Perhaps I should say, that I won't take any "unfamiliar" email addresses with me
to the new spot. Not meaning to be elitist. Only just want to feel safe.
If I don't know your email addy from befo' and you wanna come along
to the new spot, tell me why you keep reading, why you give a shit.
Sorry about the qualifier, but I feel negative energies lurking out there,
monitoring me.

Or maybe it's just that I'm paranoid from all the thc.
nah. can't be it.

who was that?

UrLs will be sent out via email by EOD today.

dope j
_end of line_

It's been awhile hasn't it?
I was overdosed on self-scrutiny and analysis.
But I'll be back real soon. Like maybe tonight even.
I'm also working on writing at a different blogspot.
The url is all set up. I just have to populate with content.

So, my crickets and tumbleweed, if there's anyone out there
still interested in the further scribblings of
the Dopamine Junkie. . . . email me for the new url.

You know how to feed that inbox Kitty.

Situation defused, handled. No stalkers allowed.
Thank you for the concern and offers to defend my honor
and track down and destroy the offender.
Sentiment appreciated, but not necessary.

Going to see Radiohead tonight!

Dope J makes this request only once.
No stalkers or "mysterious" fanatics.
I cannot handle the strain.
I will move again if this continues.
I will quit writing "for free".

If you have a true care for me, the girl, the artist or the writing,
check yourself.

Thank you. thedopaminejunkie

Even more bait? Not sure...

8pt agenda on a continuous loop
rolling into the City on MUNI
Latryx and Herbaliser blowing out
that sucking sound of the souls being pulled downtown

[ she is thinking to herself ]
[ don't know whether or not to take her seriously ]

When I am entirely immolated and most everything
is rubble and ashes and torn skin and discarded exoskeleton
amongst the ash and soot a stranger; who is patient
and tender and perceptive and gentle will be
quietly moving through the remains,
recording the damage,
collecting scraps,
applying soothing balm where live tissue is raw.

Seeking something specific of me.
Looking for the smoke signs.
For the embers, where quietly smolders
My inexhaustible fire.

**

Dope J great for sub. Dope J excellent at mind control.
But too shy to properly Dom.
It's embarassing.

I know I need to tap into my rage.
Need to be incensed.
so get me riled.
and excited at the same time.
Because I have too long learned and practiced
the mechanism of putting the Rage, the Desire, the Passion
to sleep.
A purist at sublimation.
Self induced topical narcolepsy?
Hynotizing myself to react
to Anger, Pain, Rage, Passion
all the things I feel I cannot control
immediately
To Sleep.

This is when I become catatonic.

[ what I need maybe, I think]
{someone to coax the heat and the passion}
( urge it out to flow like a sweet honey sap)
[ telling me to give it up, give it over, turn it loose]
{who whispers: "your pain is a delicacy."}

More bait for Dope J

just wanna be a teen girl again.
I can learn all about teen sex.

Dopamine Junkie bites the bait.

Dopamine Junkie’s recipe for the blues,
which descended upon her with a
thunderous roll at the end of this Tuesday:

Enter home.
2 advil.
1 Excedrin.
Glass of water.
2 bowls to my head.
Insert Herbaliser featuring Latryx 8Pt. Agenda.
Select Repeat 1.
Nod head.
Let the truth and positivity of pure hip hop, the bass and the beats blow my mind.
Submit my body to the bass line.
Dance.

Feel the lift. Up up Up.

Exhale.

I was a delicate egg walking around
my City today, alone.

Grey fast moving clouds
high clouds low clouds
Sutro Tower against a sky in flux
Does the City make my mood?
Do I really feel this way?
Would I feel so melancholy
if I were on a sunny beach?

Egg being tapped all around
Too much tapping and I’ll crack
so leave the Egg alone

The egg. the eggshell.
The shell. Hard candy coated.
For my creamy nougat center.
For the infintesimal kernel
of sentient meat inside.
Pulsing with energy.

When I am alone I am either catatonic,
or hard and bitter.

When I feel the onslaught of heartache
I light up to create a smokescreen
Herbs. Cigarettes. What’s the difference?
Dark glasses to protect my eyes
from the shame of tears
evidence of my weakness.

I dismiss the thoughts.
I dismiss the feelings.
I dismiss myself.
Everything is as it should be.
My life is as I have made it.
Every conscious action and word
created this miasma, this flux.

“Is that what’s really wrong?”
a question put to me.

Bitter smile.
How should I know? It’s all a miasma now.
Impossible to sift through the pain and the anger,
to find out what’s “really wrong.”

I can’t speak it you see.
I can write it. Where I can choose my words with elegance and diplomacy.
Where I can walk away from the screen.

I know I know
I’m strong enough to stand alone
Stand alone, stoic.
like a man.
as I learned from men.

But it hurts sometimes.
Only just sometimes.
I try to keep my heartache to myself.
Not involve anyone else.
Smile convincingly.
Cover it up with a thick sex vibe.

because I lost myself
I gave it all away
I thought the last one was the Last
I learned to love so hard
to fall all the way down
because I was holding someone else’s hand
and the love we generated
made me feel strong
Maybe it was just a chemical reaction
That could yield no more
Because the elements were exhausted.

I want to call things what they are.
And let the content define the meaning.

I am single.
Self-effacing.

A driving need, not nihilistic
but to burn myself down to the ground
negate it all
What remains, that which resists effacement
defines what I am made of.

Destroying every layer of softness
so I can rebuild myself from a Core.

Start over.
And not betray myself this time.

Don't know what's up with Blogger but yes, I am still here.
Choice packets simmering in the Crock Pot.
Serving it up this evening.

Please come back then.

it’s late and it’s quiet in my house.
i just confessed to my housemate.

[ It might have gone this way, the conversation, if we were both still teen girls. ]

“I have a confession to make. I like this boy, but he’s from Craigslist.”
“Well, do you like him?”
“Yes.”
“Well if you like him, you like him. Right?”

Right.

it’s late and I just had a chocolate attack.
Precipitated by herbal meds.
Exacerbated by the fact that I fear the anhedonia has begun again.
So one Twix, Nestle’s Crunch and half a Hershey bar later,
I’m wired, tired, awake and sexually frustrated.

That’s just today though.
I don’t know why.

As of late that problem seemed to have abated
Magic words so simple
Unlocking, unleashing me

Let go
Open up
Give yourself to me

This is where I feel the beginning of the release
The Gordian knot in my head begins to unravel
and with it am I unraveled
Rolling loose with unbound black hair unfurling
Something within leaps, jumps, hurls itself
with abandon into the oblivion.
The dendrite fires and reaches, stretches electric
bridging the synapse
Shudders, seizures of soft tiny shocks
suck suck softly sweet
crescendo crescendo fermata
gush. pulse. pulse. pulse.

