On the subject of faith, love, lust and violence...

Confessions of a Virgin Mistress

This blog is...

mARTurbation: art meant to please myself, as well as essays, articles, rants, raves and opinions on pop culture, sexuality, women, power, education, religion, music, films and products. No subject is taboo, no discussion forbidden.

Reading Guide:

Thoughts, Essays, Opinions and Articles have unique names and are stand-alone, even when related to previous entries. The dream chapters however, where I talk about my dreams, are titled “At The Dreams: “Insert Dream Title Here”, this is to differentiate conscious opinions and thoughts, from the subconscious movements that go on when I’m asleep (or somewhere in between). The reason I post my dreams is probably the same reason I post all other entries, to examine myself. I’m my own lab experiment. 

At The Dreams: The Discarded Animal Store for Swimming

Saturday, March 8, 2008 by Mistress Cavallaro

We arrived at a winter wonderland and five scenes caught my attention:
The Redhead
The Naked Breasts
The Ships in the Spiritual Retreat
The Penguin Man, Alien, Ex-Boyfriend and Old School Friend
The Discarded Animal Store for Swimming
It was supposed to be some sort of adventure of a lifetime, where you built a personal ark to swim through a dangerous channel of water inside a spiritual retreat.

I arrived first, and the first exposition was a redhead dressed in a wedding gown. She took off her clothes piece by piece and began to glow. She was meant to stay posing naked, lying on her side in the freezing cold. I was really excited because she looked like Elizabeth and was very beautiful. But suddenly everyone around me was naked, including myself, or I think I got naked, then I realized I didn’t want anybody to see me so I covered my breasts and went to my retreat to get something to cover me.

On my way there I encounter My lover who spends most of her time trying to wrestle me to see them, but I want to get away because I want her to see the redhead, she however doesn’t consider it important or cares, the only thing she’s interested in, is seeing me naked so we wrestle some more in the middle of the snow. All the parents are up on the valley in a gazebo chatting away. I finally throw her back at one point and explain how I’m interested in other things, things that she never seems to want to integrate herself to and that don’t matter to her but matter to me, things that excite me and I want to accomplish and fulfill. Like building the ark to travel the channel within the spiritual retreat. Where I see ships trying to go in and not being able to swim across, it’s quite a challenge.

She agrees to go with me to the retreat, because near the main hall they have an exhibit of large feral animals that I want to see. While we’re walking down the hallway her ex-boyfriend shows up trying to romance her yet again and I speed ahead because I don’t have time for this. I find the penguin lair and talk a bit with the strange animals, then I head towards a classroom where everyone else is sitting. This is the workshop where they’ll teach us how to build ships. I’m laughing because I just saw something very few people saw, and I’m mad because My lover fell behind while she was talking with her ex and didn’t even see me veer off the path into something else, something undiscovered. So when I turn around to try and tell her, her ex-boyfriend steals her ear and is trying to say stuff to her and I say it again “I really don’t have time for this”, so she pushes him back and stands in front of me where I’m about to inform her of my discovery. However, before I get to say anything, someone grabs us both and starts swaying us from side to side dancing. I turn around and it’s and old friend from school, who’s also in the workshop. After talking for a little bit about our schedules and then me spotting My lover’s ex on her ear again and telling them both, that if they’re going to be friends, either they learn to speak around me or just don’t hang around me. In the end I just decide I don’t want to be around them. I go to sit in the front where there’s a free chair, with a camera and a bag. I know someone else is sitting there, but I take it anyway. I’m very rebellious and I go: “Who sits here?” “Well…” says the guy in front of me, and I finish up saying “Nobody of course” and taking the camera and things off the chair, staring at this one guy that I recognized who was looking at me. Those were his things and for some reason, my saying that, kept him away and made him sit in another chair. The guy was Kurt Cobain.

Later in the workshop I see a bunch of people swimming with just about any animal they can get to cross the grand canal. I see a man with a little tiger or lion that jumps up from the water and growls at him, clearly it’s a mammal and it can’t breathe. I see a nun holding something between her legs, then whimpering, pulling it up from under her and revealing just the skeleton of whatever was carrying her. Then I see a store called the Discarded Wounded Animals. It’s a bunch of small little boxes containing animals you can purchase to travel the grand canal, that others have used and wrecked slightly but are still alive and in a condition to swim. I only grimace at all this and then see a summary of how I embark on this trip. I build, inside a glacier-like cove, a huge wooden ship, in the shape of a seed and with it I manage to travel both outside and underwater through the grand canal, it’s such a powerful ship and the design makes sure that no water gets in, because it looks like a giant almond. The mechanism goes, that we allow water in the bottom to make it sink, then release the water to make it float back up, we do this through the tiered waterways in the large ornate temple.

I woke up because my cell phone rang. It was PRIVATE. I decide to check my e-mail and I’ve received an animal horoscope with me being the Snake. I recall I saw a snake slithering somewhere in my dream.

