Twenty · Four · Ways

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Time and tiredness have got the better of me, but the 24 hours are up and I can retire with grace and a sense of accomplishment.

I'm pretty happy with my first pass of the words on my list, but after that I think my concentration slipped a little. I hope that those of you who read will find some interest or entertainment within these 49 entries. Thanks to all who took the time to comment and cheer me on.

The monies pledged will go to to help Oxfam help those who need their help. Sponsors will receive an email explaining how to donate sometime in the next week.

But these words, this humble offering, I dedicate to you, dear reader, with love and affection.

A love letter, if you will, or a labour of love.

Good Night!

<3,
ironed_orchid

The English, ‘presence’ coms from the Latin praesens. That is, the ‘fact or condition of being present;’ ‘the state of being in the same place (as someone);’ ‘being before (a person or a thing);’ (from prae: before; and esse: to be; with the suffix -n. indicating present time).

Esse, is, of course, the verb to be, but it is also the stem which gives us essence, which is to say, the inherent or intrinsic nature of a thing, the quiddity.

OED enhance version:

[Early mod.E fuck, fuk, answering to a ME. type *fuken (wk. vb.) not found; ulterior etym. unknown. Synonymous G. ficken cannot be shown to be related.]
For centuries, and still by the great majority, regarded as a taboo-word; until recent times not often recorded in print but frequent in coarse speech.
1. intr. To copulate. trans. (Rarely used with female subject.) To copulate with; to have sexual connection with.

Well, we all know about that.

2. Used profanely in imprecations and exclamations as the coarsest equivalent of DAMN v. 5.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw, Veronica.”¹

I'm running out of words, out of ideas, out of stamina, and out of time.

With one hour left, I really don't give a fuck.

1. From Heathers.

Running out of numbers.

Nothing here but zeros and ones.

( Flicking Your Switch )

From the OED

6. Mastery, command, or control (of oneself, one's mind or feelings); = SELF-POSSESSION

Perhaps I am coming full circle.

Mastery raises questions of ownership. Possession comes back to the question of mastery over oneself.

Or perhaps I am bereft of ideas.

Right now, either option seems perfectly plausible.

The problem with thoughts is that unless they are articulated, no one can know what you are thinking.

The problem with that is that no matter how long we stare into one another's eyes, they will only ever be brightly coloured orbs, and never windows to the soul.

But it's nice to think, sometimes, that it doesn't matter. And after all, there are worse things to look at than those shining eyes of yours.

Perhaps there is no need to belabor metaphors about possessions and being possessed. The meaning maybe be obsolete, but perhaps a trace remains, an echo in our unconscious, connecting the ideas together.

From the OED:

5. The action of seizing or possessing oneself of (something); spec. the action of possessing (a woman) sexually. Obs.

“And very slowly, and with infinite gentle delays and delicate diversions and varieties of indirect assault Roland finally, to use and outdated phrase, entered and took possession of all her white coolness that grew warm against him, so there seemed to be no boundaries...” [A. S. Byatt, Possession, 1990]

All my favourite possessions feel good to touch.

I get dressed up in silks and velvet. Fabrics which move like liquid or which have a texture that arrest the skin.

My sofas are covered in red velvet, and until the cats killed it, I had a red silk bedspread.

I have pieces of carved wood, and cast bronze scattered about the room, as well as feathers and jewellery and and pillows.

When I walk through a store, I stroke the garments with my hand, to make sure that the fabric is as good against the skin as it is on the eyes. If something doesn't feel right, pressed between fingertips , I have little use for it.

Someone once called me 'vanilla'. She said it behind my back and meant it in a derogatory way.

Pity that I love the taste of vanilla so much.

And perhaps sad for her that she can't conceive of kinks which might not mimic or mirror her own.

Me and the vanilla orchids are doing okay.

Neither fire or water, but liquid flame in the belly and the blood.

That hotcold shiver running up the spine.

Subsuming thought and looking out through feverish eyes.