Floating, hanging out on that post cum cloud
Petite Morte
Post cum cloud I could be in reality, in the backseat of a car,
a dark corner, on a blanket in a meadow, wherever – still luxurious.

Open my eyes to focus above me
Eyes curious and dark with passionlust
Lips curled into a smile
Making me shy
Making me want
Making me realize that it’s not even over.
In fact, it’s just begun.

Feeding time for the Kitty.
Zapping time for my Synapse.
Kissing time for my little mouf.

Is it very bad?
That I am a girl, that I am a woman,
that I am soft and yielding
not always brash and aggressive.

I wonder now, if I could ever be a true Master.
I have the mentality, I think
But not the patience.

So much more content in my infintesimal head.
but. . . motor skills . . .vocabulary . . . degenerating.
As I walk up to the cuts of Sleepy Time village.

It’s late and later now. Or early rather.
Long day in office drag tomorrow.

I need stimulus.

friday morning has such a wonderful ring to it.
Hugo sent me yesterday, his feelings in a cute little song.
which immediately in it's simplicity and poignancy
had the power to send me into a fit of tears

sitting at my desk
in my professional drag
cracking my professional demeanour
forcing me to close the door
so I don’t have to explain myself.

I like cream in my coffee.
I like to sleep late on Sundays.
-Lyle Lovett

Sex with you. And sometimes food.
Is all I really want.
-King Missile

Last night I was ten kinds of horny. (Yes, ten)
and I was wretched and alone at my big Blue House.
Housemates abounded, yes. But no "company". (cum-poonani teehee)
And I smoked 2 footers to my head all night long
Popped a muscle relaxer and threw back a Sierra Nevada.
Didn’t kill the buzzing in my kitty.

So I peruse my collection of pornography
Vinyl fetish fisting porn? Nah.
Euro DP porn? Mmm. bored of it.
Players International for black booty? Not feeling it.
Oriental Dolls? Couldn’t relate to any of them.
Barely Legal? Boring. Too clean.
Then I get to my all time favorite: Tight.
(which reminds me I need to get the new issue)
Dirty young teen looking girls.
Not enough penetration.
But I stare at it long enough and I know
it’s not the penetration that gets me off.
It’s the teddy bear in the corner,
the white granny panties, the skateboard, the little
ankle socks.

I wonder if I could get off on these items
if they were laid out by themselves in a Sears catalog.
Probably not.

But not even my beloved Tight, and the dog eared issue
of Penthouse Letters gave me the proper brainfuck

To be stoned, drunk, tired, horny and desperate to get off.
What’s a little girl to do?

Literotica.com was the same old shit.
Formulaic suck and fuck.
Where’s the twist to wring the cum out of my synapse?
Time to get serious.


Another warm day I suppose?
What to wear? Esp. since I am going bowling directly after werk.
Something with socks.

Summer solstice last night and I heard from my housemates
that Ocean Beach was packed with bonfires and people.
I would have gone but didn’t feel like making the effort to go alone.

Ended up watching Half Baked on Comedy Central.
Thank God for Digi cable, Sony Playstations,
Broadband, herbs and pharmaceuticals.

Off to arrange my coiffure for the day.
Happy Friday.

I’ll be writing this weekend so if you
are interested, look for me.

The secret to a full life is to live and to relate to others as
if they might not be there tomorrow, as if you might not be there
tomorrow. It eliminates the vice of procrastination, the sin of
postponement, failed communications, failed communions.
~Anais Nin.

summer solstice today. longest day of the year.
a day where I would like to be doing nothing
but lounging and laughing and loving.

even when there seems to be nothing to do
there's always so much to do, that I'm not doing.

Things I could be/should be doing:

Eating enough fruits and vegetables
Taking my vitamins and supplements
Exercising
Stretching
Consolidating debts and rehabilitating my credit
Making personalized presents for my family
Learning about my grandparents' history
Wearing sunscreen
Cleaning, organizing my room
Cooking delicious and nutritious meals
Meditating
Cleaning up my file directories
Refreshing my resume
Reaching out to old friends
Volunteering where I might be useful
Diversifying my assets

What I'll probably do

Work
Call friends on the phone
Check Blogger/Literotica/Craigslist obsessively for choice packets
Check my VM obsessively hoping someone will call
Photoshop pictures of myself and others
A little more work
Smoke Bowls to my Head

~~~~~~

Watching movies last night and
I thought of what a boy looks like when he
is kissing or embracing a girl.
I forget the feeling of a boy because
I am in the moment of being a girl held by a boy.

One morning this week I remembered
With a grown man's smooth shaven face against my own
I realized
I want to give, but I can't take
I can't accept compliments
I have a hard time accepting kindness
And I can give my love so freely and wholly to someone else
My passion and my desire
Things I want to give away

I've always had a problem receiving anything for myself.
Because I don't feel I deserve anything.
I've always had a problem asking for help.
And by now if you have been following from the beginning,
you know I have a serious problem
asking for what I want, for what I need.

To the point that I have convinced myself
this is because my need is a black hole
no one can ever fill it. satisfy me.
no one will ever be able to tear the gag out of my mouth
to let me speak the things I want which I can't ever seem to say.

Something I forgot. the time, once, after
Hugo first fell in love with me
(or so he said)
and we were in a group outing
and I was angry at his jealousy
Angry because he had made me so
vulnerable
and my armaments kicked in
and the next thing I knew
I had frozen up
as a woman sometimes does

He had to witness from afar
my naked body rising from the tub
steaming and glistening in the moonlight
skin taut from the cold winter night

I knew he was watching
Of course I knew
I walked away, with a proud gait
knowing he was watching
the droplets of water
dripping slowly down the curve of my back
to my hips, my ass,
the backs of my thighs and knees
down to my ankles to collect
at my feet.

I walked away, thinking, "Good."

Later on that evening,
I saw his powerful form
sitting alone on a bench,
hunched over, his shaven head in his hands,
bowed.

And for the first time it struck me
that this powerful body of a man
who said he loved me
even as he displeased me
even as he was with someone else
might suffer, might hurt because of me.

I dismissed the thought as something
too egocentric to be true.
I thought, I am just me, tiny and infintesimal,
unassuming and not a strikingly gorgeous
female who might inspire such
passion.
I'm a fool to think he would
care so much about me.
I'm nothing, really. Nothing special.

This sentiment persists within me!
Disbelief at the possibility that
anyone could invest so much care
in me, of me.
Who am I, anyway, you know?

Just a junkie. A dopamine junkie
with the interior decor of a 17 year old girl,
addicted to internet, porn and illicit drugs.
Oh, and kissing.
A dopamine junkie who's heart is broken
so many times over.
A girl-woman who smiles and laughs
with joy at life and enjoys the tempest
Strong enough to slay dragons
But needing care because
she cares not too much for her own self.

Sunshine Sunshine
Make me a conduit of love and light
Help me to grow up to be a better girl
Heal my saccadic movement addicted eyes
Help me to be everything good that I can
for everyone else
because I hope that fulfilling someone else's wish
for love, acceptance and understanding
will give me the grace to fulfill these things
within myself.

P.S. Did you find me trying to sneak in a thought to CL? Ha.
Where it all began.

hey!somebody been talking about me!

For awhile there I felt my days were moving by
so fast I scarcely had time to gather my thoughts to chronicle.

The waves are crashing,
ebbing and flowing.
Feeling beloved,
cherished and desired;
alternately days of feeling wretched,
utterly hideous inside and out.
Self conscious under the attention, the scrutiny,
the boys jocking me.
Wondering if I look stupid, if I look fat.
My tummy is a little round.
I’m eating chocolate like a little piggy.
My titties are swollen and tender.

Picture me a little asian girl in a little t-shirt
and cut off shorts, with a mouthful of
chocolate ding-dong, having just hit the bing-bong,
eyes hypnotized by little popping bubbles
of the PS game Bust a Move 4.
No bra, a little bit of tummy,
bare legs carelessly dangling.
Listening to Kahimi Karie.

Imagine if you will, like a dress up doll,
the same small child woman
hair brushed back into a neat ponytail,
groomed for business casual,
a desk jockey like all y’all,
on a 9 a.m. conference call
with men old enough to be her father.

That’s me. Out of drag, in office drag.

