The closest intimacy isn’t physical, it’s mental…

I had some random bits rattling around in my head and, since I woke up far too early and haven’t written one of these in some time, decided to let them out…

Hiding your insecurities doesn’t show any self-confidence, it shows the lack. You don’t have to share them with everyone but, someone should know…

I have a friend. It’s an odd sort of friendship. Most start from the outside in. They start with the surface stuff like “Wow, nice Crocs, I love mine, how about you?” and, after some years, gets to “I was having nightmares last night reliving (fill in the blank ugly life event)”. Ours started in the middle and are working our way out. I don’t recommend that as a way to find friends but, it does let you rapidly get there. *grins*

Related to the previous, if you’re going to start there, be prepared to keep that person close forever because you just gave them lots of “permission”. You told them that they could hurt you by revealing your secrets. You told them that they could judge you based on your past. You also told them that you believe in them meaning, you expect them to neither reveal nor judge you.

The friend and I have an agreement. It is that while most friendships have some conditions they’re rarely codified, we did ours. We have two rules. First, “no hiding” and second “trust”. Those rules take “offense” off the table. Neither of us is allowed to take offense at what the other says, within broad reason, some words would hurt, but, not at being told the truth. It also means that we have blanket permission to speak into the other life…

Other odd thought about her. No one, well maybe a couple of people, even know we’re friends. Her friends, out there, don’t even know I exist…I hope. Not that I’m hiding her or fear being hidden. It’s just that there’s no need for others to know…

There’s a “game” she tries. We call it “dare”. She tries to find things to shock me and push me away. I let her. She CAN startle me. Does it frequently but, I don’t easily scare. I am a bit flattered that she tries, that means she cares enough to want me to stay no matter what she throws at me. I encourage her to keep trying because, the more I pass, the less she fears…and the dares give me insight into what drives her…

Look, not everyone is going to be close. Not everyone should but, everyone NEEDS some few people to be unguarded around. Some person that you trust with the “flat sides” of your personality and past. I have a couple. I still don’t know why she decided on me. I asked and I’m not sure she really knows why she decided to reach out to me. I have no clue, after much “wailing and gnashing of teeth”, why I accepted her trust and returned it. After much thought, I still don’t know…and decided the reasons aren’t important. What does matter is that she exists in my world and, if her words can be taken at  face value, that I am in hers. That’s enough. She’s my friend and I want, every time, what’s best for her. That’s a comfortable place for me…and I’m rarely comfortable with friends.

When Heroes Become Villains


There’s a place some go. A place I’ve gone, and it’s a place of nightmares. Where you can’t trust the person to wake you up. What if the person who wakes you up from the dreams of monsters, turns out to be the monster themself?

You’ve seen the picture of innocence. Of child-like faith. Not just in God, or blue skies, but in family. Your grandfather is this smelly old guy who teaches you how to play an instrument and makes funny jokes. Your uncle is the greatest person in the world. Your other grandpa comes around and fixes what needs fixed. He throws you in the air and plays games. They are heroes. Superheroes who do no wrong.

And then one person changes that. Family has no meaning. The veil of innocence is gone and you see threats. If this one person, who swore to protect me, is capable of this, then what of them? And you start to see secrets. And secrets are scary. Because secrets live in the dark, and there are always more where those came from.

People get angry when you’re too frightened to be alone with them. As much as you’d love to say you trust them, you can’t, because you know they are just as capable of untold horrors. Family means nothing. “Love” loses it’s touch.

I don’t know if it’s something that can be changed. I’m certain I’m missing out on knowing some great people.  I wish I could trust, especially in family, and trust in “love.”

What I want in life is to fix the world, even if I can’t fix me. I want to see a few people hurt less because of something I know. Because of something I can say, or because of something I can do.

I don’t pray well. Its a thing forgotten often until I break and start shouting blubbering curses to the man upstairs. But when I do, I pray my daughter keeps her heroes. I pray this for every child. I pray this for the child I was.

I hope at some point I can see past the villains, and start seeing the heroes in those I should. Hope that I will see beyond possibilities and potential for hurt. Hope I can restore to some degree that faith in humanity, and maybe restore it in someone else too.


