Even Imaginary Solutions Leave Marks

I ran out of time this weekend, so instead of a little montage of the sillier bits of the film I made on Thursday, here is the Ubu logo. Montage still to come!

In my quest to avoid doing actual work on Fridays, I found myself reading up on "pataphysics" after a conversation with Mr. Williams about the Sit Ubu Sit dog featured in the production stamp at the end of many 1980's American sitcoms. It turns out that the dog was named after the anti-hero of pre-absurdist writer Alfred Jarry. His concept of pataphysics determined all things to have meaning seemingly based on the fact that they have meaning. One of the definitions is that "'Pataphysics is the science of the particular, of laws governing exceptions." All things are thought to have a unique set of exceptions, each event in the particular therefore completely meaningful, therefore completely meaningless. Each scientific theory is thought of as an attempt to pin down one viewpoint as real, and to live life governed by that reality, although it may not be reality for anyone else.

I came to realize that this blog is a study in pataphysics. It is my quest to determine my reality, at least my spankoverse reality, and to approach the subject of spanking based on my set of perceptions. Hence my constant battle with the word "masochism," which, in this "philosophy," would have as much and as little meaning as anything else, as all words are equally valuable and valueless. My quest to define these pieces of my reality are an absurdity within an absurdity, as I watch myself search for definitions and realize that in the end, the words I put to them are nothing compared to my experiences, which are individually unique and miraculous events (or so it would seem, if I follow wikipedia's translation of Jarry's theory).

That said (or garbled), I encountered a concept I have come to love over the past few hours, and will here use to describe my random foray into self-spanking and on-camera masturbation. (You see? Follow my rambling and it's bound to get good again eventually.) Jarry quasi-explained, "'Pataphysics is the science of imaginary solutions." An imaginary solution is the arbitary choice made by science and/or the universe when faced with any given problem. "Imaginary" refers to the imagination of science itself, as if it created, out of nowhere, a result. I'm comprehending it as parallel to chaos theory, only the outcome is not random so much as it is miraculous.

At the beginning of the clip site piece I filmed Thursday night, "I Miss You, Mr. Williams," I state that I'm going to play with myself because I am missing my man, but am probably not going to spank myself, and I laugh, because I'm just talking to the camera and the idea is amusing. It's definitely not what I'd set out to do. I was intending to stroke myself with some of my leather toys and, if it was going well, bring myself to orgasm. This, in the pataphysical context, is the "problem," the circumstance. Moments later, as I stroke myself with my little red leather paddle, I whack my thigh. It hurts! And then I do it again. It's a fascinating feeling, not something I normally do, and so, caught up in the experience, I keep going.

Next it's the crop and I quite literally hurt myself with the first tap on the thigh. I cringe and giggle; I'd hit myself much harder than I'd intended. I play with tapping and slapping my breasts with it, something Mr. Williams and I don't normally do, all the while talking to the camera as if it's him. Then, the imaginary solution: I turn around and spank myself for the camera! What an absurdity, and not at all the outcome I'd intended when I hit record. Self-spanking was the arbitrary choice made by myself or the universe in response to the problem of missing Mr. Williams. This was my imaginary solution to missing him, missing spanking, missing opening that secret chamber to myself.

Although the redness of my bottom by the time the vibrator is withdrawn from the toy case is nothing compared to the marks from true punishments, I do have actual light bruises on my thighs, and my backside did turn a lovely dark pink shade, albeit briefly. Most importantly, though, I have an explanation for how a professed disbeliever in the art of self spanking found herself doing so: it was an absurd miracle! At least it turned into a hot absurd miracle, replete with the occasional comic commentary, just like here on my blog. I actually think it's adorable, because I'm so completely myself in a way that's very different from the spanking movies I've made with Mr. Williams. In a sense, it's blog on film. Initially meant for my husband, turned into a sexy romp, turned into tongue-in-cheek but playful commentary, turned into turning myself on so much that I have no choice but to come. And then come write about it. I guess that's the perceived reality of my reality. Absurdist Abby. That could be a whole other website...