Is it real or is it memorex?

There was an interesting thread on Fetlife (where else!?) that I was following before I went out of town. And since I had a total of 16 hours of driving time packed into 4 days, I had lots of time to think about it.

Here’s the question: Slavery? For real or playing?

Pretty much everyone was falling all over themselves to reassure themselves anyone reading that they were REAL. No playing for them, nuh uh, no way Jose, they are teh serious slabes!

And so, yanno, I disagreed.

Sort of. I did and I didn’t.

Here’s what I said on the thead.

It’s an illusion that only works because the two people involved believe in it enough to make it their own personal “reality”.

Nobody is really a slave, bound and held in the same manners that real-life slaves are. Nobody is owned. Nobody is property.

It’s mindgames and headfucks and brainwashing- and it works because we make it work. Because we’re dedicated to making it work and because we put equal effort into making it “real” for us. I am a slave, he is my owner and that’s how we live. That’s our reality, our day to day life and it’s how we choose to live.

But it isn’t real. None of y’all are. Stand in a police station one time and tell an officer that you’re an owned slave and your owner won’t let you leave. Face it, the only people believing in your “reality”, is the pair of you.

Well that went over like a fart in church.

One person said that in her definition of ‘real’, if it influenced how she behaved everday, then it was real.

Interestingly enough, that same person in that same comment slammed Goreans by referring to their chosen lifestyle as “gorean games”. I was amused. Even after I pointed it out she failed to see the irony. Hee.

I mean, what better case is there for people who are influenced to behave a certain way by something other than Gorean folk? And why are they playing games but she is A Real Boy Slave?

But to answer this question, “what better case is there for people who are influenced to behave a certain way by something other than Gorean folk?” even better-

I immediately thought of the bible. Religion.

Does just believing in it make it real, though? What does define ‘real’ and ‘reality’?

It’s real to them, I assume. And I’m certainly not up for barging into church and challenging their reality.

Except for when they lose sight of.. well.. of reality.

For instance, the woman whose daughter died of diabetes last year. According to her religious beliefs, prayer was going to save her child.

She is now in prison. Convicted of reckless homicide, possible 25 years.

So is it the law that defines what is real? Society? Society makes the laws, the laws dictate reality?

Later in that thread I said:

There are things that are real. I am human. I am a female. I am a mother.

I choose to live as a slave and conduct my life as closely as possibly to those ideals and practicies. But no amount of wanting it to be so is going to make me become owned property.

None of that is to say that I wake up every morning and prepare to play the game of M/s. I don’t see it that way at all, and I don’t think thats what you or anyone else does. It is a way of life and there is little thought behind it anymore. It just IS. Slavery, Mastery, ownership. It’s just there. It exists within us.

But one can’t pretend that the law and society support my lifestyle. Or yours. That is the reality.

It was argued then that society and the law aren’t what decides what can or cannot be real. That I give them too much credit.

Blacks, women, homosexuality. Examples of where society, and the law, have been wrong. Failed.

Same sex couples aren’t recognized by the law- are they not real then? An illusion?

So I’m confused. Perplexed.

What defines reality? It HAS to be something more than what one believes. There has to be something more definitive than that.

Wordnet.web defines reality in two opposing ways. It says:

reality: all of your experiences that determine how things appear to you.

And then it says:

reality: the state of the world as it really is rather than as you might want it to be.

That website didn’t help a bit.

6 or 7 months ago I decided I was going to leave this relationship. I remember still how shockingly easy it was to pull my head out of the clouds and know that I could leave. That for all the words, the scars, the brainwashing, all I had to do was open the door and-

Go.

Just. go.

He could not stop me. I was a free thinking independent adult with all of the rights and privileges offered as such.

I am not owned property outside of Master’s and my tiny little world.

I am not a slave outside of our world.

I am not a cunt – (Hush out there in the peanut gallery!)

It is not real.

Except I couldn’t go. I didn’t go. I wanted to go and I was set to go and I was ready to go and I couldn’t go.

I am still, all these months later, unsure of what is reality and what isn’t.

I know what I know.

Yet I live what I live.

Maybe I don’t know what I think I know.

Bah.

Maybe I just need beat and fucked.

*nods*

Like

Unlike

Home Sweet Home

I’m home. I got in late Monday evening and, in keeping with the God-Hates-Me theme of my life, Master had to leave early Tuesday morning for 3 days. So we fucked and he left.

C’est la vie.

The trip was a great success though. The ex and his family were there (I half hoped they wouldn’t come) and I was so sweet and sugary that had it rained, I’d have melted.

There was one moment where I damn near bit my tongue in half. B-man was opening cards and reading the names of who they were from and two times right in row, he opened cards from members of his dad’s family who hadn’t come and asked “Who are they?”

Of course, his Aunt on that side retorted rather snottily, “Your mom should bring you around more often and you’d know these people.” and I almost, ALMOST said “Well now. Isn’t THAT a two-way street, you fat fucking bitch.”

But I didn’t. I opened my mouth, closed it, and just smiled. Told B-man to open the next card.

Other than that, I had an enjoyable visit with my family.

Am got her tongue pierced. Now she wants to get a tattoo. Oy. Piercings I don’t really care about. Tattoos? I dunno. I told her I’d think about it.

I have another pic of Jes’s tummy. She’s huge. I’m wondering if there might be more than one child in there.

So that’s the update on the fam.

I’m including this next picture just because it shows a pretty little snippet of my parent’s yard. I wished I’d have taken more pictures of it, it’s so beautiful. That pond in the picture flows down into a little stream under the bridge and empties into another bigger pond. I think they have more flower beds, fountains and other yard things than grass.

Anyway, I’m working on another post in my noggin. I might be back yet today.

~cunt

ps. All of you wimmin-folk leaving those sweet little messages of torture ideas on that last post? I’m watching you. Oh yes. I know where you live!

Well. Okay. I don’t know where you live. But I have your email addresses!

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

:-P

Like

Unlike