite table!So much so for the daring opposition of that revolutionary to the French institutions of the time... Voltaire operated most of his opposition under such adverse circumstances, amassing a little fortune in doing so, and enjoying the company of the most illustrious monarchs and aristocrats of the time. Even the first time he was jailed at the Bastille, the governor of the Bastille complained to the Regent after some time that Voltaire's cell had become the most fashionable salon of Paris. Well, maybe in that sense he was exceptional for a revolutionary, he was consumed by ambition and social recognition, but at least, he was really very intelligent and amusing.

All this as a manner of introduction to express my doubts as to the sincerity of the Dadaists. First the need to make one's art within a movement is in itself so conformist from the start. As if one's work could only be valued in relation to what preceded, surrounded and followed it. In fact the need to created a movement, with the inevitable manifesto in most cases, is so boring. And then, they, the dadaists, and then all the neos that followed, and the surrealists and all the others, were about as anti-bourgeois as Voltaire was. Without the wit usually. After all, they were the artistic establishment of the time, and yes, they did sell very well. Ok, they were considered decadent and abhorred by the Nazis and other fascists of the time, but those were really not the reference in art circles then eh! In fact, for art amateurs -and rich collectors- of the time, it was a reference to be abhorred by the reactionary clique. It was not the art condoned by the Francos, Hitlers and Mussolinis that was selling well in the 'right' galleries in Paris, and that art dealers crossed the Atlantic to buy.

So.. all that to say, you are so right, Ayesha. FFD is something to stick by. And to live by for those who can. What else? Only... as long as it won't be a movement I suppose.

Ah, those tribes, how I hate them.

As your post makes me reflect on it, the beauty of femdom, or feminine domination, is that it is intrinsically individual. In fact it's in essence about The one and sole individuality. Hers.

If that can be the definition of enlightened despotism, great, but only on a very personal level then.

And i:

FFD a movement? That'll be the day. Or better not! Like u, i'm totally against any institutionalizing of femdom. Remember the Femdom Heresy group, owned by Sarah, and her views on the matter? She’s one of those, who would like to change the world, by implementing female rules, laws, values, and other vanilla inherited ingredients, defining femdom as some sort of social movement. Still she linked her group to heresy, in an attempt to show her audience how different her ideas were from mainstream femdom. Another one is Rasa von Werder lol, and many others who want to re-educate people according to insights which r only rooted in the teachings of archetypal patriarchs.

And that’s the sadness of the majority of so called revolutionists i have knowledge of. They all need support from others, preferable from large groups of people. Only a few realize that revolution incorporates the complete break with the status quo, and more importantly, taking care not to crawl back when the storm comes to a rest. All the rest is just compromising.

U r quite right, correcting me in regard to Voltaire and the members of Dada. They too couldn’t live according to their ideas and values without the support of others, without conforming to norms they despised, or giving up the search for status, recognition, and security. I can understand it’s necessary to mobilize the masses, in order to bring change to a rotten society as a whole. But only as a strategy. Art should never be based on strategy tho. Neither should femdom! But i’m lenient, feeling empathy for people, who want to resist, whose souls r crying out for change, but r too scared to stand alone, and to go all the way in disconnecting from a world they don’t want to belong to anymore. I can understand their need for comfort via the company of others, for them to control those overwhelming feelings of fear, uncertainty, and doubt, which come with their travels to the ‘promised land’. It’s one of the reasons i’m not totally against recreational femdom.

Enlightened despotism? Let me rephrase that. It’s simply my despotism.

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Watch the video! It’s really something! Unite with it. Well, try at least.