SERPIENTE 2 AL 29 MAYO
>> Las serpientes aman el lujo y el confort, la elegancia y el
>> refinamiento. Tienen un buen gusto innato, que traen desde la cuna,
>> saben como vestir, como comportarse, como moverse al caminar. Trabaja duro para hacerse una carrera, a veces tienen fama de trepadora, y es que va ganado espacio lentamente, casi sin que te des cuenta. Su veneno es letal, y si la provocas no dudara en usarlo para matarte. Por eso es mejor tenerla de amiga y no de enemigo. En el fondo, la serpiente es una romántica total, pero como es justamente tan sensible es que se pone a la defensiva. Si logras tocar su corazón, contaras con una amiga para toda la vida.
>> MUJER SERPIENTE La mujer serpiente es una sibarita. Tiene alma de reina y si no nació en una familia de dinero busca tenerlo. Como es muy independiente, algunas mujeres serpientes se convierten en grandes empresarias, compiten con los hombre y logran superarlos. En el amor es apasionada y fatal. Será exigente con su pareja y le impondrá pruebas para que constantemente demuestre que merece estar a su lado. Como es una romántica tendrá amores imposibles de esos que nunca olvidara.
>> EN EL AMOR Y LA AMISTAD Como dijimos, es fácil enamorar una serpiente, pero de allí a atraparla hay una distancia muy grande. Muchas son las cualidades que se deben poseer para que una persona de este signo del 'si' para toda la vida. Los Venados los seducen con su paz, una mercadería que la serpiente no siempre puede conseguir. Los gorilas le proporcionan alegría y ganas de vivir. Con ellos podrá recorrer el mundo y compartir mil y una aventuras.

High Expectations and Tarot Taboo

Wednesday, February 27, 2008 by Mistress Cavallaro

Today was a horribly disorganized day. All my expectations came out flat and most of my desires went unfulfilled. I know we're supposed to appreciate the good and not focus on the bad, but I'm spoiled that way. It's independence day in Dominican Republic, they ran the METRO for the very first time, it kind of looks like the METRO in Madrid. That was the highlight of my day. After that I had a fight, and then I went to the Country Club to play but there was barely any play at all (play is very important to me). I had another fight. Then I watched a movie. Came home and felt rather insipid. Then the people I was talking to disappeared. No goodbyes or warnings.

It just sucked overall I guess. I expected more. I always expect more.

On another note, I've discovered most tarot readers are total scammers. I've had several friends come up to me for a simple reading, and they've already went to professionals and they tell me by far the most impressive reading is mine. I don't even do that for a living.

Point blank. Tarot readers are frauds, most of them, not all of them, some people can really do it right. It's scientific, completely scientific, tarot reading has nothing to do with religion, except for attatched religious believes, which are like saying that the 24th of December isn't just another day because it's Christmas. Well it is another day. It's 24 hours long just the same as any other day, has a morning, afternoon and night. Just because we established it as a holiday doesn't mean the day stopped being a day in itself. Same goes for tarot, just cause people gave it or still give it a spiritual connotation, doesn't mean tarot is spiritual at all, or cards, oracles, pendulums, none of that shit is spiritual. It's scientific.

Feel free to ask me why, so I have the pleasure of clarifying your ass. Anyway, I'm damn good at giving readings, no I won't predict shit I know I can't predict because tomorrow you might make a different choice and fuck up my prediction, but I can sure as hell clarify whatever the fuck is going on in your life. And hey, guess what, I do it for free, because I'm rich and I don't need to read tarot to earn a living. In fact, most tarot readers shouldn't charge for their readings, not really no, because readings are healing and healing should be free, same as medicine should be free and education and nourishment. But trust me, there are those with justified salaries, and then there are those that say their salaries are justified and they're just milking it for what it's worth. Then there's terminology, if you're a crystal, indigo, rainbow, friggin ultraviolet child or something. We're people, we're humans, and we're all essentially the same. We bleed, poop, yadda yadda. We also have our specialties. I have many. But don't worry, I'm not wholly blessed with only good attributes, I have tons of flaws too. Being a good oracle is not one of them. I am a damn good oracle.

Outside of that, another note: I feel lonely right now, give me a hug.

At The Dreams: "The Floating Spheres Alliance"

Thursday, January 31, 2008 by Mistress Cavallaro

The lands of Argheiz and Metrolya. The Pahr and the Ryderell. The ardent affections of Lehr Myra Naram. Hidden prince of Lahdia. Who is apparently based on Chuck.

The combat zone of the ship, where you must hide in the walls as the shoulders enter the area and use mage power and fire power. The tactics to get to the cockpit of the ship in order to stop it from being overrun and possibly slammed into Perhidia, the grand Buque with the coat of arms and the secret weapons the enemy wants destroyed.

The sunken ships, which rise from the water and slam into the moving vehicles and islands. Then hop back into the water and travel there. Under the water they are faster, and silent, unseen, covered by years of dark matter.

