the 99 tales, the second

A mountain stood for a score of scores of scores of seasons. one day a young boy ventured to its foot, he looked up at it, and swore that he would become like that mountain.

when his parents herd what he had promised , they laughed,

“the mountain is a score of scores of scores, you are not yet two score seasons in your life, you will never be like the mountain”

so the boy was dejected, and for a time he forgot the mountain, but the mountain did not forget him. Every year on the night he had sworn to be like the mountain, he dreamed of the mountain, and of himself, becoming like it.

this went on until the boy was an old old man, he grew wizened, and frail, and he could no longer draw his bow. one day the son of his son came to him, in tears

“why do you weep?” the old man asked

and the boy replied, “I weep because i am not like the mountain”

and the man replied to the boy

“do you know the sound of wind over grass?”

and the boy said “yes”

“do you know the feeling of a rock in your shoes?”

and the boy said “yes”

then the old man said

“do you know the taste of the wind in your throat?”

and the boy said “yes”

then the old man said

“if you know all this, and nothing more you are a mountain, but if you know the time to lie down, the mountain, is you, for then you are more than a mountain”



the 99 tales, the first

There was once an old woman, her family was all gone, and she was no student of any home, so she was cared for by the village

one day this woman died, and the choice came of whom would own her home, the first to speak was the smith.

“I mended her pots, and made her hinges, so what was hers should be mine”

then spoke the shepherd,

“I gave her wool to make her clothes, and milk for her to drink, so what was hers should be mine”

then the baker spoke

“i gave her bread to eat, and coal for her stove, so what was hers should be mine”

then the wind spoke

“i gave the forge its fire, and made the grass  grow under the sheep, and raised the grain for the bread, so what was hers is mine”

and then the wind, swept her home away, though it had stood strong, leaving nothing for any other.


on duality

you can be both assertive and submissive,

the sub respects by obedience and HONESTY

the dom respects by listening and ENFORCEING

if you don’t tell your dom how you feel about something, you are not submitting.

“trust before lust ” in diffrent languages


fiducia prima lussuria

confiance avant la luxure

εμπιστοσύνης πριν από τη σφοδρή επιθυμία

Yokubō no mae ni shinrai

Vertrauen vor Lust

доверие , прежде чем вожделение
doveriye , prezhde chem vozhdeleniye

dear doms of the world

Dear dom’s




I want to make something clear before I begin this letter, no, two things, the first is that you should feel free to write me back. I know you are probably not going to want to spend your time doing that, but a conversation would be great. You can leave your reply in the comments, or just link to it, second, as much as I do end most of my letters with “submissively yours” (this isn’t going to be an exception) I’m not your sub right-now (at least not yet) ,

How are you doing? Are you in a stable relationship? Are you enjoying the weather, its been very chaotic here. It seems like the clouds are hanging too low for spring, really. Like a wet dogs jowl’s hanging over my little burg. I like the rain, is soft and clear, like an often recited quip, fog reminds me of an embrace from the sky.  I spend my time in my own ways, mostly alone, walking. I’m often left wondering why I’m out and about so much. No real point to it, it’s just what I do I guess. If you’re wondering why I addressed this note to the power half of the phrase “power play”, and really I am wondering that a bit myself. I’ll answer, it’s because I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while, and as much as I chase, I cant seem to get closer.

Perhaps I should define who I’m talking to right now, by Dom I don’t mean some over-sexed leather jockey, or even any thing that involves sex. Power play is the core of the little world we have as humans, and those people who know how to exude power, and who control others for the joy of having control. That’s what I’d define a Dom as. I pass by you constantly, unaware of most of you, as you me, so I’m sending my call into the dark, Hoping for answering shout.



In submission yours



waiting is like a  bad taste in your mouth

waiting is like a cold wind on a cold day against a cold sweat

waiting is like a cherry pit stuck in your throat

waiting is like a hole in your hand that no one will agree exists

waiting is like a shirt with the word thistle written on the front glimpsed for a half second

waiting is like waking up from a dream you cant remember but wished you cold

waiting is like an unheard final farewell