Listen to the Silence

Please. FUCKING PLEASE. If you need to find a sliding scale therapist or psychiatrist, or an open clinic, or a county health office, or a welfare diagnostician - I'll help you.   I will PERSONALLY help you - it's something I do every single weekend as part of my volunteer work. (That's on top of being a cop, on top of building toys for Creative Kink, and on top of being a full time Dad, btw.  So yes, I really commit to the work, and yes, I really will help you.) But this self diagnosis shit?  This shit has got to go.   There's a reason why so many people go through years and years and YEARS of graduate education to be able to make a diagnosis of psychological or psychiatric treatment needs.  I realize self diagnosis is the latest fad.  I realize having some 'mental illness' makes you seem trendy, and I realize all your celebrity favorites are "coming out as having...".  I get that it makes you feel better to have a label to hang on yourself

So, things to consider.   All wise-ass-ery aside.  (except for some.   Because I'm, you know, Kenova.  The asshole - but having a beard makes up for it.  Ask half the girls I've spanked.) Rule 1.   If you post it - they will come.  They being web crawlers, and post it meaning put it out there, anywhere.   On your phone.  On a private server.  In an IM to friends one on one.  On a memorial site, ten years ago.  In an article that some grandmother eventually scanned as part of scanning a newspaper into archives.  As a joke tweeted then deleted.  On a .Gov email that you both "got rid of".  On a private selfie that you keep in that hidden folder on your phone, where you hide all your gay (and selfie) porn.  On a friend's phone.  On a screen cap.  Walking past someone with a digital camera or a phone held up in the "selfie" or "I'm-a-tourist" pose. If it was taken - web crawlers will eventually find it.  A class I've been to numerous

If you don't have a green or red butt plug in your bottom by the 24th, I'm ashamed of you. I'll settle for red bruises, and a green thong, though. Still - for shame.

Don’t ever try to judge me, dude, You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through. Don’t like it?   Don’t listen.  Same as all my writings.   I get plenty of hate mail.  I’ve long ago stopped holding my tongue at left leaning events (which most are in the lifestyle, these days.  *dramatic sigh*) So. “If you really wanted to be an ally to POC, you’d give…” “If men were actually allies for women, they would…” “If you ever want to be an ally to <insert group>, you have to…” Okay.  Here we go. You ain’t gonna like this.  I’d say trigger warning – but I only give those when I’m already halfway through the trigger squeeze.  (And it sounds like “drop the weapon!”, not “be careful of your feelings!”) Preamble.   I’m Native.   My people were here before yours.   ANY of yours.  Yet we still have the highest poverty per capita (by person, AND household) in the US.  We receive the lowest (just about none) help from any government or private group.  The weakest c

Groups in the lifestyle who are taking it upon themselves to begin "investigations" of consent violations. You may very definitely and in most cases are most definitely, going to be compromising any future actual legal investigation and prosecution. Thereby making more victims who are not getting Justice from the justice system, and are unwilling to go to the justice system because the justice system can't help them.   It becomes a vicious cycle in that case. They can't get Justice because the investigation or the prosecution are compromised due to well-meaning efforts by non-law enforcement beforehand. Please also try to remember, you are not police, prosecutors, or licensed investigators. Anything you find, any interviews you make, any accusations you make, any "blacklists" you publish, or any personal and private information you release to the community at large, can result in lawsuits against you or the group or the publisher. There's a reason why

My father died the day before Thanksgiving, in 2008.   My wife left shortly before, and our girlfriend left shortly thereafter -  It's pretty fair to say I was a mess.  Raising a little girl on my own, with two holes in my life, and my biggest support gone...I definitely wasn't Kenova anymore.   I withdrew from Fetlife.  I withdrew from my own consulting company, and sold it off (the name, the rights, the client list, the equipment, the whole deal).  Every time I felt like I hit rock bottom, I hit auto dial for my father's cell phone.  It was just a reflex - if things were bad, call your Dad.   It took a few times hitting his voicemail, then hitting the shut off notice, before it really sunk in that he wasn't there anymore.   My sister was a missionary and moved in to help with my mother.   I'm not ashamed to say she also came over on 2 hour drives to help with my daughter.   When things really dropped out, I met this mousy little grad student w

Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods? Where’s the streetwise Hercules, to fight the rising odds? Isn’t there a white knight, upon a fiery steed? When I was younger, this song was my syllabus.   It was who I wanted to be – the good man.  The hero, at whatever sacrifice or cost.  And there was sacrifice in my life.   There was cost.  I lost 7 years to a marriage trying to be the self-sacrificing hero instead of leaving the first time she hit me.  I have scars from stepping in between a knife and a victim.  I tried to be a good man.  But not anymore.  Somewhere I fell off of that path, and in the last few years I’ve been reflecting on that.  (Amazing what wonders therapy will do for you.)   Somewhere along the decades, I watched the buy-in of “toxic masculinity” by the media and society at large.  That’s where the song (still idolized and beloved by many) became impossible.   The good men are gone – they’ve been burned by a system and a narrative that