If you’ve read my posts over the past month or two, you might have gathered that there’s a specific person in my mind when I write. If you read M’Lady and Her Jester you will know the background. This post is where she is in her words. She asked me to post this. I left it unedited. She said I could comment…

Perhaps you will never quite learn to trust. *sigh* The cynical old b****rd in me says trusting “humanity” is for suckers. Humanity will always let you down but, there are rare humans that you can trust…and they will sometimes let you down, too. You are trying, though. You are searching for a way to find what was stolen from you. You are willing to face your fears. You are willing to accept that not every person is a person that hurt you. That you are willing, in spite of your fears and your past, gives me hope that you will succeed. It will take time. It will be hard.
M’Lady, you reached out to me. You took my trust and, however far from you, my love. You tried to run from those and, when it came to accept or reject, choose to accept, no matter how those scared you. I know you are not confident that you will ever be “healed” but, for now, on this part of our path, trust my confidence in you. There will be days, in some distant future, where fear will come back but, by then, you will know it for what it is and it won’t harm you.

I know it isn’t much but, here’s the hand of a friend to walk your path with you. *offers hand*

With love,
M’Lady’s Jester

Are You Effing Stupid?

Are you effing stupid?

Do you blame a bank for being robbed? If you don’t…

Do you really believe a rapist picked her because he thought she was a slut? Do you think that he saw her dressed that way and it made him want to rape her?…or is it because you want some excuse to blame her and not look into your own soul and peer at your own weaknesses?

One of the people I love has been subjected to this…and more…

The worst part of convincing yourself that she somehow deserved it is that by the repeating SHE  starts to believe it. She starts to think she’s in the wrong…That is the part of your bulls**t that really is disgusting. That you try to use your words to convince her that she earned RAPE.

You know that dispassionate part where I can try to step back, this isn’t it. Slut shaming subjects the victim to the crime over and over. It revictimizes. It degrades. It tears people down when they most need building up. Piss on the lot of you.

I’ll take HER side every effing time. I’ll defend her right to dress how she pleases, sleep with whoever she consents to and however often she desires…and if you blame her or attack her, I’ll laugh while she leaves you. I’ll stand with her and you may go f**k yourself…


M’Lady and Her Jester

I have something to write. I don’t know where or how to begin. Do I begin at her beginning, her middle, or now?

I have a friend that I love. I think of her by many names, the one that fits here is M’Lady and I am her Jester. As such, I am allowed to speak the truth. The lowliest member of the court may be the most honest…this is the now…

In the middle, she was married to a boy that feared her. He feared her mind. He feared his own weakness in the face of her strength…and he made her pay for his fear and weakness by raping her in the guise of marriage. He inflicted pain and humiliation on her and convinced her that she was to blame. He resented her past and her present. He told her that if she didn’t like what he was doing, he could bring another man to do it to her, He called it love and didn’t realize that it was hate. He convinced her to love her rapist…and she believed his lies and abuse. He taught her to lie to avoid worse pain. She thought she had somehow earned his actions and deserved them…

In her beginning, she thought she was a “badass”. She became promiscuous at an early age. Too young, some would say. Her Jester believes her life is HER’S and no one’s to judge save for her.  She paid, through the years by being bullied and shamed. Her reaction was, “if y’all think that’s bad, check this out”…and paid with more scorn and derision, “slut shaming”. To her credit, M’Lady would do it over the same way, sparing herself none of the pain that was to come because she has grown and learned through it.

…and now for the words of the Jester…

M’Lady, you did no wrong. Your youth and enjoyment of sex gave no cause for what happened later.

Your middle is not excused by any prior action of yours. There is no excuse that can be made, no justification given for a rapist. No amount of fear, shaming, or resentment of you excuses coercion or forcible rape. That you survived and escaped is a testament to your strength. That you became the person your Jester knows and loyally serves proves that strength. That you kept the light in your eyes for the Jester to find, makes your rapist even weaker because, no matter how he tried, he could not dim them.

In your present, M’Lady, you have so recently escaped the middle so listen to the words of the Jester. You did no wrong. You are not to blame, not then and not now. There should be no shame in you for being the person you are. If you were the person you came to believe, your Jester would not be here. That society and your rapist would use your past to excuse your middle speaks of them, not you…

M’Lady, trust the words of your Jester. You are worth being loved. You are one of the finest human beings I have ever known. You have your scars, we all do. You have your weaknesses and bits of inner darkness, only the weak fear them in others and refuse to believe their own. Your innocence, after all you have been through, gives your Jester cause for hope and proves his affection and love are not misplaced. That you would allow these words to be written proves that you will survive stronger than before.


Slut Shaming is never an excuse. What she does with her body is her choice. Who she sleeps with and when she chooses to is no reason to excuse rape. It never was. It never will be. If you can not accept that there is ZERO excuse for rape or coercion, then it isn’t her that deserves shame, it is you.