~~~~~~~~~~~
In other news.

Lovely Visits to Other Worlds.
Because context is everything, isn’t it?
And although you can’t ever control
the way someone else feels or thinks,
you can set the ambiance, pre-record the
soundtrack and hie thee to a worthy context.

Northern California, the Bay Area, is
resplendent with dramatic settings.

Street corners, the parks, the Ferry Buildings,
the Bridges, the vistas, the oceans and the cliffs.
How can we not think our lives cinematic?

Little hitchhiking girl is me, picked up by a
respectable looking young man with a
disarming and trustworthy smile.

Speeding down Hwy One with the horizon
and crashing waves to my right.
A man who drives with one hand on my left.

Me in a little dress and white panties.
Being feeled.
Observing the curled lips in a lustful smile
behind eyes half lidded through the miles
and miles of suspended desire.

He makes a hairpin turn to taste the evidence.
My little white panties soiled with evidence
my arousal creamy and unstoppable.

A sweet weekend of sunshine and feeding.
Slurpees, ribs and brisket and letting go.
Impetuous. Hedonistic. Spontaneous.
Delicious in many ways.
But some memories are reserved for me only.
I can only give you the tip.
Can’t slam it balls deep.

~~~~~~~
Read this. I'm a little bit teen today.

G friend: morning sweety
Dope J: hey babes
Dope J: so Ex Boy came over last night, yo
G friend: and?
G friend: he wants you back?
Dope J: and was trying to get at me
Dope J: he has a girlfriend he's too chickenshit to break up with
G friend: okay so what did he get lucky?
Dope J: and so he's like snuggling me watching tv on the couch
Dope J: and he's getting totally hard and he knows I know it
Dope J: and i'm like, ok, how's he gonna
make his move, you know? just intrigued.
G friend: okay you know you're the
only freak who can do him right
Dope J: I know it's true
G friend: can't help himself
G friend: no doubt
Dope J: so I just let him cop his cheap feels,
pretending not to notice
Dope J: like a clumsy teenager
G friend: okay taste but not eat
Dope J: and I just sit back
Dope J: it's funny
G friend: right on
Dope J: and he's getting all frustrated
G friend: hon, for you when it rains it pours
Dope J: and finally just looks at me, and says
Dope J: so what are we gonna do about this?
Dope J: what am I supposed to think?
G friend: and then...
Dope J: and I'm all
Dope J: what do you mean?
Dope J: he's all, do you want me to stop?
Dope J: and I'm like, look, you have a girlfriend
Dope J: and I'm not touching that drama
Dope J: he's like, why do you tease me then?
Dope J: and I'm like, yo, you tease yourself
I'm just sitting here, a human girl on planet earth.
Dope J: ha
Dope J: anyway
Dope J: so he's like, I guess it was naive of me to
think I could come here and get something for free
Dope J: and I'm like, baby you know I am expensive
Dope J: and I NEVER give it away for free
G friend: okay!!! how rude for him to assume
Dope J: I KNOW!
Dope J: so I'm like, I'm not hitting it with you
Dope J: even though sense memory
tells me that it would feel really good
Dope J: But remember, I have as a contraceptive
thought -- that he was like messing with Stank Ho
G friend: gross
G friend: good thing you remembered
Dope J: and I'm like, anyway, what do you mean, for free?
Dope J: and he's like, you know that we'd
have this one night and no one would ever have to know
G friend: what's u with these fucking dudes who
think that if they don't tell anyone they can get away with it
Dope J: so I'm like, how many of these
"let's take it to the grave" moments do you have with people?
Dope J: he's like, none. I said, you're a fucking liar.
I know how permissive and weak you are when your libido is raging
G friend: damn you go
Dope J: and he's like, okay there are things I won't talk about.
Dope J: and I’m like, exactly. I’m not free,
I’m actually more expensive than you can afford right now,
and I don’t need to be your dirty little secret. And I
don't want to be a part of your drama.

How I killed the vibe last night with Ex Boy.
Who came over because my other friend bailed on me last night,
we ordered food, played video games,
watched tv and cracked each other’s backs.

Then I felt the honey creeping in, the thick honey vibe. . .
but I kept up my firewall, and instead took this opportunity
to observe how he has not changed,
has not matured or become a man in any way.

And I’m sure his Harpy hasn’t taught him any new tricks.
The memory is more attractive than the
man-boy trying to cop his clumsy teenage feels on me.

I sent him home.
Disappointed in him.
Proud of myself.
Laughing at my life.

Not really sad.
Smiling with the Sun.
You like that? I’m smiling!

xy xy xy xy xy xy xy xy xy !!!

Message from Hugo this morning:

As I get out and become more social, "meet more people",
I've realized something.
When you use to look at me, through me,
with those knowing eyes,
thats the part I miss most about our
relationship. It's also something that hasn't existed
between us in a long time.
I hope we find it someday.

**If only he knew, the knowing look he loves so much,
is a gift I can give or withhold.

Message from Ex Boy this morning:

It's not about sex. It's the feeling when I
used to wrap myself around you, like I couldn't ever
get close enough to you. Snuggle fiending.

Message from a co-worker this morning:

Wanna do something this weekend?
Wanna take shrooms tonight?

Thinking about the diaries of Anais Nin and how free and ruthless
she would be in her description of her feelings.
Because hardly anyone saw what
she was writing or thinking, as she wrote it.
She protected everyone from it, especially Hugo,
not allowing her diaries to be published until after his death.

Beautiful irises are blooming on my desk today.
Courtesy of a beautiful green eyed golden boy.

Tides of hormones ebbing and flowing, in my PMS time.
Feeling despondent and alone.
Irritable and neglected.
Wanting to run away, become invisible, disappear.

Want to lock myself in with the cat in the box. Again.


In the meanwhile the anhedonia has not abated overmuch.
Sexually dysfunctional voracious kitty.
Fucking hilarious.

Well as I said before, I'm no sex goddess
and I wouldn't even be here, writing, had it
not been for my sexually dysfunctional relationship.

Soothing numbness in the exhalation of cigarette smoke.
Buddhist echoes: Desire is the cause of all suffering.
Kill the selfish desires.
Quiet the cacophonic struggles within.
This world, this shell, temporal.
Someday my energy will feed another energy.
And live on, never dying, only passing through.

How it would be to exist on another plane,
where I could walk in light and ascetism,
feeling nothing but a continuous flow of energy.

But earthbound as I am, I bite into the ripe summer