The dark matter, which is the only stone capable of restoring those near death. The anima, Lehr Myra’s panthergeist. Slit from across his jaw to his navel. And as we try to save it, we realize Lehr Myra himself must be in great agony over on the battlefield. At first we think someone entered Melisa’s room and attacked the beast. It’s bloody on the foot of her bed and her hand, resting near it underneath the covers is drenched in blood.

Lehr Myra purchases Earth, so that the planet may be spared from the warlords. It’s now in his own dominion and he’s still one of the few Lehr’s that by royal and civil decree holds veto power over the fate of planets in the alliance of Spheres.

The Floating Spheres Alliance. A conceited and arrogant man, he nonetheless falls for an earthian woman. The woman is already smitten by a dead ship captain, but Lehr Myra will fetch her heart once he’s done saving the galaxy.

What?

Above a deep influence by Final Fantasy and Gossip Girl. What does all this mean? Ok, I’m starting to sound like a friend of mine who keeps asking about every little meaning of symbolism as if it all needs to make sense.

Yeah. I’m just being dramatic.

The Betrayal Syndrome - Prologue

Wednesday, January 16, 2008 by Mistress Cavallaro

If someone asked me to name top three men in my life, I'd probably spend a few minutes making sure that I mention my father, my brother, my cousin, or some other male relative of whom I don't wish to thoroughly speak about.

If they narrow it down to men I've fooled around with, then I'm in big trouble. I'd probably stay silent, I'd probably say there's none. Even though there are, and there have been... many in fact. But for one reason or another, they are un-mentionable, un-knowable and being unable to even so much as hint with their initials, I am forced to shrug and swallow it.

As the spawn of the infidels... my life remains unknown... as the men I play with are never snatched, I remain undiscovered. My betrayals have made me feel guilty, ruthless and proud. They've made me violent, confused and excited.

They've made me wonder if perhaps I suffer from Betrayal Syndrome.

To be continued...

Cruel Honesty: The Addict VS. The Victim

by Mistress Cavallaro

I originally posted this as a reply to this article.

---

I hate to be the note of discord... no wait I don't. But I have a completely different question about your article, and hopefully something you'll explore further. Purely for fun.

You see I'm a firm believer in the mirror theory, where things may seem backwards on your end, but on the other person's end they're seing you in the exact same judging light.

In other words, to an addict, wouldn't any person's need to establish themselves as a priority over the addiction (in other words, focus on me not your damn gambling) be considered co-dependant behaviour that needs fixing as well?

The addict has a view that you, the person trying to change them, are just as wrong as you claim they are for being and acting a certain way. (In this case asking to be placed above that which they've expressed to love the most).

I'm in no way stating that being an addict is correct, or that having compulsive behaviour isn't detrimental to a relationship. But as you said so yourself, addicts can be with addicts because they understand and share the bond of the addiction itself.

In a milder sense... you could have an addiction to great movies and an addiction to certain types of music or an addiction to the internet and compulsively log on and check blogs and spend 14 hours a day surfing.

If you are in a relationship with someone and they leave you for lack of your attention or because they feel you addiction to whatever it is that you do is far more important than they are, isn't that also a sign of low self-esteem?

Need me, want me, put me first, put me on top, I'm more important than anything, including your career <--- doesn't that also qualify as another side of the spectrum?

I'm well aware that abusing any addiction brings misfortune, but a question I rarely find analyzed is how the addict or compulsive person views the accuser of bad behaviour.

Let me pretend I'm the sex doll addict. If you're just not as pleasing as the doll, if all you do is yell at me, if no matter how sweet you look in the end you're going to ask me uncomfortable questions about what it is I truly feel about you, or if it turns out the doll just has a tighter, better, more satisfying place for me to relieve myself and yours is, let's face it, not as good, though I still prefer you for company and the occassional making out... is the fact that I have sex with a doll constantly something you'd consider compulsive behaviour? Or do you just find it insulting that I dare even suggest that you don't compare?

Same goes for alcohol, same goes for cigarrettes, same goes for anything. An addiction is better than you, the addict understands that, to the addict, it's not an addiction, it's a priority, what they like and consider most important and you just have to deal with being second-best.

Doesn't this scenario also display the weakness and co-dependancy we've come to develop through the years and masquerade as a "relationship"?

If you love somebody you make sacrifices, but being in love with somebody means being willing to do these sacrifices for someone who is not the ideal partner.

Because the ideal partner compliments you, be you an addict, thief or killer. It's the ultimate expression of selfishness, of taking care of one's needs first. While the other views are based on being selfless and considerate.

I'm still unsure which of these attitudes is actually "healthy". I'm not fond of addicts, but I'm not too fond of martyrdom either. And sacrificing your addiction, when you're an addict, believe me, it's martyrdom. Unless the addict finds you more interesting than his/her addiction, you're just begging for the addict to do exactly what you will later yell at him/her for doing: make you feel worse about yourself (which is even more bad when you already have a low self-esteem).

Maybe in the end, the only reason an addict can't have a succesful relationship is even because they're an addict, but because they spend a large amount of time assuring their partners that they're number one, when they're not. Maybe all you need to date an addict, is one that has the balls to tell you, that you're number 2. And then in that case, if you're ok with that, would it work? would it not work? The addiction isn't lethal, it's not some life or death circumstance or something that will embarrass the hell out of your parents.

