Outside the norm

Today is that superbowl-type day. I don't follow football at all. It's never interested me. I've never been to a superbowl party *, have never thrown one. Don't ever intend to.

I went to the grocery store to pick up some cat food, dish soap, and stuff for my son's lunches this week. The store wasn't very busy. The guy in front of me in line was too anxious to get going when the checker had to do a price check for the person in front of this guy. So he grabbed his stuff and walked quickly to another checkout. Just then the price was found. It would have been another 30 seconds for him to wait.

The world seems quiet. Not too many cars on the road. Even Facebook is quiet. My husband got home from a business trip this afternoon, but he's finishing up a book he's been reading. So I'm doing my daily post. Not quite knowing what to talk about.

I usually feel like an outsider. I pretty much have all my life. The quiet one. Sits in the back of the room. Wallflower. "Shy" could have been the word for my teenage years.

Now I'm in my fifties. And as time goes by, I realize that I'm not at all "normal," at least not according to what I've learned about society-in-general. I'm interested in stuff that I don't really have anyone to discuss it with on a regular basis. I want things that aren't on the approved list.

Sometimes it feels good, "empowering" even, to think of myself as inhabiting outside the box. But sometimes, often even, it's lonely.

And I don't know what to do with that. I have no power to change anyone, other than myself. But what if I don't want to change? What does that mean for my life going forward?

Don't know.

*Correction: My husband informs me that I did attend a Super Bowl party - about 20 years ago.  I only vaguely remember it - I did not watch any football.

Waiting for thoughts to form

Waiting by Randy Lagana

Today I posted a "Naughty Librarian" post over at We Who Are About To Die. A couple of the links there are to stuff that I just like; a post from Gina Marie and the Sex+Design site I linked to from here yesterday, as well as a couple of other links that I'll talk more about in a few days.

I also linked to a post by Alana Noel Voth that made me think. She mentioned Emerald's blog, and how she admired Em and "what a responsibility it is...to vocalize your opinions regarding sexuality in the face of a culture like ours: a mixed bag of prudes and perverts."

And I want to say something about that, but the thoughts aren't fully formed.

Despite blogging here for a couple of years as "Erobintica,"
despite becoming somewhat "known" for my erotic poetry (SEAF and doing my first out-of-state reading, which is on video and I hope to post it here soon),
despite baring my soul (and more) at F-Stop: The Naked I,
despite being the "Naughty Librarian" and getting noticed for that,
despite getting no negative feedback on my "erotica" activities from people I know (the closest has been some "surprise" from a few folks),
despite all that,

I'm still scared shitless to really speak my mind.

Why? I'm not quite sure. But I know that despite all the fear, I am going to speak. When the thoughts form.

Some wood, some links, some thoughts

Some wood.
Here are the haiku I came up with to go with the pictures I posted yesterday. From top to bottom (always good, hehehe):

eye to peckered hole
what lies beneath the tough skin
hint of dark bud there


moist as my cool skin
fleshy cream crenulations
gather on the wood


bulbous gathering
at base of the woody shaft
always erotic


this tree spirit rests
waits for sap to rise again
hope springs eternal


That was kind of cool. Reminded me of last year when I wrote a poem a day and posted them here.


Some links.
Today I read something that warmed my socked-in-by-snow-and-below-zero-temps soul. Gina Marie, who always has the most luscious photos at her Aphrodite's Table blog, had said that I inspire her. This is apparently the result. ha! I just typed reslut by mistake. 


I just stumbled upon this fascinating online magazine today. Sex + Design. According to their "About" page,

To us, the word “Sex” represents the debaucherous, messy, fun and impulsive side of life while “Design” stands for purpose, articulation, sophistication and beauty.

Awhile back, Jo sent a link to this Tumblr blog: Voluptua. I visit it every now and then. It's really quite exquisite.

Voluptuous woman, reclaiming the beauty in curves and softness. Many of the images here will feature nudity. Just so you know...