I am in no way by the phrasing making light of the subject. It is FAR too close to home. The only way for me to touch this topic, rape within the confines of marriage and slut shaming, is to write in the third person and as the Jester. If I were to write the words in my heart, the hatred I have for the ex, I suspect it would be a crime or perceived as a threat and that is not intended as she will not allow that. There are very few humans in the world I love, perhaps 5 not related by blood, M’Lady is one.

An “I Worry” Monologue

Sometimes I worry…

When we are “talking” there are fits and starts…long pauses…backspace out…rethinking…because I worry.

I worry that you won’t understand because there’s no tone of voice or facial expression in a typed word.

I worry that you will, someplace in some corner of your mind, think I disapprove of you. That somehow, my jokes, feeble as they may be at times, will make you think I see your “reputation” that I care not the tiniest bit about.

I worry that a joke or comment about buying a skirt, you remember that one, hunh? That comment, so completely out of character for me, will make you think that I see you as just a body, a “booty call”, and not who you are. That you think in some way I am visualizing you in “the act” and that makes you some kind of imaginary porn star.

I worry about MY motives. I worry that my jokes are to make me less concerned. That by joking I make it easier to be not *looking for a word that expresses care for the psyche and squishy parts* as *use word I was looking for* much as I do because I’m making light of you. That I use joking to keep ME from being worried or concerned. I am. Every time.

I am a bit of a prude. Not as a matter of judgment or care for reputation or who I associate with or what happens to MY name but, to yours. I worry that some of the things you do will cause you grief in some future place. That you will look back with regret. I know what you’ve told me of the guilt you sometimes have. I know that feeling. It sneaks up in the dark when you least expect it. It makes you, read me, want to say “fuck it, you ain’t seen nothin yet” and go FAR off the deep end just because…

I worry because, to me, some of the “games” you play seem dangerous. Note the phrase “to me”. That the risks you take will get you harmed or dead. That there’s a tiny line between thrill and “demons released” and that, once out, they will not stop until they’ve fed on a victim…and that victim is you. You see, I trust that to you it’s play and release but, to the person USING you, they are real demons that will do real damage. There is never a spot where I will not worry about that. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week.

Look, I know that you think you’re not some China Doll to be wrapped in tissue and kept in a box on a shelf to be jealously guarded, only brought out for special occasions or to be shown to guests. That doesn’t keep me from wanting to, though. I KNOW that you have to live your life…and I don’t want to stop you but, that doesn’t keep me from being scared FOR you.

I worry that the things you say about yourself are because you think you are those things. When you say “booty call” or a mutter about your “reputation” I hope that isn’t all you think you are. Truth be told, baring my soul, was I not married, I’d drive up there so that and go out with you knowing that those are what you think exist, and possibly do, to go where people that think those about you and show off how proud to be “on your arm” I would be. I’d love to go up there and have them think “doesn’t he know?” and be thinking back, “fuck y’all I do know what you think, so what?” If all they see is reputation don’t buy into it…and I worry that you do. That you slight yourself.

I also worry that writing blogs about you makes you revictimized. That I am “using” you. That you have to relive the events. Yeah, I know that it helps to process, it does my demons, too. Doesn’t stop me from worrying. I worry that when I think about things that somehow, in my skewed logic, I am seeing those actions take place like some kind of audience that you do not need. That in some way, I am a participant in those actions. *I know I’m not and my worry is irrational but, emotions are irrational sometimes*

Yeah, I also worry that I use too many words. *sigh* That they lose their impact. That the “squishy words” have been used, by me, too many times or the concerns that I tell you get lost in the repetition. I know I say a lot. A friend used to tell me “I want to know what time it is, not how to build a watch”…and I still tell how to build the watch…that really is a point, that overtalking makes you think that it’s just so I can see myself talk and not that I care. If you saw the lost sleep, the random head shakes during the day, the muttered “damn it”‘s under my breath, you’d realize that NEVER will your impact, even in the brief time since we’ve been talking, is beyond what you or I realize…

Anyway, yeah, I worry, all the time. Yes, it’s what I do. No, I don’t worry for everyone, in fact, for very few. I don’t worry as much for the other 3 you know because they don’t need it. Maybe I am wrong, maybe you don’t need it either but, till my subconscious knows it and convinces my conscious, I’ll still be worried. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be true to me…or you…

In the end, I don’t know that you believe it but, you’ve implied in a thread where you said “you find a Miller” that you were lucky for finding me…and you don’t realize that you honor me by letting me into your world. NQD says “that’s cute” when you tell him you love him and really doesn’t have a clue how hard those words are for you, how scared you are of them. I do. I am in awe of the fact that we even have the quote “squishy words” that mean what they do. Just that phrase means more to me than you telling him you love him because he doesn’t know…and if he doesn’t figure it out, I know you, you won’t even try to clarify. Yeah, thanks for inviting me in and letting me worry. Till the end of my days, I will. Someone should, not out of obligation but, because they want to care for you. That is me.