sweetness, and the juice and tender flesh of living
spills out of my mouth.

I can taste the pain and the suffering,
hold it's cold and tangible form in my arms,
my companion as I sleep.

Let it all go like a red balloon.
Keep walking, ingesting, processing stimulus.

Chronic wanker? The Mormons can help.

I guess it's pointless for me to hide my shell now.
So it's available for viewing at Picturetrail.com.
E me if you want the member name and the pwd to the Exoskeleton album.

Sunshine I pray heal this mood of mine.
Fill me with joy that I might be a conduit of light.

Wearing a dress today and I feel naked underneath.
The cheeks of my ass are left vulnerable by the thong.
Breeze cooling bare legs, which thanks to this past weekend,
are less pale and more and more brown.
There are bare legs everywhere.
And arms and necks and shoulders.
Curved calves and rounded hips swaying.

The sun on my skin makes me want to be laying out naked
kisses raining on my tummy and my shoulders
Oiled and slick and getting toasty
Sheen of sweat glistening, cooled by the breeze
Cube of ice melting to drip cold onto my nipple
Hardening the little brown bud immediately
Blowing cool breath to exacerbate the hardness

Listen to music on my headphones
with the Mini Disc that is miraculously alive.
Spread open my thighs just a little
give the kitty some air
feel the moisture slicken me
as I think dirty dirty thoughts

fingertip on my mouth to trace the contours of my lips
till the kitten tongue darts out to bring the fingertip
into the soft wetness of my mouth
and teeth bite down on the resisting flesh

gnash gnash gnash

this is where I'd rather be today.

good morning grid

a weekend off the grid
a welcome respite from the
ponderous thoughts

back to santa cruz
in the gold convertible
4 asian kitties
bumpin down hwy. 1

and for those moments this weekend
the sunshine and the wind whipping my hair
blue skies and brushed clouds and horizon
i felt a release, a peace, a quiet

this is what santa cruz means to me
this is why it is the home of my heart

the vitality of campus during grad weekend
10 ceremonies, 5 on Sat. 5 on Sun.
The pervasiveness of "hope" and "future"
Me, jaded and broken and tired.
Did I only finish school 2 years ago?

Fortified by the love and company of
family and loved friends.
Surrounding myself with the company of women.
Content to just be together, driving along West Cliff
gazing at the ocean and the tourists
happy for the moment
carefree for the moment
feeling nothing but youth and life

a world away from this hectic City existence
where all words are heavy and fall like stones
and the flow gets locked up in the mechanisms
we all employ to survive

For the first time in awhile, I was in the same town
as Hugo and Ex-boy.
And I didn't see either of them.
My choice. My time.

Leisurely strolls down Pacific Ave. and on campus
Inhaling the sweet air amongst the redwoods
the meadows, the ocean breeze and
the warmth of the sunshine
bare feet in flip flops
bare limbs exposed
getting brown again

Remembering the days I would go to the beach
shed all my clothes and walk into the ocean, naked.
Play Frisbee, topless.
and fuck slow in the meadow.

I feel more womanly returning to this town
Not a child-woman
Not like I was
Stronger than I have ever been
More solid in my resolve
More aware of my own needs
More aware of my own effect

For the moment, for my family, for my friends
I let my pain float away
released for the moment like a red balloon into the sky
and I watched it fly away from me
smiling like a child

Only to come back to the City
and feel the balloon string,
tethered to my heart
gently tugging.

No salacious tales.
No fantastic daydreams.
No erotic fantasies.

How boring, you must be thinking.
What happened to my little dope j in heat?
She's still around.
But she's on hiatus.
Trying to bring the flesh to the fantasy.
Substance to the seduction.
Un-lickety the split.

I chose, and my world was shaken -- so what?
The choice may have been mistaken
the choosing was not.
You have to move on.

Look at what you want,
Not at where you are,
Not at what you'll be.
Look at all the things you've done for me:
Opened up my eyes
Taught me how to see
Notice every tree!
Understand the light!
Concentrate on now!
I want to move on . . .
I want to explore the light.
I want to know how to get through
through to something new
Something of my own

I know when the break up is starting to kick in when
the song lyrics of my life start to come alive.
I apologize though. I know it's Sondheim.
But I am tied to the American musical theatre, so I can't help it.

Going to Santa Cruz this weekend for the college grads.
Home of my heart. Where Hugo lives.
But I don't anticipate seeing him.
Ex boy will be in town also, a convergence that happens every year.
Like Homecoming.

This time, I will be alone.
No man to hold my hand.
And I will be fine.

The young man in my life has opted out.
Right person? Perhaps.
Wrong Time? For me, yes.

Love is patient, Love is kind.
Never proud, never boastful.

Old Bible verses from Sunday school,
the little framed verses in my grandmother's house.
Say these things about Love.

I can see this, but where is the whole Truth?

that Love is twisted, and sometimes wrong.
Love is painful and fills you with longing.
Love is a weapon and a threat
Love is a nightmare and a lovely dream
Love breaks you down.

All that could have been.
I guess the whole concept of
a Lifetime in A Minute with Many
doesn't work out very smoothly.
If we only have so much time in this world . .

shit I don't know.
It's not about the sex even.
It's not about the dick-down.
The falling sensation
Being zapped on the grid
Being found on the grid

Ethereal.
Ephemeral too, I guess.
Like streamingmedia.

Passionate love affairs
the kind that develop from
stone cold fucking
Which take place less than one month after
the end of a 3 year relationship.

Recipe for a RollerCoaster.

And I say love affairs because my encounters are
not casual.
When my chaos touches someone else’s chaos,
the ensuing maelstrom is profound.
Leaves you with wishes, fledgling hopes shot down,
hot memories, a taste of tenderness lingering in your mouth.

But if I have enough matter to attract you into my orbit
and you have enough matter to keep my in your orbit
then we wait and see, for that intersection again
Alignment

I believe in that.
That may be the only thing I believe in.

It's been another hectic week of this hectic time.
With each moment I feel that I am someone else.
Family Girl, Housemate Girl, Friend of your Childhood
Girl Friend, Friend Girl, Ex-Girlfriend, New Friend

The infintesimal me
The predatory me
Soft and yielding flesh over hard bones.

I imagine you sometimes as you must imagine me
