Dear Diary, This evening while I was wandering in my mind ..

Dear Diary, This evening while I was wandering in my mind on the sofa, a sudden urge of experiencing subordination swelled through my heart. It pumped through my whole body in a split of a second. In that flash my eyes skimmed spontaneously through the living room and locked themselves on something on the floor - my cat’s collar which I took off not long ago. It was a curious yet long overdue action visualising in my head: I *have to* put it on. It was a classic oh-so-familiar “why would I haven’t thought about that” moment. I picked up this little small band of ribbon bookended by two clasps and stared at it: so strange and/but familiar, innocent and/but wild. I absent-mindedly pulled that little black rectangular framed, gave it a little tug. I whipped my hair on one shoulder and tipped my head on the same side. At last, I wrapped the band across my neck and tried to bring the clasps together. It was not a hard call to determine that it was still very tight. I took the band down. I patiently adjusted the band to the longest length possible. Not a single gap is to be wasted for it to become the distance (literally) to experiencing my fantasy. So I tried it on again. *k-l-a-k* It fit. i am collared. i am a cat. i *am* My cat. i am at this moment of time where i truly know how the two sides of *a* power balance feel (simultaneously). Such explosion of feelings and sensations! Sublimation by subordination! A true pleasure! (Even Dionysus would think i am too hopeless and corrupted) The collar is on a tight side snugging my neck. It is balancing on a very delicate see-saw of squeezing and hugging. Such a dreamy violence. Such a violent dream. The feeling of subordination; of being owned, possessed, controlled, surveyed has never been so intense and fierce to me. The zenith as an object; the complete surrender of subjectivity, the consciousness; and being reduced to a pure state of flesh, of body, of thing, of x; of they, of the others (so cheap it is not even deserving a capital O - or does it even worth acknowledged in first place). i *am* Yours. Yours, ours . x