Vee Is For Valley
My calendar appears quite free at the moment, so I am taking this opportunity to answer some unasked questions, and to probe *cough* people’s psyches while they carry on their normal, every gay business.
My first client of the day is Scott over at Zodi’s Blog.
Today in particular, Scott’s desire for a mother figure is ever so apparent, as we view photographs of his morning jog through the winding valleys of his home in Spain. Those valleys penetrate the lumpy hills and lush, fertile, heaving land, creating a warm welcome back to childhood’s heaving bosom.
Note the parallels between where he chooses to live and the rolling mounds of motherly flesh he must surely have been abandoned by at too vulnerable a point in his life, and now he is left to search for that mother, flitting from country to country but with no motherland in sight.
Poor, poor Scott.
I suggest that he should talk about it. Confess his desire for a mother. Perhaps even share his reunion fantasies with his wife. A little role play would not be out of order.
I know the name of an excellent costumer, if one is needed.
Godspeed, Scott.
Freud, I shudder to think of what you may make of my new post.
All this happened, more or less. These Spanish landscapes are quite deceiving (as is every aspect of my own psyche) for what may appear to be lush, fertile, heaving(?) land is actually a dry, baron, lonely, desert landscape allowing nothing to live amongst its unforgiving plains. What does it say about me, that I left a wonderland of water (as I am a water sign, Pisces in fact!) which is the giver and maker of all life… to come to this wasteland of dust and dung-beetles.
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again…oh wear was I, what was I whering? Do you see how you’ve gotten me all topsy turvy and confused again? Now what?
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Both of my parents did pass away while I was in my twenties. But I was never as close to my poor loving mother as I should have been. I have always found girls who fill that motherly role to some extent. Not by cooking; I do all of that, but by a constant nagging and complaining which is so much like home. And to deal with paperwork such as tax forms and DMV registrations, and even now citizenship issues. So that’s good for me I think!
Call me Ishmael, but my fantasies seem to delve into a darker nature. I seem to like a little light bondage play. But I don’t want to be tied up. Oh no, that would to closely mirror my own humbling, powerless existence. No I want to see the beautiful woman tied to the bed in silk scarves. I have the power, yes it is I, and not another!! Sorry, I got carried away.
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. Tell me where to go from here?? I’m pretty screwed up, I’m gonna need a couple sessions of your time, I think. Oh and some Xanax, I need some Xanax today please.
Sorry when I become uncomfortable I lapse into quoting, it hides the pain. Xanax will help.
Scott, welcome. Have a seat, won’t you?
I understand your pressing need for Xanax. I have that very same need, so I’m afraid I can’t help you, because I’ve already written a prescription under your name. I’d hate to draw undue attention to you; I’m sure you understand.
I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but there is no such thing as a happy family. Unless you are at a Chinese restaurant. We are all reduced to our baser natures when in the presence of the people who are supposed to love us but instead use us as receptacles for the pain of their failure to land the dairy industry account. Who knew “I enjoy milk occasionally!” wouldn’t cut the cheese? Er…mustard.
About your parents, I am so sorry to hear that you lost them so young. That must have been incredibly difficult for you.
Your bondage issue is clearly an outcropping of this barren, rocky terrain. I suggest April in Paris, August in Bolivia. Camp in a rain forest. Wear a dress now and then. Some years ago, never mind how many, I wore a dress. It’s quite freeing. Water your life, you Pisces, life-giving man, you. Once you have diluted this alpha-male personality, you will find the true meaning of life and love and you can have beautiful, unfettered sexual freedom. Alone.
Because no woman wants a beta.
And I am not gay. NOT NOT NOT NOT
No, no. Of course not, Scott. That was my slip, after all. I believe it was merely a reflection of my gender confusion after all these years of being a woman pretending to be a man who hates women. No need to worry your pretty little head about it. None at all.
re the last sentence of your post. I’ve got costumes!
Nurse Myra, you were one of the first people I thought of. Indeed you do have costumes, as I’ve seen on Corset Fridays. I’m certain we can match Scott with something appropriate for his need for domination in some part of his life, no matter how small. I will, of course, have to supervise. For research purposes, you know.
yes, I need supervision still
Wow. I am completely lost. Good luck, Scott.
It’s a pretty disconcerting set of comments, somewhat like going to see “The Crying Game,” and then having to run off to the restroom because, what the hell, this gritty IRA flick turned into a weepy, romcom-melodrama, and returning (having missed the critical exposure) only to find Stephen Rea crying and vomiting in the shower, at which point you’re like, “What the fuck? Did he catch cancer or something?” and watching the rest of it, feeling that this is turning into another “Dying Young” and being generally disillusioned until they start blowing up some shit at the end, and exit the movie, without ever having felt the horrible, rasping breath of zeitgeist.
Like that, more or less. Nice work, BKT & Scott. Again, good luck.
This is worst than I feared. Just because Scott enjoys show tunes doesn’t mean he’s, you know. Run for your life Scott, run far away, far, like Spain or Moldova or something.