Sitting behind a desk typing away
Eagerly absorbing choice packets
Information stimulus

What is your/my expression?
Staring at the screen.
I don't want webcam.

When I talk about crying, are you bored?
When I am self-deprecating, are you uninterested?
When I tell you about my latest trip into a
drug induced stupor, are you disgusted with me?

I'm not asking for judgement.
Just thinking.

Who am I?

Playing Ms. Pac-Man, smoking bowls.
Surfing for interesting porn mpegs.
Playing video games lying on the floor on my tummy.
Eating chips.
Using two fingers while shaving my kitty.

On the long cab rides home by myself.
The moment where I peel off all my clothes
to look into a full length mirror
Count the bruises and bite marks and finger marks on my body
Cupping the undersides of my breasts
Head cocked to the side
Heavy sigh
Little gasp of memory

Of my bra. a shirt, being torn off my body
Being tied up and facedown on a bed
Tiny helpless vulnerable
Tender
Squealing with pain
Teeth sinking into my sensitive flesh

The shock of pain
The sweetness of a tongue's rasp to "make it better"

Letting the brief moments of fear
blanket my brain and flash across my eyes
The same kind of thrill dropping in a roller coaster
Scared, but you know you're safe
And I was safe
Which enabled me to let go
To submit
And submission is sweet
Pain making the pleasure afterwards more acute

Physical pain to overcome the pain inside
That I am feeling
That I am fighting
That is a dull throbbing that won't go away

Exercise. Exorcise.

Message from Hugo this morning sending me into fits of tears
He wants his "personal effects"
boxed up and brought to him
Or he can come and pick them up

I want to see him, but I'm not ready
I'll want to kiss him.
Perhaps this absence will stimulate a
resurgence of feeling between us
Perhaps he will want to kiss me
Perhaps I will want to kiss him back

This is the man who has broken me
Broken my heart so many times
Hurt me over and over
Rejected me and yet kept me hanging on

And I stayed, I stayed with him
Because of my unilateral love for him
Because I was a believer
In our religion, our Dream
of a life together with someone who loved the whole of me.
Who made me feel safe.

Until safe turned to dependent.
And dependent turned to lazy.
And lazy turned to fat.
And fat turned into undesireable
and undesireable turned into Rejected.
And Rejected turned into resentment.
And Resentment turned into a hard angry pride.
And injured pride turned into anger.
Anger - > COLDNESS.
Coldness > Detachment.
Detachment + Anger + Injured Pride = IMPETUS
impetus > Change.

I can't say exactly what I feel for him now.
Because it's all mixed up, the memories of hate and love.
Both strong emotions, and I always seem to be fluctuating between the two.

I'm afraid of myself. I'm a danger to myself and others.
My Desire, My Sadness, My Mania
All equally powerful emotions within me.
I am in their Grip. I surrender to it.
I don't have energy to fight.

I am up I am down
I am happy and I am sad
I am old and I am new

Boys make my life complicated.

Mr. Sensible Erection was kind enough to link to me.
So I'm linking back.

Happy weekend.

somebody already broke my heart

you came along when i
needed a saviour
someone to pull me
through somehow
i've been torn apart so
many times
i've been hurt so many
times before
so i'm counting on you now

somebody already
broke my heart

here i am
so don't leave me stranded
on the end of a line
hanging on the edge of a lie
i've been torn apart so
many times
i've been hurt so many
times before
so be careful and be kind

somebody already
broke my heart
if someone has to lose
i don't want to play
somebody already
broke my heart
no no i can't go there again

I'm a trembling walking bruise
and I'm smoking cigs again
I'm starting to thaw
Getting weaker even as something else within me is slowly, painfully healing
and regaining strength

Every cruel word
Another stab in my flesh
Penetrating cruelly
without lubrication

I can't feel anymore the pain,
in the sense where I don't know where it comes from
The hurt, the ache, the loss, the tearing at my heart
it's all a miasma enveloping me

And I feel too weak to make it through this one
Just can't see the end
Where's the day I'll have started forgetting?
When will the tears ebb?

Tenderness comes from pain.

Your dopamine junkie needs more dopamine.
Your dopamine junkie is hurting
And she's too proud to admit
what's going on inside

No one wants to hear
No one should try to break me
I'm fragile enough as it is

Hide it all behind confidence (really bravado)
Hide behind a sexpot brain and an infintesimal shell
Hide behind this screen.
Hide behind fantasies.

3 from Suck.com which unfortunately, speak to me, make me laugh.
Until Laughing turns to Crying.

Ha
ha
ha

It's time to dig out the Jawbreaker again

Dear You
See Accident Prone, I Love You So Much It's Killing Us Both, Jet Black

24 Hour Revenge Therapy
See Ache, Do you Still Hate me?, Condition Oakland

Time again to resurrect Morphine
Perfect: Cure for Pain
See I'm Free Now, In Spite of Me, Cure for Pain

Mollifying myself with other people's drama.
Looking for Solace in Oblivion.

Gettin’ cinematic with it
Niggas if you got it, hit it
Fuck the dumbness
Hit it till its numbness

_ Q-Tip

The players change.
But the drama remains the same.
I took myself out of an intense situation.
Only to throw myself into new intense situations.
I was in a constant flux of emotion.
I’m still in a constant flux of emotion.

I need discipline and I don’t mean a spanking this time.
I need to withhold myself.
I need to preserve my energy.
I need to rebuild and reconnect with my ch’i.
I need to keep back the love, behind the dam.
Create potential energy.

I’ve been checking the messages left at the Oblivion Concierge.
Message from my Dignity: Injured, please send help!
Message from my Pride: All shields must be kept at full force.
Message from my Heart: Cloaking Function must be activated.
Message from the Love Department: Hibernating Indefinitely – Do not Disturb.
Message from my Kitty: I’m full and I’m not going to be Hungry again for awhile.
Message from the Office of Self-Regulation: Please make an appointment
for Self Examination.
Message from my Erotic Imagination: Ease up. No one in the World will ever be able to
provide the exact level of Twisted you require to get off, better than yourself.

I have been loving deeply for years.
I have learned what I am capable of, for Love.
And now, I am in the Deep Love mindset.
And I can’t be.
I need Time to redefine myself.

Spending time with my family this weekend
reminded me of the Girl I used to be.
Defined by my family.
According to the natural progression of things,
along the line, in the bid for independence
