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Train Times.  It’s the new tab.  It will contain musings and whatever other writings that happen to hit me because of what I see or hear on the train on my commute.  It might be very docile, or it might well be outrageous.  Only time will tell.

The first entry will be song lyrics I wrote a while ago on the way home, as soon as I find what the heck I did with them.

G

Thank You

Thank you to lillirose and nikisfantasy for stepping up on the last post.  I appreciate you taking your time to give me a hand. 

G

Will You Help?

A good friend of mine has been taking writing classes in college.  She tells me that her paragraphs usually need to have 10 to 12 sentences to be considered paragraphs.  I find that odd.

I find that odd first because you’ll pretty much never see a newspaper story written like that.  I grant that newspaper stories are perhaps not the bastion of correctness on that point.  However, I’m pretty sure that they are the most written kind of story, and that should count for something.

I find that odd, also, because my English teachers pounded into me a principle that I now recognize as good sense: Change thoughts, change paragraphs.  Even taking the next step in the thought process dictated a change in paragraph.  Additionally, if an average reader might lose track of what you’re saying in a longer paragraph, break it down so their eyes can help their brain sort it out.

Therefore, I ask you, my loyal readers, all 3 or 4 of you, which of the below do you find easier to read and follow?

I will appreciate all comments on the subject.

Thank you,

G

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No more gardens.  Well, no more that produced anything.  He had one, but it hadn’t produced anything at all for years and years.  He kept it cared for out of a sense of obligation.  There was a place deep inside him that knew: no more gardens, not real gardens anyway.  He had one for a couple of years, a couple of years back.  When he found out that someone else had been taking all the produce out of it for a few months, he gave it up.  Then there was one he tried to keep at long distance by telling someone how to care for it.  He got a little produce from it, but it wasn’t long before life got too complicated, and he passed that garden on to someone who could tend it.  Then, he thought he might get another garden, a fine looking garden, one that he knew produced extremely well.  He was sad when the owner that was perhaps not going to keep it anymore turned his behavior around and kept it.  Looking back, he realized that one may have been biting off more than he could chew.

Then there was the last one.  He knew it was not a garden he could keep for a long time.  It was a young garden and it held all the promise of good earth and discovering what grew best in it.  He was an old man, or at least, he was old as compared to the garden.  Still, he felt that he’d kept this garden the best, leaving aside the early years of the first one, the one he’d had for so long.  That first one sort of didn’t count, because while he put far more effort in back then, he knew so much more now.  This last one, however, was gone now, too.  Gone to a young fellow who, he had to admit, had the energy and stamina and… well, “natural force” was a term the old people had used when he was a boy.  It fit the young fellow.  The young fellow’s natural force was strong, and frankly, the old man knew he didn’t have much of one anymore.  He’d tried to get his back when he took on that last garden, but it only worked slightly.

“That last garden…” The word “last” rang in his ears all the way to the front porch.  It pounded in his head as he sat in the old rocker that was one of the few things he was able to save from the house he grew up in.  He watched as the world went by in front of him, and all he could hear was “last” until he slept.

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No more gardens. Well, no more that produced anything. He had one, but it hadn’t produced anything at all for years and years. He kept it cared for out of a sense of obligation. There was a place deep inside him that knew: no more gardens, not real gardens anyway.

He had one for a couple of years, a couple of years back. When he found out that someone else had been taking all the produce out of it for a few months, he gave it up.

Then there was one he tried to keep at long distance by telling someone how to care for it. He got a little produce from it, but it wasn’t long before life got too complicated, and he passed that garden on to someone who could tend it.

Then, he thought he might get another garden, a fine looking garden, one that he knew produced extremely well. He was sad when the owner that was perhaps not going to keep it anymore turned his behavior around and kept it. Looking back, he realized that one may have been biting off more than he could chew.

Then there was the last one. He knew it was not a garden he could keep for a long time. It was a young garden and it held all the promise of good earth and discovering what grew best in it. He was an old man, or at least, he was old as compared to the garden. Still, he felt that he’d kept this garden the best, leaving aside the early years of the one he’d had for so long. That one sort of didn’t count, because while he put far more effort in back then, he knew so much more now.

