Who Are These People?

“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.” ~ e.e. cummings

I’ve been reading and deleting old blogs that I didn’t want saved on my computer. Sounds silly, perhaps, but just knowing they were there gave me the creeps.

As I was reading, I kept asking myself the same question: Who are these people, and what gives them the right to judge me? After all, we’ve never met. We’ve never had a phone conversation. We don’t know one another!

As bloggers, we chat back and forth on each other’s blogs, and we assume that everyone is as real on the outside as they are on their blogs. Right?

I could very well be an Irish Setter typing on Catherine’s laptop from the backseat of an old station wagon heading down I-95 on the way to Disney World. A bit far fetched, I know. Catherine doesn’t own a station wagon, and she’s afraid to drive on the Interstate.

We share photos (some of us do), but who knows where those photos might end up? I’ve always been opposed to people posting photos of children. Do these people have permission to share them on the world wide web? I don’t share photos of my family simply because I don’t have their permission.

What about our blogs and the stories we tell – are they real? I would like to think so. I would like to believe that those who pour out their hearts are telling us the truth. To call someone a liar is to assume you know them on a personal level, which might not be true unless you have met them in person.

Phone calls bring us closer to one another, or so we would like to believe. Do we really know that the person on the other end of the phone is who they purport to be? Not always.

A few online events still haunt me. Writing about them hasn’t helped. Deleting blogs and comments is a good start.

As for Catherine, this really is her Irish Setter speaking on her behalf. She’s watching reruns of NCIS on CBS and asked me to post this blog for her.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.


eye bolts are in the ceiling
visible to the naked eye
eye bolts two of them
round and strong and heavy
screwed into heavy wooded beams

two chains
hang from the eye bolts
thick metal chains
metal clamps on either end
cold to the look and touch

a three foot bar
attached to the chains and clamps
a cold metal bar
trapeze-like suspended in the air
its presence is surreal

thick straps
on either end
of the cold metal bar
leather straps with big snaps
strong black leather straps

a deep brown leather chair
in one corner of the room
it has an old world smell
deep cushions with leather arms
the leather moans with movement

on the leather footstool is a blanket
wool plaid and warm
tossed loosely across the footstool
ready to be used for comfort
to wrap around the shivering body

a small wooden table is next to the chair
three candles are lit but there are more
a silver ashtray with cigarette box
a coaster for the crystal snifter
a leather-bound book of favorite poems

someone is sitting in the chair
sipping on a glass of cognac
legs crossed to reveal
black leather boots with silver tips
a leather whip rests across the lap

a woman is in the room
arms held high above her head
wrists slipped inside
the tight leather straps
her body is fully exposed

she is draped with white chiffon
as if the material were a snake
winding its way around her body
her eyes wide open
as she takes in the room

the fire in the stone fireplace
illuminates her body
she stretches to keep her balance
standing tiptoed
she does as she is told

“Pet, you please me,” the voice whispers to her.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispers back.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.