I used my relationships with men to define myself
away from the Family Girl.
I thought this “new” Girl was doing what she wanted
instead of what was expected. . .

Oh it’s all so trite; the story, a cliché.

And it’s all coming to a wonderful cacophonic crescendo.
The song of men in my life.
My pathological Freudian response.
Losing myself
Forgetting myself
Betraying myself
Giving it all away and not being replenished for it.

Almost 10 years of my 26, pathologically, chronically
addicted to the drama, the despair, the challenge, the hope, the Love Drug.

I’m due for a denouement.

Here, in this place where only you know me,
I began a project of Escapism and Exploration.

There is no longer that need to escape.
This, my life, is no longer a hidden alternative
that I can put away.

I could spew fantasy all day long.
All kinds.
In my mind I am acting them out.
Alone.
This works best because there is no responsibility, no entanglements.
I can exist in a purely fantasy-based escapist level of reality.
I’m not real now.
I won’t be for a little while.
I’m as real as I can be.
But there is no insurance to guarantee
that I am who I say I am, who I will be.
Because I am in Flux.

I’d like to find a partner who is willing
to explore with me,
but who understands and respects my need for
relative detachment, total independence,
time to heal, and disenchantment with Love.

I’m down for:

Affection
Companionship
Kissing
Sexual tension with me recast as a 16 year old teen virgin again
New Energy
Nurturing ongoing friendships/relationships
Nurturing new friends and relationships
Scrabble
Playtime and Exploration


What I’m not Down For:

Heavy Examined Feelings
Emotional Baggage
Guilt
Anyone or anything constraining or putting
claims on my newfound Independence
Having to explain myself to anyone
Relationship-type Responsibility

Ball torture

I’ve been awake way too long.
A long night of broadband enabled porn surfing.
Sigh.

Time for bed. Do you see what time it is?

just returned from a hectic trip to los angeles.
asian kitties speeding down the interstate 5
in a gold convertible, blaring hip hop through the
wee hours of the night.

i was a different girl again this weekend.
one girl was the girl I grew up with.
the one with the parents and the sisters and the family.
someone you would never recognize.

the other girl is who I become when I run with these ladies.
predatory and ruthless.
without feeling. without emotion.

smoking smoking smoking is bad for me!

I wrote all weekend but now I don't feel safe to write here.
My multiplicity will be held against me.
My chickenshit will be held against me.
All my indecisive competing desires,
everything.

I am now accountable.

Do I want to be accountable, to anyone, right now?
Do I want to be required to explain or defend my thoughts, my actions?
Is that what I want?

Something reckless and self-destructive is loose within me.
It's her. The inner freak.

So ravenous and malnourished she is a black hole of desire.
And meanwhile a confused inner self is not sure whether to
wake up again, to lift her weary head to fall headlong into another rabbit hole;
or to take arms against a sea of troubles, oppose them,
end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks. . .

Been whirling giddily and recklessly in the maelstrom.
Now I feel external forces wanting to exert Order onto me.

I need to burn myself down to the ground.
I need to walk through the heat of Chaos again;
watch my spirit take shape, defining itself from the meltdown.

and now I shall crash from our speedy trip with the help of yet
another chemical friend.

and i shall awake, so early in the morning.
to get to work at 7.

somehow I will summon my presence.
right now I feel like a scraped and empty shell.

the edge has set to my jaw.
i need to crash.

how can i write anymore?

when my words, my thoughts, the private things I want to say, to disclose,
are held against me, hurled like spears?

writing has become an exercise, my first stab at artistic discipline.

this was supposed to be a space where i would not censor myself.

my fault for coming out from behind the screen.
my fault for indulging in fact based fiction and fiction based fact.

what do you suggest I do?

it's too damn hot to be cooking soup in the kitchen.
i'll try to prepare a gazpacho or maybe a vichyssoise. . . .
soo busy. soo hot. kind of hectic and cranky.

last night a boy came to my house to steal me away in the night.
he did sex to me in the hotness of the night.
luckily there was ice in the freezer.

ok. that's all for now. . .be back tomorrow. . .stay cool.

Damn it's gorgeous outside.
If I had some acid I would take it right now.
Fuck werk and traipse perma-grinned into the City.

Bare calves, bare arms, bare shoulders.
Cute derrieres.
Watching is a pleasure behing my shades as I walk by.
Bam. Bam! Bam!
Mm. Hips swaying.

Sunshine and balmy weather.
Moisturized skin.
A day yet without mistake or heartache.
And I shall try to keep it so.

What girl am I?
What woman?
What child?

Who prefers to be near beauty than be the object of it.
Who prefers to retreat to entice pursuit.
Who prefers to hope recklessly instead of healing.

My heart has a sense of it's own.
Vibrating within me with singing intensity.
New blood is pumping out the old blood.

Another choice packet from Hugo.
From last night's thoughts of him
he gains a new dimension, does he not?
As do I, perhaps.

His thoughts are kind and fond and missing.
His thoughts are not in close proximity.
He has been left behind on the grid.

I've been playing again on CL.
I couldn't help myself.
I was just inspired.
It was late last night when I couldn't sleep.
See if you can find me!

Tadpoles is a winner!

late and later still.
pain in my tum.
pain in my head.
pain in my heart.
palpable.

here alone at night
i am whispering to myself
wishing for kindness
but feeling I deserve none.

can't sleep
but I need to
another long day
of another busy week

so I sought out cum
in the form of a story and my euro porn mags
with the smiling european girls getting dp'd.

"are you here because you need someone? or are you here because you need me?"

yeah no one seems to have a clear idea of what they want or need.
no one seems to have a clear idea of how much they're willing
to spend in time and effort.

Everyone looking out for their ROI.
How can you measure results?

Quantitative? Qualitative?
What might we do, to provide you
with more effective, innovative, efficient service?
Your business is important to us, esp.
in this soft market.

Fucking Paul Westerberg.
Always making me cry.
"If being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side/at the swingin' party down the line."
- Paul in the Replacements, Swinging Party

