supplicium post mortem

This has been a dumb, stupid, boring old day. First, we had to get up at 4 o’clock in the morning and I had to do homework. TL’s like: you should have done your homework yesterday. I’m like: why bother? It’ll just take more time then. So blah blah blah homework homework homework and all we got to eat was green tea, not even any breakfast (snatched half a plain bagel from the dining room at skool tho’, yuk). Then boring old skool all morning, and lunch, which is supposed to be good, was dumb – boring chicken and then some apple crumble thing for dessert, which was a total swiz because there’s only dessert 2 days a week at skool in Lent, and to waste it on a dumb apple thing? Plus I had to sit between boring people. So then it’s hack back here and more skool all afternoon – thought I’d go blind. Then walk the dogs, do the recycling, do the trash, sweep the sidewalk, blah blah. Finally TL went away and we could change into pyjamas. She’s still on about all the homework I owe, like reports that were due today (that I haven’t started yet, p.s.). But at least once she takes her shoes off, you don’t have to listen to her any more. Cereal for dinner and nothing on t.v. So that’s it for the long, boring, stupid day – yay.

Miss Lincoln

BTW, I don’t know what she’s doing with the cane. It’s not like marky’s around to whack anymore. Guess she thinks it’s a fashion accessory to go with her Miss Gulch shooz.

Tell England, continued…

One thing that enthralls me (and also depresses me) about the relationship in Tell England between Radley and his students, and that’s how acceptable it is for him to be alone with the boys. He can take Ray’s hand and hold it while he talks intimately with him; he can work his psychology and let Ray know that he has strong opinions of his conduct and character. Today that’s all been perverted – and that’s the part that depresses me.

First, a teacher (especially a man) would never be allowed to be alone behind closed doors with a boy (or girl). In all schools where I’ve taught, there are windows in the classroom doors specifically to prevent this kind of intimacy, to “protect” both adult and child from such an intimacy, or the suggestion of one.

Second, it is generally frowned upon to express a strong, direct opinion of a student’s conduct or character. That’s considered judgmental (a negative thing now); we are expected to take a more morally neutral approach in which we hope to reveal to the student that such-and-such an action isn’t really in their best interests. Children are rather left to work out right and wrong for themselves, except in matters of political correctness in which they are subtly manipulated into self-censorship under the guise of tolerance. All this I find ultimately cruel.

Third, Radley’s love of boys – as un-sexual and unexploitative as it is – would be branded pedophilia today, and how much poorer they all would be! Without the intimacy, those personal lessons cannot be taught, or learnt. Viz:

I know now that the feeling for all the boys, as he gazed down upon them from his splendid height, was love – a strong, active love. We were young, human things of soft features gradually becoming firmer as of shallow characters gradually deepening. And he longed to be in it all – at work in the deepening. We were his hobby. I have met many such lovers of youth. Indeed, I think this is a book about them (105 in Google books).

Fourth, Radley’s show of strength in the corridor scene would be subject of a suit. Today, everyone’s minds (adult minds, at least) are turned ever outwards, away from the crucial task of teaching, and occupied with the possibility of criticism –  from parents, administration, law, the EU/government, students themselves. All that self-censorship drains men and women of the energy required to give fully of themselves towards the formation of decent human beings. Today, the essential task this novel presents, that of forging a young man to just behavior, would be impossible. Today we have less, so much less, passionately, energetically less – a brutal indifference in the name of progress.

TGI has always meant something else to me. It’s a term that developed early in my correspondence with M, short for “the topic of greatest interest”. It became an all-purpose noun. (Now the tgi category maybe makes more sense to you.) So here, on this Friday, let us talk of tgi.

What is my tgi? Broadly speaking, an interest in corporal punishment, so tgi can be synonymous with whacking. Thus its verb form, used in the negative: de-tgi. As in, de-tgi the apartment – my dad is coming to stay! (i.e. put all implements well out of sight).

So what kind of tgi do I like, mainly?

• domestic cp of a semi-con nature [by semi-con I mean that the recipient doesn't like it, but basically accepts it]
• English school cp (semi-con)
• enemas

I could get very tedious laying out what appeals to me in what contexts, suffice to say that things I’m interested in doing RL (or have done) are only a subset of things that appeal to me in fantasy or in well-written stories. There are lots of things that turn me FW that I would never want to do RL. [If I'm abbreviating too much, try the glossary page.]

It is massively distressing to admit this, but here it is: I can’t clearly remember the last whacking I gave or the last I got. The last I got was in RP’s study, across his knee on the couch, unprotected, hand spanking, which was usual. I don’t exactly remember when it was (other than between New Year’s 07/08 and May 08) or what it was for. There had been a dry spell. We were both wrapped up in work and miscellanea. MISTAKE. As for the last I gave, I’m even less clear. I’m guessing it was an on-the-fly application of the “persuader” or the slipper, given in the kitchen around dinner time to encourage better attitude. Or it might have been otk (him naked) in bed during a commercial break with THBTNFK (the hairbrush that’s not for kids). [pictures another day, kids.] I hate myself that I can’t remember. I really don’t remember the last time Casey got That Thing [enema], except I think the bulb finally was breaking and leaking a lot. We hadn’t got another one yet, but the prospect of going together to the surgical supply store nearby and getting another bulb was both mortifying and a little exciting. Who knew what RP would have said to the man? We’ll never find out.

I was trying to write something fun that would cheer everyone up. FAIL!!

Ok, well, this isn’t strictly tgi, but it made me laff lots, from the Fail Blog: