I've encountered a good bit of Internet buzz/fuss over the past two days concerning the news of the possibility of a remake of the 1984 film The Neverending Story. The film, despite straying a good deal from Michael Ende's beautiful novel, has always been one of my favorites, and I owe much of my own spirituality and belief system to its portrayal of a world called Fantasia being consumed by an emptiness called the Nothing because of lost faith.
Since reading the news, I have been haunted by scenes from the film: the Swamp of Sadness, the Rockbiter's empty hands, the Ivory Tower standing alone in an empty world. I even dreamed of the Gmork, the wolf-beast servant of the Nothing who terrorized me when I first saw the film when I was five years old. Apparenty, he terrorizes me to this day.
The thing that frightens me the most, however, is not the Gmork or the Nothing or even the possibility of a remake by Leonardo DiCaprio's production company. The thing that frightens me the most is that I realized I am my own Nothing. I have been absent from this blog, from the world of Internet spanking, from the lifestyle itself. Not all of those things are of my own choosing, but my absence from myself can be blamed on no one but me.
I miss this. I miss picking the perfect picture. I miss making arcane references and wondering what they become in the Google translator for my international readers. I miss describing the curve of my own backside, the sound of its flesh when soundly smacked. I miss knowing that I'm turning the world on with my words and, yes, occasionally my own soundly smacked image.
This world, I realize now, is my Fantasia. I am Bastian, the quiet and bookish outcast on one side of the mirror. I am Atreyu, fierce warrior, on the other. In other words, I am both the woman I am in my daily life and Abby, fierce spanking recipient and writer. The two, like Bastian and Atreyu, are inseperable. Atreyu's story, the Childlike Empress told Bastian, is Bastian's own.
Abby's story is my own -
- and it looks like our story hasn't ended yet.
Since reading the news, I have been haunted by scenes from the film: the Swamp of Sadness, the Rockbiter's empty hands, the Ivory Tower standing alone in an empty world. I even dreamed of the Gmork, the wolf-beast servant of the Nothing who terrorized me when I first saw the film when I was five years old. Apparenty, he terrorizes me to this day.
The thing that frightens me the most, however, is not the Gmork or the Nothing or even the possibility of a remake by Leonardo DiCaprio's production company. The thing that frightens me the most is that I realized I am my own Nothing. I have been absent from this blog, from the world of Internet spanking, from the lifestyle itself. Not all of those things are of my own choosing, but my absence from myself can be blamed on no one but me.
I miss this. I miss picking the perfect picture. I miss making arcane references and wondering what they become in the Google translator for my international readers. I miss describing the curve of my own backside, the sound of its flesh when soundly smacked. I miss knowing that I'm turning the world on with my words and, yes, occasionally my own soundly smacked image.
This world, I realize now, is my Fantasia. I am Bastian, the quiet and bookish outcast on one side of the mirror. I am Atreyu, fierce warrior, on the other. In other words, I am both the woman I am in my daily life and Abby, fierce spanking recipient and writer. The two, like Bastian and Atreyu, are inseperable. Atreyu's story, the Childlike Empress told Bastian, is Bastian's own.
Abby's story is my own -
- and it looks like our story hasn't ended yet.