What then?

Personally I wouldn't date an addict, because I'm egocentric and it has to be all about me. I love attention and I need it. I'm too self-important to not be number 1 in anyone's life. So I can't date an addict. But I have friends who are quite fine with being number 2 and get their fulfillment elsewhere yet love their addicts deeply, not in spite of their addictions but for their honesty straight out about the addiction, not as a problem but as a compulsive behaviour based on deep satisfaction that they've come to expect which you'll never provide. It's cruel, but it's honest.

Moon For Sale

Monday, January 7, 2008 by Mistress Cavallaro

Click on the image above to be re-directed to the original gallery post.

Mistress Cavallaro's Gallery

The FUCK out: Guilt, Failure and Letting Go

by Mistress Cavallaro

I’ve lost my way a lot of times. No, wait, let me rephrase that: I’ve almost started out on the wrong path various times, but I never get to finish it or actually do the wrong thing. I only need to take the first step in that direction, and I’m already feeling guilty. The worse thing they could’ve ever instilled in the human mind is guilt. At the same time, guilt is supposed to be what keeps us in control. If people never felt guilty, they would never do wrong, and if everything was right, then we’d all be merciless.

But ok, cool, sounds ok when we’re talking guilt about lying, cheating, fornicating with your best friend’s husband, killing… but I feel guilty only about the thought of getting out of a project midway because the people who work in it just don’t cut it. I feel guilty because it’s almost as if I’m solely responsible for this project happening. I have a huge headache because no matter how many ways I try to get out, I seem to stick it out even when all it does is hurt my family, hurt my pride, hurt my friends and my career. It’s a road that takes me to people I don’t care to be associated with and projects I no longer wish to pursue. It’s my childhood dreams, which, bless their soul, should’ve stayed in childhood. In the meantime, thirty to forty people are honestly busting their asses for me. They’re doing it all for my own life, for my dreams, for my career. And instead of dedicating myself to that one thing I should be doing, I’m spending hours upon hours worrying about a project that I should’ve never raised from the dead.

I know this makes no sense right now without a prior explanation of what I’m involved in and why, but believe me, it’s something I should’ve put to rest a long time ago. I just don’t have the courage to disappear and I don’t have the selfishness required to simply take care of myself and let others take care of themselves. I’m like a mother hen, wanting to place everyone under my wing, but my body has had enough and I’m dying because of it, and I’m fucking up my career and my life and my real projects and my own trust and self-esteem, trying to get this other project off the ground. Why does the mere thought of cutting loose from it make me guilty?

Again, there is nothing there for me. But it feels like I made a commitment to the people I started working on this project with, and like I should stick by it. But it’s killing me it’s really killing me and the worse thing is that it’s doomed to fail. What am I doing? Why can’t I just cut off from it? Why do I keep heading back to it? I feel tied down emotionally and physically, to the point of pain. It literally hurts my heart to write this because I’m so attached and co-dependant with this ridiculously abusive project. Am I a masochist? Self-righteous? Proud? Unable to accept my failure? Can my leaving that project mid-way even be considered failure?

I just want to get the FUCK out. I hate it. I don’t want it. Why can’t I leave it. I want to never be attached to anything again. It’s insane, it’s abusive and it should never be. I hate it that I’ll look bad if I leave. That people will hate me and dislike me, I hate it. And it’s unfair. Because the one who does the job is me. Nobody else helps, and even though I carry the responsibilities and nobody else is willing to shoulder it with me, all that happens is that when things can’t be done I get blamed as if I had to handle it all in the first place. People expect everything from me and I expect too much from myself and the only ones that deserve my delivering these expectations are actually the only team of people that I don’t even dedicate half as much time to.

This downward spiral of who-knows-what has led me down a sickening spiral of self-loathing. I’ve hated myself so much for failing, for not being able to bear it out, for wanting to quit because it’s drowning me, for leaving others who I don’t even care about behind. Letting go of crap I dislike… is hard. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’d be able to let go of things I love.

Well... this very morning I've begun the process, I've started deleting things, cleaning up things, no matter how many reminders I get that these things do exist, I may not need to ignore them, but at least they're slowly starting to dissipate. I hope I can keep this up.

I better. This is my lucky year. It's now or never.

Fears and Human Touch

Wednesday, December 26, 2007 by Mistress Cavallaro

I... I still can't hug people. The idea of being touched, or held... it... it terrifies me. I feel prickles of disgust in my skin... I jump.

It's terrible.

I've never been raped... my parents love me... I've never been abused physically.

I don't know why I'm like that.

I'm so afraid of people touching me. I reject it instantly.

I guess I can't blame people for not getting close to me. I have a barrier up that says clearly "don't touch me".

But what I mean is "please don't touch me... not yet. I'm still afraid."

But, afraid of what?