Some thoughts.
Something is happening right now. In my life. I feel like I'm traveling a road and there's all these road signs pointing the way I need to go. Things that I'd put off doing, and thought were lost causes, have come back around, and I'm excited. New opportunites.

I've found I can sink to the bottom, but will always float back to the surface, able to breathe. I can be tired, knowing I'll be able to rest. I will cry, but the tears will dry, and salt is good.

Use your dirty mind

Here's four pictures, nothing naughty about them. But between now and when I post again tomorrow, I'm going to try and come up with a naughty haiku for each. If you care to play along, please do.

Almost forgot

that I needed to do a blog post for today. Every day in February. That's my challenge to myself. But I have stuff on my mind, and I'm towards the end of the last of a trilogy - The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, and while I was resting my eyes, I remembered I needed to post something.

We're having an ice storm. Though it doesn't seem too bad, I imagine it's a mess out there. I'm tired of it. Winter that is. I feel chilled past my bones to my soul. I desperately need some warmth. So, since if I try to write anything here, it's likely to be morose, I'm going to post a little clip of my story "Wet As Spring." This was written almost twenty years ago. I may post it in full sometime soon.

*****

Here the ground was damp, the water table just below the surface. Her shoes sucked mud as she stepped into the clearing at the end. Sun-warmed insects filled the air. Long grass hid the soggy ground. She turned and followed what used to be a path to the stream, now overgrown. Brambles, grasses, and wild plants determined to take back the ground that only last summer had been torn and stripped by a bulldozer in search of marketable real estate. It was about impossible to actually get to the stream without risking thorns and snags. She opted to follow the bank a ways. She stepped gently, pushing aside a fern that was as tall as her waist. She came to a shaded bower formed by the entangled branches of a myrtle and a tanoak. In the shelter beneath the branches, clover clustered in the dapples of sun. She imagined deer bedding down here. She could hear the gushing of the stream, swollen with last week’s rain. She reached up and plucked a leaf from the myrtle and crushed it between her fingers to release the sharp, pungent scent. She wished her husband was with her. At the thought, a flush spread over her whole body. I’ll bring him here she thought.

They would walk down the road together, the sun warm and the breeze gentle. She would be wearing a loose dress, her bare legs stroked by the plants as she stepped through them. It would be as sunny and green a day as this…

He had been walking alongside her, now he let her lead. She ducked under the low branches of the myrtle and stood up in the bower. “Isn’t this wonderful?” In answer, he dropped his rucksack and slid his hands around her waist. Immediate tingles danced up and down her spine.. She put her pack down and reached for his beard, gently tugging in her direction until their lips met.

They kissed slowly, then broke apart and spread a quilt out on the ground. She lay down and looked up through the leaves, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Feeling his hand on her stomach, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. His hand ran to her throat, caressing her chin as he bent and kissed her, warm and deep. She sighed as his hand moved to her breast. Her nipple hardened under the fabric. She smiled as she was lost in sensation.

As sure as Spring will return

Moss peaking from snow last Spring

It's been a hard winter, and it's not over yet. Through the curtain of icicles outside my window, the sky is filled with falling snow. It's beautiful and depressing at the same time. It's been a record-breaking winter and I can feel it's weight.

Today and tomorrow I'll be housebound.

Today is February 1.

Today I start writing a blog post for every day this month. No excuses, no procrastination. I'm just going to do it.

I'm going to look at this as practice. Warming up. Getting the juices flowing. So I have no idea what I'll be writing about, but I will be writing. I'm also just going to include links to interesting stuff.

Today there is a lovely photo essay from Nikki Magennis on the too-long dormant F-Stop: Expose the Naked I blog.

An interesting article that I missed: The uses of erotic poetry. Thanks to Jacque Zyon for linking to this on his blog.

Beautiful pictures and inspiring words from Gina Marie.

So, I'm glad I decided to commit to writing here each day this month. I have various writing projects in the works (or in dreams), and I hope writing here will be the lubrication I need. ;)

Back soon

Between the weather and the flu, I've just not been able to get going here as I'd planned to this year. But fear not, Erobintica will soon return! I've got great plans, just wait.