misstree in the realm of * sugarplums *, it was requested that i provide a fuller taste of he who has been recurring in such writings... i am happy to comply, as his existence makes my wicked grin tickle and my toes curl... he has been named many times hereabous as "caesar," and grinned when he heard it; he is coming to understand how the world reflects itself in me, and took the compliment as he should. regardless, this simple record, purrhaps hoping to draw forth stories, but if not, then simply to roll his taste on my tongue like the word "insertion," to breathe on a mirror and see his shadow condensed.

where to begin? there is much to him to describe... he is a hyena like myself... he is a chewy bastard, and right good at it... he is capable of delicious brutality... and he has a laugh that echoes and echoes in what most would consider the most inappropriate situations... my demon_lover once laughed similarly in same circumstances... he is a magician, and i scent skill, though i have not witnessed...

this is a handful of coins in the air. i will be more methodical.

i will start with his meat, the first layer to peel back... he is tall, and muscled but thin... his eyes are startlingly blue... his hair is close-cropped, dark blonde... he has three piercings in the ears, two in the lobes stretched to, i think, four guage? a tattoo adorns each arm, a band on one and a beautiful spiral on the other... something tells me to refrain from describing the spiral too well, and i heed most Somethings... his body is, as i said, tall and thin but muscled... and you must understand how delicious i find his arrangement of meat... when first we Recognized eachother, i traced my number in ink on his stomach... and without my bidding, the pen traced the hollow of hip, too tempting to leave untouched... he is endowed generously but not so much so to be a burden... the only body hair that he has is below his waist, legs and all... and he has the appearance of a third_nipple from when a piercing tore through... his tongue is pierced, and very tempting... and, as i, these days he tends to be spattered with wounds... right at the moment, his back has taken lead for the prettiest decorations, streaks of red like piled hay where claws have found a home... his chest is only a little more intact... he carries himself with a relaxed grace, common to those who have studied meatdances in whatever form, in his case martial arts among other things...

but that is his meat, and while it is pretty, it is not his meat that makes him playmate. i have whispered in this sea of how we met; i have also whispered of the revels encountered when we first went out to hunt, i believe on misstree's_rambling_roof... i still giggle when i think of him saying "i don't want to freak you out or anything" regarding some trivial drug knowledge he was sharing; i understand now why he was cautious not to startle me, and i take it as compliment especially that he said he was being careful because he thought i would be extra fun.

trying to describe his essence is perhaps even more slippery than my own. we are cut of similar cloth, but without knowing he or i quite well, this knowledge is useless. he lives his life for his own entertainment. he is a sensate. he is a predator, and we hunt well together. he can easily slide into any situation; most often, people simply see no reason to disagree with his machinations. he is aloof but not apathetic or distant. there is no deception between us; we play with all cards face up on the table (though we both know that our sleeves are stuffed with goodies). he has slipped into fluency in treespeak quickly, especially when we are both intoxicated. he has an exceptional intellect, and knows much that i do not, though there are areas that i excel in. his ego is indomitable only in certain areas; he carries the truest mark of wisdom, knowing that one is a fool. he has seen much, and shares the interesting bits with a grin as i do, vicarious moments on both parts placing tender tastes on our tongues. he has flamboyance at his fingertips when he wishes it; a play by charles durant (i think) called "naomi_in_the_living_room" was nearly made for his capacity for cackling glee and unexpected outbursts. he is, on occasion, a very dangerous creature; just over a week ago, it took much of my energy to heel him down from pouncing on one of the "dangerous people we like" in this town.

what else? i think of him with much fondness, though it is hard to explain precisely why... it is perhaps the similarity in species, a nuzzling familiarity and mirrored sparks... it is perhaps that he is the most interesting thing i have found in this town in years... it is perhaps that i know that he posesses the capacity for cruelty, but i have not yet seen it surface... we have been gentle with eachother, in our way, and this is vital to emerging themes... there is a trust that has been built between creatures not prone to it... there are filgireed understandings akin to treespeak that have been spun, safety nets most would skitter away from... all of this is Proper, and at this very moment i believe there will be a great many Moments to be had before spirals split us when we flee this town.

i still feel that this is lacking, but the gap appears to be that which poetry normally portrays, and with the exception of some skittish twitching a week ago, little of such has been written about him. this is, again, glorious breath for me; i have no desire for the obsessive depths and raging passions that poetry is product of. we are each very much our own creatures, and will be come what may, and this assurance of independence is likely what allows such grinning fondnesses as above.

my interest in painting his outline is done; it is perhaps a strange sketch, but no other form would be right for such a creature. there are details unspoken, of course, but even sharing such a heady taste dips into my desire to feed voyeurs. suffice to say that he is pied_piper, hyena, playmate, emperor, magician, blooming friend and favorite fuck all in one rather entertaining package. that is all.
white_wave i have not once commented on the high_quality writing i've seen come from you, but i think it is highly_overdue. caesar is still a mystery to me, an intriguing one. but i know quite a bit more about him than before i started. your words have painted a picture of him that you still see vividly in your mind, at this very moment. 040307
misstree there is more... a whole forest is alive... but now is not the time... too many incoherent_mumblings... but soon... i will paint him in more colors... 040308
misstree is a bit out of it but my many thanks for the compliment... sometimes that's what it takes to spur me to herd words out from the inside... *curtsies*... 040308
misstree is a bit out of it blathes that describe, reference, or are adressed to:
misstree's_rambling_roof, freak_out, servant, misstree's_rambling_boudoir, sugarplums, back_where_i_was, pied_piper, ouch_yum, wounds, quiet_fears, i_have_words, excitement_and_joy, soothing_searing, strangly, darkened_counsel, scared, challenge_me, anger, broken, why_i_need_you, honesty, i_put_a_lock_on_my_door, hold_me, push, echo, hypnotic_sex, letting_go, scar_tissue, im_trusting_you, duality, and probably a few others i missed. more real description still forthcoming. damn the headspace.
mt oops... that one should be back_were_i_was... *shrug* 040309
misstree is drunk again i dreamt that you and daddy were with me, this morning. i woke from the dream, and i cried until i slept again.

you've heard those sobs. the hopeless, endless sobs that mean the end of the rope, that mean the bottom of the barrel.

i remember so many times you called me at yellowstone, there was once that jon physically blocked the door so i wouldn't run out to the pay phone nekkid. i remember hurting every time you hurt. i remember trying to call you drunk, "vengance" or tit_for_tat, whatever. i remember passing out with my journal in my lap, next to the phone.

i remember sobbing for you, and i remember charlie and nicole and april being so concerned, not used to breakdowns of our magnitude. i remember crying myself to sleep, desperately clutching purple satin against all hopes.

i remember cigarette burns, the first Real ones. i remember snarling, breath stolen by teeth, that you mustn't doubt trust, or love, or reasons.

will you remember?
what's it to you?
who go