You Are a Rapist

No matter if she’s young or old, drunk or sober, promiscuous or virgin, same race or different, will remember or not, forced or emotionally coerced, gay, straight, or bi, none of them matter. Once you cross the line the only thing that matters is you raped her…and you became a rapist.

She may heal or she may carry the emotional and physical scars to her grave…and you will still be a rapist.

No matter if you repent and she forgives you, until your grave and then to eternity, you will be a rapist.

She will never be worth less because of what you have done to her…and you will never be worth more than a rapist.

Your action doesn’t have to define her life but, it defines yours. From that point forward, even if you and she are the only ones that know, no matter what achievements or accolades you gain, you will have committed rape and be a rapist.

If your life is spotless from that point forward, it doesn’t change who you are. You are a person that raped someone, a rapist. Period.

There are actions in people’s pasts they can rise above. It is possible to cease being an addict. It is impossible to be a former rapist. That scar on your soul, that word that defines what you did, can not be removed.

You willingly crossed the line. You made the choice to action. There is no excuse. There is no, “I didn’t mean to.” You did not “accidentally” become a rapist. You did it on purpose. You had a choice, to rape or not to…and you decided you WANTED to be a rapist. You wanted the label and the stain. Now, you get to live with that. Your parents and family get to. Your friends now associate with a rapist. Your childhood dreams just became meaningless because you are a rapist.

My opinion may not matter to a rapist. I don’t care. There is nothing lower than you. There is no human below you because, to me, you are sub-human. Contempt is a weak word for what should be shown to you. I hope you enjoy it because that is the best you deserve.

In the end, she will rise above it and you…you are a rapist.

An Explanation of this Blog’s Direction

In the past two years and change, this blog has been predominantly about LBGT Rights and religious acceptance of Paganism by the Christian community.

Lately, it has been for and to a pair of friends that are rape survivors. That is the direction it will continue to take. There MAY be brief forays into my personal past or some other topic but, those will be directly within the context of being a survivor of something, violence, rape, or addiction.

If you followed under any other pretense or looking for something else, please do not feel deceived.

I have one sole perspective. Rape, no matter if it is forcible or by emotional manipulation, is NEVER excusable. There is no circumstance that makes it an accident. The phrases “boys will be boys” or “just a little action” do not make it right. Being drunk does not allow it. If that perspective offends you, feel free to leave. If you think “he has a sickness” and being a rapist is some kind of “illness” that can be lessened by that perspective, perhaps the one that is delusional is you.

To explain from my perspective, I DO NOT WANT to write these. It hurts. It causes nightmares and physical pain but, that is nothing compared to what happened to my loved ones. My “discomfort” is minor in light of having to live with what they do. The fact that they willingly expose what happened to them and, reading this blog and answering my questions, are forced to relive those actions makes them far more important than what lack of “fun” this may be.

If they want me to write, yes, I asked directly last night and gave them an out, their answer was to continue despite the pain of the telling and reading, means, to me, they have more import than a mere typist. Their courage makes it impossible for me to not be their voice. Their thoughts and hearts have earned my voice. That they know the dark spots in my soul and do not reject me makes them more precious than any sense of self I may have.

There will be more posts directly on track. There will be stories of what they felt and how they survive. There will be discussion of why rape is not reported. It may not always be from their perspective but, they will always be at the front of my head and heart as I write. They are not perfect women. I am not a perfect man. That is the Human Condition. They are not always brave, they fear and panic, yet, they face every day knowing that. Those are parts of them that I admire, facing life with those fears.

Lastly, if you expect a “blame the victim” thought from this blog, you will be disappointed. If you expect any mitigation of what was done by the aggressor, this is not where it will be found. If you expect any view of them other than “they may have been harmed but, they are not damaged”, it will not be here. This perspective is that her body is hers. If she walks naked and drunk down the street, give her your coat to keep her warm and call a cab…unless she wants to be walking naked and drunk… not that she is inviting you to fuck her.

If you expected sunshine and light, or cupcakes and cookies, this is not the place. Rape and violence, as well as survivor guilt, hurt, distrust, and the objectification of women, will never be “light”.

Why Does this Even Need to Be Said…or, If You Think Rape Is a Good Idea, F**k You

I’m out of patience.

That dirtbag, Brock Allen Turner, was the final straw. His father and the judge that excused him was just the icing on the cake.