And when I start in on the Replacements, all the emo rock CDs come out.
Morphine, Toad, Yo La Tengo,
Freedy Johnston, Matthew Sweet, Sting's Soul Cages, more Morphine.

SOMETHING REALLY AWFUL HAPPENED.

I think my mini disc player is brokeded.
The mini disc player and my blog are the most
priceless things I own.
I'm devastated. I don't know if it would
be worth it to dig up the warranty, it's been almost a year.
Or has it been over a year?

In any case I am more depressed.
And now it's 1.47 a.m. and I am nauseous and depressed.
Broken.
One more bowl and a tylenol p.m.
And maybe I'll be able to sleep.

Tuesday evening

My blood sugar is low because I haven't eaten since my cup of oatmeal this morning.
I just ate 2 slices of processed cheese and had a glass of cranberry juice.
Mayhap the dizzy feeling will go away.

I've got to shut down. My head is hurting and my heart is raw from hoping.
I don't want to feel pain anymore.
I don't want to let anyone see me crying.
I don't want to offer my hand in trust and be crushed by the rejection.

My little world, I should leave it be.
Not a moment's peace in the midst of chaos.
Alls I wants is sanctuary for my little self.

* * *
A few hours later and I feel my age.
My body is tired, of the reaching and the yearning
and the bending and the yielding.

Actual physical pains punctuate the aches inside me.
I look out a window into darkness.
The house is silent.
I’m alone.
I can’t sleep tonight.

My inner light is dim tonight.
I feel weakened as if after a bloodletting.

Something inside me is so sleepy and needs to rest.
Something inside me is so restless and anxious.
I hurt inside. Fuck.

Just as I begin to wish for unconsciousness
a new Force is asserted within me;
one of my most cherished allies, my Rage.
If I am Chaos in another world, by my side lay my weapons, my pets;
Glorious, Imperious, Righteous Rage.
Supple, Tender, Wicked Vulnerability.

Do I need to be enslaved?
Wasn’t I just liberated from a slavish holding pattern?
What does it mean about my psychology
that I would allow myself, my small proud head,
to bow in submission?
What does it mean that I accept cruelty and pain?
Emotional, physical.

Once. The period after Hugo had first broken my heart.
My shields were new, and strong.
The girl who loves went to sleep.
and my Dark Angel awoke to sing her first siren song.
The heartbreak awoke the Predator in me.
After a time he became jealous.
After a time he wanted to see me again.
So I let him.
I was beautiful and sexy and cold.
I sympathized with him in regards to his
poor sex life with his girlfriend.
Who was his ex-girlfriend.
Who he broke up with initially to date me.

He was incited I could see.
He wanted into the goods.
Into my head. Into my bed.
And we got really drunk that night.
He took me home.

He started to kiss me but I didn’t want him
after what he did to me.
But I was broken already.
I did what he wanted, not feeling anything.
He used me several ways.
Tore my bra, my clothes, smothered my mouth.
He wasn’t wearing a condom.
I wasn’t on the pill.
He knew it too.
I just couldn’t fight him.
It was just easier to lie there and stare at the ceiling.
And think I was above this.
That I was winning somehow, with my soiled virtue
and the evidence of his cruelty, his brutal lust,
perhaps he would hate himself.
As I hated him.

He didn’t sleep with me that night.
He went home to her.
I slept alone.

The next morning I had to ask my housemate
for a ride up to the Health Center.
She asked why.
I told her I had to get a morning after pill.
She hugged me and I cried.
Big fucking surprise.

I came back to my room,
which was still trashed from the night before.
In my full length mirror I took off my clothes
to look at my naked body.
When did I decide it was alright to sacrifice myself
for a man’s pleasure?
On my chest, my breasts, around my nipples and my neck,
dark purple bruises where his hands gripped me,
the tenderness on my nipples where he bit down on me hard.
Dark purple bruises on my breasts where he bit me through to break skin.

My body despite the marks, was at it’s most beautiful, I think.
I had my roommate take photos of my mauled tits.
To remind me. Of what he was capable of.
Of what I am capable of.

* * * *

I thought it was a triumph. I knew it was empty.
But I also knew that in the way he was ruthlessly fucking me,
he wanted to get at something deep inside me,
a sweet honey basted heart that would never touch his lips again.

How quickly can men be inspired to cruelty, to violence.
How easily a woman swallows it.

* * * *

Have I ever feared for my safety?
Yes.

Do I still?
Yes.

From whom?
One who would aim to make me doubt the extension of my trust.

What will I do?
No choice but to play it out now.
Men will be cruel if that is their intention.

* * * *

I am doing my best to stoke the chaos I suppose.
More thunderous crescendo.
I’m delerious.
My inner laughter is depressed, catatonic, maniacal.

I want to paint my face with lipstick and kiss myself in the mirror.
I want a tiny animal a chinchilla or something, whose head I can fit
into my open mouth and then slowly bite down on, just a little bit.

Passing out now.

Now overcast days never turned me on . . . but something about the clouds and her mixed . . .
- Prince, Raspberry Beret

Monday evening

The Blue House is full of people.
One of those call-your-friends-over organically grown parties.
Full of stoner boys.

Alone in my room, alone for the first time this weekend.
Glad to be alone again.
Unapologetically catatonic.

Patience, patience, someone out there is patient . . .
older men understand the fullness of time,
can wait for a wine to age, and a girl to come around.

Maddening patience, breaking down my resistance.
Intuition perhaps, that I want to yield?
Just need time to strip off all my armor.
It’s heavy and thick like a mood.
The patient man, he waited, enduring and affectionate,
even in my silence.
He understands the silence is something I cannot control,
the introspection that comes over me like a wave,
triggered by a memory, an object, a cloud.
Systematic patience; borne from a knowledge, experience,
that the desires of women can change in a heartbeat.

May I tell you about Friday? I did not go to work that day.
I had not seen the Connoisseur in almost 2 weeks, except
for dinner or lunch hours.

Therefore we both savored the thought over the waiting;
he thought of Devouring. I thought of being Devoured.

Early Friday morning and I took my time and dressed with care.
Small black t-shirt, dark blue mini in a schoolgirl style,
badass red coat, black fishnets, platform Mary Janes.

When I arrived at his doorstep my heart was racing, but
I wanted to keep my composure.

He was eating an apple, opened the door.