Lonely New Year's Eve

by Mistress Cavallaro

Last year, I remember jumping into the pool at 4 AM. I don't know exactly why I did it. I'm not sure it was to experience the jump itself; it was shock therapy. At that moment in time, I needed a burst of cold water to keep me from going insane.

I don't even think the events in my life at the time were that complicated or dramatic to merit such a reaction. My best friend had gotten a boyfriend, ... he'd cheated on her... twice... with me. I didn't feel bad about it, because my best friend had never told me they were dating. I found out, afterwards, when somebody else let it "slip" that they were officially dating. My best friend chose not to tell me. She hid it from me. In a way, I thought it was karma, that he'd cheated on her with me, because I didn't know anything at the time.

I still felt though, like I'd been the one used by both at the same time in a way. You see my best friend, she loves me... I don't mean she loves me in the platonic sense; she loves me like Michael loves Brian in Queer As Folk. She loves me like the lover of a past life would, she's obsessed with me. She's made out with me, and technically during her relationship with her boyfriend, she spent a good amount of time "cheating" on him with me. Then he cheated on her with me too. In the end though, he still groveled for her. She still chose to act as if she'd never once made out with me while she was with him. No, she was for the most part a saint in his face.

So I jumped into the pool, while all my friends were partying, the happy couple included... because I felt like it. Because I was alone. Because I felt used and humilliated. Because I was the object of everyone and no one's desire.

This year, I'm just alone. Nobody, not the friends, not the couple (who eventually broke up, though now he's realized he's in love with her so he calls her every day)... just me, here crying, bitter, because I'm lonely. Because I'm still wondering how I got to be such an isolated little girl; how I became the "thing" you want, but won't dare pursue, or just a pretty thing to be admired... I'm not the girl... I'm just the dream. I'm good at a distance. I've always been the in between.

It's hard to explain.

Guess today I'm just not happy. It happens.

At The Dreams: Visions, Contact, Cat-people and the Black Bird

Tuesday, December 25, 2007 by Mistress Cavallaro

Something pulled me out of my body. Drew me all the way up several times, and at one point I started calling out a man’s name. I never quite got to see him or feel him near, instead, whatever was pulling me just pulled me up even more violently towards the sky and again, the sound of a strange buzzing but this one not as strong as the one before. I've only heard a buzz when I'm out of my body twice so far.

However, when I came back into my bed, there was another smaller bed next to mine with a little blonde girl that I recognized from former dreams. (The former dream was about a house where this girl lived with her brothers and would terrorize all their caretakers into dying. They’d start by placing a hanging dead man on the road to their home, because the road had no lights, you’d spot the man only when you were near enough to light him with the frontal lights of the car; this would usually make their victim swerve and hit something. If that didn’t work, the little girl herself would stand on the road. She had long blonde hair and an extremely pale complexion. In that dream, I’d come to work as their nanny, and after many frights, finally got them to calm down and behave like normal human beings. That didn’t stop their house from being frightening, since it was still far into the woods and there was never any light at night) The reason this is relevant to this particular experience, is that I had barely a few seconds to recognize this little girl from said former dream (even though technically I don’t even remember having that dream) and then she woke up as I was struggling to get back into my body and gave me some interesting insight. “You know the lady?”

I think she was referring to whatever was pulling me, because I tried seeing it or talking to it several times but failed. “Can you see her?” I was alarmed, because this girl could see who was pulling me and now I knew it was supposed to be a woman.

“Do you know how she feels about you?”

And I wasn’t sure what that meant. For some reason I wasn’t ready to understand so she said, “It’s ok, we’ll talk about this some other time” and that’s when I finally took hold of my body and woke up in my room, without any apparitions. I blinked my eyes open, and my heart was racing beyond belief.

 

It was almost five in the morning and I was freaked. I also thought immediately about the cards a friend of mine had brought up that night while she was drunk. About a feminine entity and again the color “green”.  Who’s this entity, apparently female? I don’t even know if it’s the same entity that tried to contact me before. (When I first heard the buzzing noise)  And what did the girl mean with “do you know how she feels about you?”

 

Very confusing.

 

Finally I went to sleep and had an entirely different dream. Or rather, the first  dream, since the prior one felt more like a vision than a dream. In this new dream I lived in a manor where I think I was just a temporary guest. At the manor there was this man whom I was seeing, and when he left every day to work I’d go with the mistress of the house into the bushes nearby to find a small litter of puppies that we were secretly caring for. I bonded with one of them right away and offered to take care of it, but it was complicated. The man I was seeing had followed us into the brush, half-expecting I think, to find me in some lurid affair and instead was relieved when he saw that the big “secret” were the puppies. That didn’t change the fact that we couldn’t keep the puppies.

 

The dream ended when we were trying to place them somewhere, or find them a home or still discussing what we’d do with them.

 

It switched to another universe, a universe I thought I was also familiar with, in fact, practically every element in this dream was familiar save for the new addition of Gale Harold to the cast. (Which I do blame on the fact that I've been watching Queer As Folk non-stop this past month) It was like a movie, and an adaptation from a cartoon all at once.

