My twisted thoughts

The scream still echoes, even though only in my head now. Sounds forever held in a space of time in the mind, like a still photograph of pain expressed. Time, space and the mind, all conjoined and yet totally separate in the universe, all subject to the presence of the other yet constantly wrestling for mastery. Time is the moments that are seared in the brain like a hot brand to the flesh, ready to surface and take the thinker to a different place. It is forever marching on, relentless in its drive, waiting for no one or nothing. Space holding danger inches away or pushing the participants into the maelstrom as lives are thrust together in a single place of a cosmic collision, or keeps a loved one half the world away. Space can be evil and cruel, binding and flexing its muscle or soft and gentle as the caress of a lovers lips in a spring rain. The mind, ah often the victim of the others, it is always desperate to be in control as it is easily swayed and tricked. The mind seeing things in its own tainted perspective, often unyielding until it is forced down another path.  All three brought together by the universe in every being that exists.

Master Symbol 1

Is it strange that nothing is what is seems to be; everything swirled in the fog of perspective? The feeling of pleasure so easily blends with pain like the swirl ice cream cone that a child carries, twisted together in the flesh of a person. Are we the only creature that seeks out pain to feel, to know, to experience? Ah the sweet feel of the blade as it kisses the flesh, its lustful lick desiring to draw out its crimson gift, the brain responds trying to take the pain and fill that space with and endorphin rush of pleasure. Grunts and screams of release and bodies sweat and push harder till exhaustion takes them over, for what purpose, to be beautiful in the end, to show weakness is not in them? What of this spirit, forever alive, some say for a single pass through here and others claim it is a repeating                                                                                     cycle reaching each time for a higher level?


Sleep a specter these days, always haunting but never quite there. Dreams driven by a deep madness called reality, things seen there that makes the blood run cold. Images that fear of reproach keep hidden from the world. One night apocalyptical images, the next pleasure of dark carnal desire, another a field of flowers and elves, other nights it is dancing naked under the full moon, dreams are a strange thing. It is the images of blood and horror that rob even me of sleep, the sight of bodies torn to pieces by war and man’s pleasure. Images of horrid beings with their tongues sliding over tender flesh as they savor the taste of fear in the powerless. Longing to look away but unable to, for in dreams control is taken away, the puppet must dance as the master commands. The puppet master pulls the strings as the helpless victim feels the blade sever the flesh and the world becomes a crimson spray.

The entire world is mad, hatters running around in a tea party as the mouse lays drunk and passed out. The late hair running wild, the white rabbit, that to each person we are destined to chase, for he is the key to escaping the insanity. The queen of hearts a wench and a harlot at times, the heart never satisfied, always craving more, always demanding its own will and way. Run Alice run, drink this, eat that and experience life. Caterpillar will you share your smoke as the Cheshire cat smiles with his hidden secrets? All madness and folly, what purpose is there? Is it not the purpose to chase and desire? The thrill of the chase, the pleasure of the hunt, oh that is dangerous woodland to walk with me.

 Tracking, stalking, watching and waiting, skills from time past of lives that have been passed forward. The innate desire to seek out and take, gathering together what is needed and wanted. Man is no different today; our caves just are more elaborate, out wants more costly. More and more we horde in the cave till we choke on it, over powered but to its luster and sparkle we become its slave. Bend and break the back for that next thing that will fit nicely in the pile of decaying acquisitions. Lustful cravings in this hyper-sexualized culture, young girl desperate to be mature women, older woman frantic to cling to the last sparks of youth. In and through it all men watching and leering, young and old alike. Men desire and lust for the pleasure of that release, to feel the pleasure and attain the high that is like no other. It is power; it must be partially that, the thing that drives us. Another conquest as the semen spurts in or on its target. But man is a predator by nature, craving the hunt, no needing the hunt to feel that rush of being male. Each hunts in their own way, it might be with the partner that they crave, offering gifts, and waiting for the prey to fall into their trap of seduction. For others it is the fertile hunting grounds of the bar or other social gatherings, watching and waiting to cull one from the heard and bring it to its knees, conquering its will even if for a few minutes. Yes indeed mankind is predatory, look into the every wanting eye and say different.

Heroic figures stand on mountain peaks, watching from rooftops, resting in their mansions as the world burns. They hide relying on their laurels of a yester year to get them through one more day. No longer is it their desire to risk life and limb for people who say good job today and call them monster the next. This is no longer the time for white knights and supermen, this is the era of the crow and dark knights, the ones who do not fear the darkness but embrace it as a part of them.


It is not in the light of day that a man’s true nature is seen but rather in the dark allies and hidden places. Hero, coward, predator, but alas each one is a part of every man. What would a person do if they knew there was no chance of getting caught or reprisal? Think on that for a while. It is fear that keeps man in check, fear of being taken away from his hunting ground and placed in a cage where he will wither and die inside. Take the fear away and let humanity run its course it would be a world of ashes and brutality. Then everyone would hear the screams as they echo

About Lord Raven

Lord Raven is a master at blending both the erotic and the macabre. He is a life Style Dominant who came into things in this way of living in the “traditional” manner and has been involved in BDSM for more than 20 years. He is a highly social creature by nature and his hobbies include paddle making, knife play, general deviance, gratuitous flirtation, and of course rough sex.