A chronicle of face fragments, portrait pieces, info bits, passing thoughts, this space contains ideas and memory smoked over time and colored with play and poetry.
I offer this space to ponder the many mistresses we have and we are. The mistress is the screen upon which others project fantasy and desire, an alluring object of the gaze. However, we are all mistresses to someone, as we play many roles, and not just sexual roles. In the accounting office, the mistress of the lucrative account has mastery over the people and details in her pocket and so has sewn that account to her and reaped the rewards of her sway. In the bedroom, the mistress’ role is more familiar and obvious. But sexual role playing occurs in the bedroom and out, whether overtly or covertly; it occurs constantly. The older man with the young trophy wife plays the role of virile lover, of pirate with treasure possessed, a reflection of his own ego and power of purchase. Conforming to what she believes makes her worthy of possession, she (wife, lover, girlfriend, mistress) is saint on the streets and sinner in the sheets, fabrications of desire, fables long enduring.
According to old Oxford, a mistress is the one with control, self-possessed and competent. Figuratively, anything that exerts control and possesses may be the mistress of a life. Writing may be a cool mistress, possessing the desire and ambition of its captive penner. She may also be a skilled lover, head of household or wordsmith, a teacher. She owns lovers as she owns dogs or cats. She is both illicit lover of the married man and the object of courting, in the eye of the courter. She is the married woman too. She has existed throughout time and resides in everyone’s consciousness. She is desire and abnegation. The mistress is beloved, beguiled and bestridden, even as she desires, deceives and devours.
Look for yourself here in these writings, but do not find it. The life of a mistress is profoundly grey, scantily read.
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