The last one, however, was gone now, too. Gone to a young fellow who, he had to admit, had the energy and stamina and… well, “natural force” was a term the old people had used when he was a boy. It fit the young fellow. The young fellow’s natural force was strong, and frankly, the old man knew he didn’t have much of one anymore. He’d tried to get his back when he took on that last garden, but it only worked slightly.

“That last garden…” The word “last” rang in his ears all the way to the front porch. It pounded in his head as he sat in the old rocker that was one of the few things he was able to save from the house he grew up in. He watched as the world went by in front of him, and all he could hear was “last” until he slept.
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19 April 2012

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOLLY!!!!!!!!!!

Molly’s Daily Kiss

I love you, kiddo.

G

Selfishness

What follows are my thoughts, and my thoughts alone.  They are not the judgments of anyone trained in any sort of professional analysis or counseling.  I do not mean them to appear that they are accurate past the musings of an old man.

Further, I will use terms like Master, slave, submissive, etc, in a framework of a male Master with a female submissive or slave.  I recognize that there is generally a sense that submissive and slave are not the same, and that Master and Dominant are not the same, and that there are differences when the sexes are not M/f.  I don’t think those differences make one whit of difference to this subject, therefore, if the sex or position names do not apply to you as you read, substitute ones that do, as necessary.

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The young lady posted on a website’s discussion area about learning to be less selfish as a slave.  She is in a Male/female M/s relationship.

Her basic situation was described as her being allowed to express her wants and needs and him determining the details of meeting them (or of not meeting some wants, one must assume).

Her measurement of the absence of selfishness was when life was such that each met the other’s needs.

She went on to explain that her feeling of selfishness was tied to her acting out in selfishness and asking for something at a bad time or place.

This resulted in her feeling that she didn’t put his needs first.  This feeling, in turn, caused a fear of being selfish and never thinking of her Master.  She described that feeling in very hard, “at the end of the spectrum” terms.  She acknowledged that this is an unfounded fear.  Obviously, knowing that it is unfounded did not stop the fear.

I think this bothers a lot of people.  It causes a compound question:  “What is selfishness really; where is the border for it; how do I know when I’ve crossed from caring for myself (which is permitted) to selfishness (which is bad)?”

The “ideal” situation of course, is one where the slave never, ever thinks of herself at all in any way, shape, or form, except for the ways that her Master has commanded her to think of herself (bathroom function, for example).  While this is “ideal” in the technical sense – it is the one end of the spectrum – it is not ideal in the relationship sense.  For this to result in a safe and uninjured submissive, the Master has to be as omniscient as God.  I am not.  I know of no one who is.

In the specific example that caused me to want to write this, the young lady got some VERY good advice as to differentiating between wants and needs and simplifying down to driving only for actual needs.  That’s great advice for life in general, and therefore, great advice for the young lady’s situation.  However, it’s not more applicable to the young lady’s situation than it is to life in general because the situation is not actually about what is a need and what is a want, the situation is actually about where the border is between selfishness and “self-care that is ok.”

Most of the time, I see that border described, expressed, and enforced by way of measuring it via actions.

I think that is an error.

I think the crossover point, the border, can be measured accurately only by measuring attitude and motivation.

A sub can do the same exact thing, and be completely selfish on one hand and be completely unselfish on the other hand.  Let’s name our submissive in this little exercise “Example” and her Master will be named “Master.”  Simple, yes?

Example and Master are out in town, at a shopping area.  Example sees that a certain perfume/cologne is on sale for a very good saving.  She surreptitiously gets Master to notice it.   Is this selfish or not?

(1) If she did so only because she wanted the perfume because she liked how it smells and she likes how he responds to it, and she would have done the same whether or not it was on sale (that is, she would have disregarded the effect on Master’s budget), then I propose that she acted selfishly.

(2) If she did so because she knows Master enjoys buying quality gifts for his girl, and she knows that the sale makes the purchase less stressful to Master’s budget, and she knows Master enjoys his reaction to her wearing that scent, then I propose that she did not act selfishly.