There is NO excuse for rape. Not for emotional coercion that makes her consent when she doesn’t want to. No excuse for misunderstanding intent. No excuse for “boys will be boys”. No excuse criminal defense lawyers slandering the victim to defend the rapist.

There is not a deep enough Pit in the Christian Hell I believe exists or whatever Karmic Revenge that others believe.

She did not deserve it. She wasn’t “a little action”. She didn’t dress like she was asking for it. Alcohol does not excuse it.

If she didn’t SPECIFICALLY invite you, keep your fucking hands off of her. Period. If she changes her mind AFTER she says “yes”, then you STOP. Is that concept hard to grasp? If it is, I’m sorry to share the same air with you because the level of stupidity and privilege you display might be contagious.

It isn’t a matter of “what if she was a (fill in the blank) relation?” That is not a good enough reason to be offended. It is, her body belongs to HER. It DOES NOT belong to you. She doesn’t exist for your sick games or power trips.

Yes, truth be told, people I love have been hurt by rape, either actual physical rape or emotional coercion that is EXACTLY the same thing. Yes, I am proud of them for surviving. Yes, it hurts me to see them harmed. No, they are not “damaged goods”. In fact, if I weren’t married, either of the two would make a fine wife…in fact, one is a “fine wife” and I love watching that couple interact; the other is merely too young and I am married but, she will be a partner in life that is more worthy than whoever she winds up with.

To reiterate, if you think rape is a good idea, if you make excuses for rape, if you condone in any manner the idea that there MIGHT be some extenuating circumstance, you belong in the same Pit of Hell I hope EVERY SINGLE RAPIST ends up in. You are no better than them. I wish there was a way to imprison those who make excuses for rape and rapists. The fathers that failed to hammer home that basic lesson in humanity, that rape is never acceptable or a right, should have never been allowed to breed.

To the Ladies I mentioned. I do not know how you go on without being filled with hate and rage. I admire you both. You have kept your kindness and gentleness. Your bravery has me in awe of you. I love you both dearly.

When Words Fail…

…what do you say?

When “I wish I could take your hurt away” is inadequate?

When “you’ll be fine” rings hollow?

When silence doesn’t feel like an answer?

I don’t know how to fix things.

I can not undo what happened.

I can promise that the only thing that has changed between us is that, I care more for you because you are taking more of my emotional energy…

…and that is a gift freely given…

I do know that you have been told you are beautiful but, I don’t know if they were talking about what I am, your heart and soul. There is no part of you that is, to me, damaged. You were and always will be beautiful.

This is my hand. Take it for as long as you need.

jordan_river (1)


Once upon a time…
Some people were wandering in the wilderness. They had been seriously lost. They had wandered for a generation and had begun to believe that they would never find their way out. Finally, they got to where they could see where they were going. They could see the goal that they had begun to believe they would never reach but, there was a river in the way. That brought their dreams to a crashing halt but, their holy men prayed and they were given an answer from their God. He said, “I will make a path through the water and you will set monument stones where you walk that path through the river.” They agreed. They had the leaders of their tribes set those stones in the middle of the river where they had walked on dry land. Then their God closed up the river over those monuments leaving them unseen except for in the memories of the survivors…

Now, no matter what happened, they couldn’t cross back and they couldn’t disregard the importance of honoring the monuments their God had instructed them to place. They didn’t know what the future would hold, only that their past was closed to them…

Our lives are like that. Sometimes we face obstacles that seem unpassable. We get to the edge and don’t know what to do. We can see where we need to be, it’s right over there,but, we can’t see a way to cross to it…and then something changes…

I was faced with one of those places recently. I have had issues with trusting people, with believing that they will remain true to what they say. I have friends that have helped me get to the edge of the river by showing me that THEY could be trusted but, that was hard won, like the journey leading to the river. Still, I wanted to keep my distrust because it’s safer that way…and something happened. Just like in the story, one more person came along and changed things. They changed it by trusting me first…

The story shows, to me, a bunch of other things…

It shows me that, once crossed, we can not go back to our past…

It teaches that, although we fear the river might close up and swallow us, it is better to cross and begin again, no matter our fears.

It also lets us know that those crossings aren’t done alone. They asked their God for help and crossed with each other…

We don’t always see those crossings. Sometimes we look back and realize we did cross.

Sometimes the milestones and monuments differ. Some are places in time. Others are locations or objects. The most important are the people that help us and we keep them in our memories and hearts forever.

In the end, the best monuments are the memories of the times that a person neither pulled or pushed but, took our hand and walked along side. They are never seen but, exist to this day.

I have my Stones. I do them Honor by both remembering them, they are with me always, and not going back to who I used to be.