 

The main character was a blonde socialite woman, who’d been living in this neighborhood for a while, always pairing people up. She’d had a few romances but nothing lasting and all the men were gracious to her. The place was a sort of magical world, because men and women could transform into things or call upon beasts or elements and such. A new man arrived in town, (Gale) and he would transform into a cat woman every time he had was hit. Meaning, when the woman slapped him for being a rude bastard, he’d turn into a cat woman, and not just that, but as a cat woman, he’d stick around to defend or accompany the blonde lady. Clearly it was some sort of tension thing, romance novel style, where they would attend events (like an old friend of them singing Frank Sinatra karaoke <- a scene I’ve seen before, and while the man sang very well, Gale’s character walked right in front of him to leave) this pissed of the blonde lady who clearly followed Gale’s every single move even though all they seemed to do was argue. Then I found them making out near the stairway. Then making out both of them turned into cat people.

 

When she spoke to a friend of hers who wanted to know what was up and why she kept chasing him she said “something is happening between us almost, last night we kissed”.

 

Then came a strange incident. They were in the forest, because she wanted to get pregnant and so she drew up a tent, and the first man that lit a candle for her would be the father of her children. However, a group of mountain men came and surrounded the area right after Gale’s character had left in anger. They were clearly about to “eat” her when another man showed up, this one, showcasing the same abilities as a jedi, using mind control to make them fall on the ground or turn and dance. He was after “the black bird” who was none other than a scientist in the top building near the woman’s estate, brewing some deadly concoction to kill them all. The man had escaped from jail, I also think the man was her brother or some family. 

"Hunger"

by Mistress Cavallaro

I address so many things all at once in my head at times, that I often wonder how I keep it all straight. For instance, there’s the subject of solitude. I don’t mean being alone, I mean being the only person in control, present and accountable for absolutely everything that happens in your life. It’s the kind of affirmation that often leads me to question God. Why, if I am taught that there is a divine plan, a guardian angel, a lord watching over me, am I forced to face the following scenario:

(It might even seem ridiculous at first glance but I assure you it led me here)

My mother once told me she’d gone to see a medium. The medium told her, I’d struggle all my life with food. It was odd, because I’d been born a very thin girl, and I showed no interest in food whatsoever, to the point that my parents were worrying. Because I’ve always had allergy problems my parents would see me sneezing all the time, bending myself forward with those fragile bones and practically break into a weeping frenzy of fear. 

They opted to feed me instead a sort of “hunger” medicine. Two bottles of the solution later, I was fat as a cow. Ever since, I’ve had trouble losing that weight. Even now, that I’m not “fat”, that I’ve attained an ideal weight for my size; society’s view of my body has forced me to keep questing for that perfect “thin” waist. I’ve had so many yo-yo diets and varying results they could make a documentary. Even at barely 124 pounds, I’ve had liposuction, later, breast reduction (because they made my torso look thicker) and tried every possible cream, pill, product, liquid-diet, fast and body transformation program on the market. 

They’ve all failed. I’ve failed. The help I’ve requested from faith, people and religion has failed. The sabotage has been constant: the moment I say I’m on a diet my mother offers me food, my father brings home cake, my friends bring take-out, somebody’s birthday party comes along... every single day. Even when I tell them to please help me help myself, they’ve made it more and more difficult. It’s almost as if they are trying to keep me in my current weight instead of helping me lose it. Which is ironic, since they’re also the people that point out my weight all the time. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not weight obsessed, I think I have a beautiful weight, unfortunately, my agents don’t think so. The industry I work for requires impossibly thin, beautiful women. No matter how hard I try, today, exactly twelve years after my last “Hunger” bottle, I still haven’t managed to go past 117 pounds any given time. 

I’ve even done karmic cleansing, I’ve tried everything, I’ve exercised, I’ve paid thousands of dollars for trainers, food programs, medication and cigarettes (because they said models smoked so much because it took away the “hunger”). I’ve quit smoking since then by the way. I’ve also stopped drinking for months (though I’ve gone back to drinking… fuck it); I’ve had long diets, short diets, and even tried my hand at eating disorders (So far: Bulimia, mild anorexia…) … Nothing.

Because I was originally such a small girl, my body was never built to be thick, it doesn’t look balanced that way, but I can’t ever lower my weight. I’ve cried in frustration, worked so hard at the gym I’d almost bleed from my fingers and feet; still, no amount of pain and suffering brought me the weight loss I wanted.

No solution has come up thus far.

I’ve asked God, I’ve asked the angels, and I’ve wondered if I should switch to Buddhism. I’ve done myself tarot readings; I’ve pondered selling my soul… at this point, why should I care? And because… no matter what… I see… no change… but I’m not referring to the programs now… I’m referring to my faith. Any hope I’ve ever had about having someone guiding or protecting me has come into question with this subject. Either somebody likes to torture me… or we are in fact, completely alone and at the exclusive mercy of our own actions. 