I further propose that this sort of analysis leading to this sort of conclusion can be applied to any action by any submissive in any sort of situation.

I note that it rarely is.

I think the reason is pretty universal to the human condition.  I think that people in general step aside from the truth that what is or is not selfish is actually determined by the motivation of the person in favor of assessing selfishness by the person’s actions because the former requires serious mental exercise and the latter requires so very little.

This is not meant to be an accusation of anyone, nor of everyone.  It is meant to be a general assessment of everyone, however, including this author.  We all have a tendency to be mentally lazy, and the degree that any of us is not mentally lazy is related to how hard each of us works at overcoming it.  I have seen it in so many areas of life, particularly in these polarized political days, where social ills, legitimate legal needs, and legislative efforts have become so jumbled when they ought to be so discrete.  Every time it rears its ugly head, or most of the time anyway, it’s about preferring judgment based on action over judgment based on motivation.

In the political arena, and in the public social service arena (which ought to be separate arenas), it may well be too difficult to do so.  There are legal requirements, requirements that are just and right, that may preclude determining something based on motivation.  However, the D/s relationship is a diamond among lumps of coal in this area, as it is in so many others.  The Master has not only the opportunity, but the duty, to determine motivation, and further, to use 20/20 hindsight to improve his ability to make that determination next time, and next time, and next time, etc, ad infinitum.

The sub has an opportunity that is also a duty, too.  It is to be honest with herself, ruthlessly honest at all costs.  She, and only she, can perfectly know whether her motivation was selfish or not.  She, and only she, can adjust her motivation.

Would some Masters say now that they can adjust her motivation?  I know whereof they speak, as I look in my warbag at implements capable of doing apparently that, but it is only apparently that.  No Master is capable of adjusting her motivation or her attitude, and any Master who thinks he is capable of it is at least in error and at most a fool.  What the Master can do, however, is motivate her to change her attitude/motivation.  His efforts should most absolutely NOT be limited to pushing with the sort of tools I see beside me in my warbag.  His efforts must also pull as well as push, and no warbag contains pulling tools, because pulling tools are the Master’s attitudes and motivations.

Hence, I arrive at the girl’s question:  How do you learn to be less selfish?

I think the answer is that you learn yourself better, and better, and better, and you absolutely refuse to put up with anything but ruthless honesty with yourself on the subject.

I know that many subs don’t want to be all that honest with themselves because, frankly, they enjoy seeing their Master know things about them that they did not know about themselves.  I have no problem with that, except on the subject of selfishness.  I believe that selfishness is the greenhouse that roots and nurtures all that is actually evil, and thus, there is no room for anything but blunt force absolute honesty in dealing with it.

As I see it, anyway,

G

The Wagon

The old wagon sat by the side of the road at the end of its new made tracks
‘Twas a veteran of years and of big loads and tears, and its paint was worn and cracked
As it watched the shiny new trucks go by, even some not so gleaming or new
It admitted to itself, just then, that its time was nearly through

Oh, there were some folks, the wagon knew, whose memories were old enough
To remember that only wagons could work where the land was uneven or rough.
If there was no road, a wagon still bore the loads that those trucks would soon strand
Oh it didn’t carry as much or as fast, but it could go anywhere in the land.

And the wagon remembered, oh the memories it had of keeping its passenger safe
While the passenger thought it was driving the thing, but the wagon was watching the trace
When the passenger strove for a path that went right, and cursed when the wagon went left
The wagon chuckled remembering those days, as its rider then saw what was best

So the wagon watched its replacements go by, as it stood where the need disappeared
With its weathered old boards and its iron with some rust that together traced all of its years
And it knew in its bones, if wagons have bones, that its usefulness was nearly fulfilled
Cause nobody needs a wagon no more, they all stay on the roads others build.

Chapter 9, Finally

After posting this, I’ll be adding Chapter 9 to “It’s Not Kansas Anymore.”  I apologize for the extended gap.  Life, once again, got in the way.

G