Our Bodies are Amazing

Whip marks

Our bodies are amazing. It’s simply true. Our skin is this incredible material which holds our innards in despite gravity, tearing, impact, burns, and broken bones inside its casing. Pain is this amazing tool that our bodies offer us in conversation. It proves a malleable experience which we can turn up or turn off the noise of depending on our emotional fortitude, our expectations, and our perception of our safety in that given moment. BDSM plays with these things, allowing us to find newer and newer spectrums of control through sheer force of will, and with the survival intelligence we are gifted from experience. Trust is built through trial and error, and over time our lines in the sand about what we believe we can tolerate moves further and further into the wild. Humans were built for adventure, for physical fortitude, and for intellectual and emotional growth. We get bigger from trying new things and from digestible challenge.

Mummification

I am grateful that I’ve found these communities of people who are as interested in what their bodies are capable of, what their hearts are capable of, what their creative intellects and wills are able to accomplish, as I am. I am proud of what my body has shown me it’s happy (and sometimes unhappy but able) to take. New experience after new experience has taught me more about myself than comfort ever could over the years. I am repeatedly astonished when my desires shift from fear and rejection of an idea, to intrigue, to want, and oftentimes to ease.

There was a moment in time (just a moment) when I considered being punched and “rough body play” to be an awful idea, I thought “who does that?!?!”… The very next day I was punched in a scene and as I felt the deep reverberations echo through my torso, sending pleasure to parts of my body I hadn’t felt come alive for a very long time, I knew this was one of my favorite things. I was angry that being born female had taken these feelings away from me for so long. Getting beat in scene was a reclaiming of my own skin and bones, an emotionally powerful and moving new understanding that I was capable of so much more than I had known.

Needles

Another awe was found hanging 20 feet above a crowd of hundreds with only 2 hooks pierced through my shoulder skin holding me up. I felt my skeleton and organs trying to escape the meatsack I am alongside gravity. Epidermis, I kiss your virtues. Pain is a mindgame where fact and fear wrestle it out over intense sensation, and the journey is a classroom of information recalibrating one’s reactions for many future moments to come.

If you want it to.

The offer is open to everyone.

Dare to walk on fire with someone who knows how, and you’ll learn.

Recently I found myself with fistfulls of needles, pricking, suturing, and tying flesh in formations I hadn’t ever done before. It was beautiful. A love of blood satisfied for the evening, and my sadistic pleasure centers served well. Balls tied to the ceiling and pulled on with weights, labia and nipples sutured and strung up as well, two human animals who love one another and who offered me their flesh I tied together, then needled ribcage to ribcage, and corseted together with string on the bed which was our playground… The chemicals of connection, a practice of breathing, the fuel of trust and desire, and an electrifying sensation from every spark of energy in the room passed back and forth between us all as minutes turned to hours. From this I was high and happy and grateful.

Never cease to be amazed.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Journey to Dirt

In the beginning there was mucous, blood, grey and purple skin. There were cacophonous sounds and everything was light. Hands on your body, sensation of your own cry, coughing up the fluid from inside. Cold steel, warm blankets, pinpricks, trembling hands passing the new body around, the breath of your parents on your face, or not. It is romantic to think it was violent, that moment of your birth, it is arrogant to believe it was not.

Everything had changed.

Growth happened over the years. Plague and fear. Your unlimited curiosity stabbed by the million laws. Gratefulness is replaced with unrealistic needs. Things. A shopping spree of ballcaps, TVs, the latest brightener, soothe-goop, popstar jewels extracted unethically from third world thighs, and cattle crying in the fields for tenderer meat… Somewhere inside we must be trying to find the womb, swim against this tide, get back to our shuddering mucous covered muteness. Peace within ineptitude — now achievable through only our greatest sins. Sex by numbers is a game we placate our inner demons with, not seeing they grow wilder at the smell of our rancid unused groins… We need these demons, telling us who we are and what we’re meant to be. Lubricating oils spontaneously produce, made of scented atoms which open our chests to one another, engage the feral beasts underneath. The most natural thing is to growl as two and four-legged pheromones pass us. Sweat is the Goddess we were warned about.

Instead we play at it, repress, shame, shroud in silence, and ignore the harmonic dance of life.