I know, at a mere glance, this doesn’t seem like a profound enough experience to merit such a conclusion… but that’s the kind of thinking I’ll only accept from those who’ve never had problems losing weight, despite miraculous claims to the contrary from other people. There are those of us, who have stuck to diets, have worked, have busted ourselves and still gotten nowhere. 

I am not in a bad weight. But I have to get thin, to work, to get attention, to be respected, to get lovers, to impress, to be instantly accepted…

What the flying fuck are we doing? Am I "meant" to stay this way, so as to bring attention to the subject. Is that my "destiny", is this my "divine plan". Or am I in control? In any way?  

If someone's watching over us… why are you letting women kill themselves? If we’re responsible for ourselves… then why am I unable to lose weight? ... and if I do manage to lose way someday... any day... where will this argument go... and what will it mean. 

Who answers these questions? Nobody? or myself?

Fear, Rights and Murder

Thursday, December 20, 2007 by Mistress Cavallaro

But I am afraid of my own sexuality...

I'm not an extremist. I'm not a feminist. I'm not supporting of anything but my own neutral self. And I believe in learning, education, argument, debate... I believe nobody has the absolute truth of anything, which is why I challenge ideas. I'd just as easily advocate for female rights as I would for male rights, gay rights, transsexual rights and asexual rights.

Even killers have rights. In our world, murder is a point of view.

Pussy-Envy

by Mistress Cavallaro

Freud once said that most female's frustration stemmed from "Penis Envy". Well that's a sexual contradiction. Freud wishes he had a pussy. Being a scorpio (and those zodiac signs are fucked up all on their own in terms of sexuality), his quest in psychology delved into the sexual psyche of people; but came up short in terms of women. How else can an "expert" in the field come up with such a clipped argument? How can somebody pin the blame on the sole fact that we just don't have a penis. Well, Freud was a man. Of course he'd think that, because he thinks the penis is synonymous with "strenght" for women; he actually believes we look at a penis and immediately think "Therein lies the staff that conquers the world, sets the rules, gives life, creates the future..."

Freud wanted a pussy, he wanted to experience sexuality in all its forms... but he couldn't. Nobody can, not even transsexuals. You'd have to be a bisexual transsexual. One that enjoys a portion of their life as a male, and has sex with both men and women... then becomes female... and again has sex with both men and women. But the reason people become transsexuals has to do with identity, not with pleasure. You don't change your sex, because you want to experience sex in all its forms. You change your sex because you are unhappy with the sexual identity you were born with. And if you were to be a bisexual transsexual, then you'd be deemed "sick" or a "psychopath", either way you'd be a psychological problem... not a human being. You'd be a monster. Sexuality at its best... is a monster. Celibacy is the noble warrior, battling against your urges and helping you overcome the beastly urges that would have you turn into the spawn of debauchery.

Sexuality, or the lack thereof, is what gives us the capacity to be monsters or angels, demons or saints. Let it go and you're above the rest... succumb to it and you'll spiral down the road to perdition. Like with everything in life, balance is key. But females aren't balanced right now. Because our bodies are taboo. Because vagina is still the forbidden word; penis, dick, cock... not so shocking.

Now I don't know about you but when I look at a penis I see a rather easily swayed organ; certainly not a symbol of power. Even when everything around us points to "penis = power". Monuments are penis shaped, badges of honor, everything just "points" masculinity wherever you go. Arrows, staffs, sticks, phallus shaped towers... And have you ever heard a worse insult between men than being called a "pussy"? Whereas when they call each other "dicks" it carries a sense of playfulness to it. As if being a dick means that you're just being a natural man, fickle, irresponsible, selfish and rude. But manly. Being a pussy? Oh lord forbid you'd call a man a pussy. Then you're truly attacking his pride.

Even when you compliment them, it has to be a "masculine" complement. You're a "real man". You can't compare a man's virtues to female virtues... calling a man "sensitive" is equal to calling him "less of a man", "near woman", "gay"...

Now I love men, despite their little flaws (same as they can stand our emotional roller coasters) I tolerate their short-comings... But I don't feel "penis-envy". Not when it involves sticking to the "Y" chromosome and utterly ignoring the "X". We all have an "X" in our genes... we're all part female... so what gives?

The female is far more powerful, dominating and, dare I say it, cunning, when comfortable with her sexuality. Whatever that sexuality may be. Dominating and submissive alike, because the point is not to make men submit, it's to indulge in the roles we find most fulfilling, no matter what they are or how they're viewed. The roles that give us satisfaction, not the ones that manipulate us.

The female is as much a natural "top" as the male. She wants to call the shots, she wants to be in control. She's taught not to be. And though I enjoy male domination, or the idea of it in bed... at life, in practice, the scope is too broad, the area too wide... we are under their control and it's not healthy. They can't be feminine... and our showing aspects of masculinity (or what is deemed masculinity: "power", "control", "money", "status", etc.) is considered "feminism" or "penis-envy".

It goes so far... that even when a man admits he'd like to experience being a girl for one day, the first thing most women cry out is how horrible that notion is... for the man. Men's curiosity is immediatly striked down by women themselves. They believe they are worthless, painful creatures. A man can only be so lucky as to be a man and not suffer the perils of a vagina. Having your menstruation, giving birth, penetrating first through a hymen... only the pain, guilt and suffering is brought up. But when females wish they'd have a penis... "it's the best". There are no flaws in the penis.

Clearly that is not so. And having a vagina, is much more exciting. A little on the adventurous side here, women can wear strap-ons and penetrate other men or women... but men can't be penetrated unless it's from behind (and women can do this as well). We have... double the sexual power, double the sexual hunger... double the need to express it. Because we're not balanced, because it's wrong and forbidden. Because we live the era of "male sex power". Respect is something a woman has to earn, but a man is born with it. Even if they lost it in life, they can get it back... a woman loses respect, and she's scarred forever. It's double the responsibility, double the prejudice. Maybe that's why we have two breasts... double the reminder of being a target, of needing strength... breasts are beacons facing forward... demanding to be acknowledged, and fully functional. They are necessary for feeding life. They are the reason men grow in the early stages of their childhood.

They're also great fun.

"Top: lead: be ahead of others; be the first;
The top is the person who enjoys being dominant and/or sadistic. People use the word top to indicate the person who enjoys giving the 'sensations' involved in D/s or SM play. Simplistically stated, the person who does the spanking is the top."

Women are far more sexual than men, for several reasons: we prolong the act; we are capable of having multiple orgasms; our system is more sophisticated; our arousal is longer, steadier, easier to control and manage; we have more than double the amount of sensitive little nerves; we have more erogenous zones... the list goes on.

It's one of the reasons I believe female sexuality is so taboo. Men are scared of it. Men are scared of how powerful women can be when sexual. That's why when men are promiscuous, we see it as virility, whereas when the woman uses her sexuality, it's seen as "evil", "wrong", "sinful"; the equivalent of "slut" or "whore". With their penis, men are establishing power, sexual power, that they can control. While female sexuality comes with an undertone of guilt and shame. If we weren't ashamed of our sexuality, we'd rule the world. Since men aren't afraid of their sexuality, they are ruling the world.

Because being comfortable and open about your sexuality, does give you the ultimate power. In this I politely differ from "The Scum Manifesto"; a very famous piece on pussy-envy (to me the ravings of a traumatized woman, a very extreme piece and highly inaccurate). Being secure, being firm, being honest and strong... are all a product of our own comfort levels. And women will never be comfortable with themselves, we (the world) are seeing to that. Men have their flaws, their sexuality and their habits out there in the open. Women instead, carry an image and a social responsibility that's meant to establish them as role-models. I'm not saying men don't have these responsibilities... just never in the same amount. You can definately imagine your father cheating on your mother and running away with a new woman. But if your mother does it, there's something completely unforgivable about her needs and the situation: she's a woman.

And as a society, we don't spare women. We're too afraid of them. We're too afraid of how a woman would be; if she were completely sure of herself, perfectly happy with her body, perfectly in tune with her sexuality and guilt-free.

Women are also highly intuitive, but they're not allowed to express or explore their intuition. Women must also submit to rules that forever place them second to the "penis". Women must also look for the one "penis" that they should be loyal to all their lives. Men are taught to get as much pussy as they possibly can. Or it's ingrained into their system by the media.

What... the... fuck?

Women would like to stop seeing themselves objectified by the media. But that's our fault too. Female sexuality is such a mystery, so taboo, that we all crave to see it and understand it. It's so far out of our reach. There's nothing more sensual than the idea of a woman touching herself, dipping her fingers inside her cleft and stroking the trembling wet little cove, her face a mixture of pleasure and distress. We love our women guilty. We love them sneaking out to please themselves and not telling a soul, or having them tell us of lewd sexual fantasies (that even though they're fantasies, must still stick to a certain code of conduct).

Heck there's my point. Female sexual repression, is so overblown, that even fantasies have a glass roof. A woman can fantasize what she wants, but she won't talk about it, not about her darkest deepest fantasies... they might be even more dark than men's fantasies (definitely)... and that's not supposed to be.

Well... says who?

Freud? Jesus?

Poor Mary. She had to be virgin for her birth to be considered pure... the idea that a woman who's done a sexual act could be the mother of God is so preposterous...

Bite me.

Where are the women who rule? Where are the strong female deities that shape our philosophies... I'll tell you where... in the book of hell. They are regarded as the whores of past millenniums, wives of the devil, twisted queens and witches that lured men into traps and whole civilizations into ruin.

They had sex. They enjoyed sex. They used sex.

Oh my gosh... SEX.

Big fucking deal.

You know... you're mother's not immaculate. And quite frankly... neither are you. They say sexual acts begin in the mind... I'm a virgin... I should know...

There is no such thing as an immaculate female. Though that theory can't be proven right or wrong, because we'll never know... they'll never tell.

I'm just saying.

I don't want to be afraid of my sexuality. So I won't be. I just won't.

Let's see what happens.

A Woman's World

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