We turn on the telly to remember how it goes: fuck when you see fuck, cry when you see cry, or sometimes rigidly sit in flaccid bewilderment while the clown fails to connect with you. These choreographies were meant for flesh met times. We aren’t learning an authentic dance.

The edge of a cliff looms. Stare down the slick walls of your erectness and the whole world seems opportunity to procreate. Unpracticed we fail and fail again, jizz impotent. Tissues, a hand. Silent. Waste without the divine intertwined.

You forget you are holy.

The most natural thing is touching yourself. Feel the hum of blood, rise and fall of sunshine in your chest. The most natural thing is wanting others, give and take, dark roots, bright moon.

Sip in the air, open up your chest. Oxygen works its way from center to the infinity above your head and depths down. Extend your range, aim to horizon and beyond, it’s what you are here for. Fill Universe with sound and light, your mucus filled lungs and mini images of you flying into the vastness. Again! Again! Thrive! Find delight! Seduce, ground, recognize this road lined in shining mica to the dirt.

Silence lies sold to you for comfort.  Bad exchange, believing yourself worthless, unwhole, made wrong, incomplete, or meant for less.

We are powerful and brilliant. Older siblings reaching hands to help the next. We are frustrated beetles covering the windowsills of this house, trying forever to stay warm and get the fuck out. We are hardy and hopeful, shaking the Earth, stepping on ground given us which someday will swallow all whole. Fall into soil. Risen from sex. Lived wary of love or discovery, no true release. How do we Gods master time before bugs carry corpus away? Smell of rain and soil is calling from your cunt. We learn to play.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Courage

My dashboard garden is back and I’m so happy to watch these beautiful creatures grow!

I feel really great in my body these days. I wish I’d known sooner what hormones could do for me. The experience of enjoying my physical body in the mirror and under my own fingertips rather than feeling trapped in it and persistently worried about how I look IS AMAZING!!! Seriously, I had no idea daily life could be like this. I think T is lifting a lifelong fog of depression and anxiety off of me and I’m very thankful for it.

To everyone who ever point blank told me to my face that “they just see me as a girl”, or “I just seem more femme rather than butch to them”, or that “I just look better when I dress girly”, or that “I’m not a tomboy b/c tomboys don’t wear dresses”, or any other reinforcement of the female femme ideal — which is already constantly crammed down my throat by the rest of the world (and to which I don’t usually choose to interact with face to face): You are a huge reason I didn’t get here earlier. I need you to know that. I need you to know that not because I want to tell you you were wrong, but because I want you to consider the weight of pressuring others to be as you wish them to be. It hurts to be told you can’t be who you feel you are. It is a painful lifestyle to persist holding a line you’re told to hold which feels wrong, and some of us are good enough at holding on, that we really need friends and to have role models who see us for who we are and who give us permission to let that line go.

I sincerely apologize to anyone if my words or actions have ever made them feel small about their identities or wrong about sharing themselves with me. It’s never been an intention of mine. I haven’t always understood as much about how my words affect each person I’m speaking to, and I know I’ll make mistakes in the future too, but I want to know when I do. I want the opportunity to reconsider the meaning of my actions. I want to be better than my mistakes.

I roundly thank everyone who has seen me and believed me and accepted me as I’ve journeyed and evolved and learned to articulate myself over the years. Without you I would still be desperately wanting things I didn’t feel I deserve to get (which is on me, but you all really helped me out a lot).

As I write, acknowledging this feeling of happiness I’ve been feeling since starting T, I want this moment to be a reminder to consider the impact of our very human desire to label others — especially to their faces — with labels we’re comfortable with rather than the labels someone else tells you they want to be labeled as. Almost every single bit of information we take in in this world is gendered, racially loaded, ableist, and constructed to tear our individualities down for the benefit of a privileged class. We can (and must) change that by considering one another not as objects, but as individual creatures with vibrant internal worlds which we will never be privy to the full intricacies of without asking first, without believing the answers we receive, and without caring to wonder more deeply about who we’re interacting with in the first place. When someone tells you who they are (and who they are not), consider believing them immediately before questioning what they’re saying. Consider asking questions about how that works if you aren’t sure you understand. Consider trusting people who gather the courage to tell you something about themselves.

Love from my glowing, growing, vibrant garden inside, and as always —

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature (Crea)

Please support my work at Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

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