The heat of his gaze followed me inside,
where I set down my things.

His artist’s eye always watching me.
For a few preliminary moments we chat
about getting breakfast.

But I know we should get something out of the way first.
His first kiss on my cheek like a kind uncle.
His hair is wet still from a shower.
But as I sit he bends his head to mine for a soft kiss.
The heat of his mouth betrays what he is leashing.
Hot tongue delving slowly to penetrate me.


Without further prevarication I abandon myself to
the delicious inevitable.

His kisses are insistent and focused and hot.
This is what I want.
Fever.

Without warning he has me stand with my hands against the wall, bent over.
This is something new.
Something I did not expect.
And how I delight in the unexpected.

He yanks down the fishnets and flips up the little skirt.
Exposing me.
Hands caressing my hip, my ass.

Then, the woosh of the belt through the loops.
What is happening to my gentle and fucking Connoisseur?
Then I understand.
I am to be punished for making him wait, for putting him off.

He whispers into my ear, I missed you.
This admission in itself sends me thrilling.

This is what I want.
Discipline, punishment, accountability.
To be missed. To be desired.

The lesson: Retribution
The voice, thick: This is for making me wait.
The instruments of discipline: a weathered leather belt to start.
Later, wrist restraints while I am on my back, on the bed.

It has been so long since I have been punished, been
given a place to atone for the things I have done.
That this was to be given to me by the gentle
hand of the Connoisseur, who is usually so caressing
and tender with me, made my submission all the more . . .
delightful.

Because I trust him. Because no matter how much
I try to remain detached, he floods me with
patience, tenderness, caring, affection, friendship.

His belt is cracking smartly against my thighs, my ass.
The leather belt so totemic of my childhood.
Papa or Mama looming over me.
Me facedown on the bed, or facing the wall, with my
pants and panties pulled down to expose my tender young ass.
Their question: How many? And how many next time?
Asking me to set my own punishment.

Hands flat, up against the wall, bent at the waist to present my ass
to best advantage, the old stubbornness, the fear, the pride of a defiant
eleven year old girl awakes from a dormancy.
Sense memory recalled, from this posture,
from this tension, awaiting
the next blow.

I’m ready to be punished.
I know it will hurt me physically.
I know if I relax at the moment of contact, it won’t hurt as much.

The first blows - the Connoisseur is testing my limits, and his own, perhaps.
Slapping, smarting little licks of leather tongues against my inner thighs, my ass.
I am prepared for more. I can take more.
My ass writhing and wiggling to let this be known.
His hands caress my ass, feeling my slit for wetness.

- Not wet enough. he says.

His hand grabs my ass, smacks it, and the leather tongues come slapping.
across my thighs, my ass, a little harder, and from behind he lifts me by the hips
to expose my vulva for more spanks.

My asscheeks are hot and smarting, my pussy is wet.
I am gasping and tense, ready for more.

Ah but to punish the masochist, just the taste of pain to gain acquiescence,
submission, and when I am wanting more . . .

He grabs me by the ponytails to pull my head around,
pushing my head down to suck his cock.
And I am not in control.
He does not flinch or let up when I gag a little,
or the tears start a little in the corners of my eye.

Later he says to me: Beware the fury of a patient man.

Later, that is, after. After I have been securely bound by the wrists
and am chewing on the leather of his belt to stifle my noise.

******

Dopamine Junkie is a moody girl.

What I seek still, forever, is the cosmic union,
the intermingling of spirit and energy on the grid.
Stronger than sexual obsession,
longer lasting than an ephemeral cum.

I become still, quiet, pensive because my mind is heavy with thoughts.
Also in the dynamic, I become quiet to draw the energy from the Other.
I lower my voice, my eyes, my head in submission to gauge the intensity
of the man who believes he can hang.

Waiting for a telepathic phone call with my back arched and breath held, eyes closed.
The voice on the other line, clear and static free:

- I know what you want.

In response I want to manifest all that is female sexuality –
gentleness, lioness, alluring, seductive, yielding, intoxicating and Strong.
At 24 I believed myself at the height of my sexual powers.
I was heartbroken (by Hugo).
Emotionally unavailable.
Tight.
Ripe.
Hot.
but Cold inside.
Eyes like reflecting mirrors, a trick to make you
believe that there was something there.
Awaiting lovers in my home, receiving callers and suitors.
Smooth, perfumed and ready.
I was aware of my effect, but had no clue
how to use the power for good instead of evil.

A few long years later and here I am again, a new creature this time.
Wanting to be good, wanting to give,
wanting to be given, wanting to please and be pleased.

I feel I am watching in a detached fashion, as intimacy between strangers
cultivates. I am one of the strangers.

So easy at first to give in to that sexual desire between men and women.
After the fucking and the sucking; free to hold on to each other, as if
the physical familiarity was as good as comfort.
But no talk of comfort, hope, future and esp. not the L-word, allowed.
Verboten.
Interdit.

Because comfort is easy, isn’t it?
We search for the familiar within the new relationships.
Seeking to achieve in a fast food kind of way
something ‘comfortable’.
The same kind of ‘comfortable’ I had with Hugo.
Comfort because there is no talk of feelings.

But at least there is no pretense of substance between lovers.
Companionship. Fucking. Cuddle, and if you’re lucky – Friendship.
All sugary and light and airy and as unfulfilling as an angel food cake.

And the new twist, a trick I play on myself, achieving this tenderness.

But you see the anhedonia is out, the very word, the concept lodging itself
in my synapse, preventing me from getting my cum.

And so I need something deeper, an extra twist, to get off.
Something tangible, a little frightening, thrilling.

Pain, a sensation I can’t sidestep or squirm my way out of.
For months, the pain, the fear of pain, that pain in my heart has been
so sublimated I have felt only a dull, numb ache. Comfortably numb.

This dulling of my senses has affected me sexually also, I think.
Leaving me with a longing to be bound, stripped down, and
punished until I start to cum true.

I’ve become too practiced in my pretense, even in sex.
The cum is not even the goal anymore.
Only the use of my body.
Being the drug.
Being rolled up
and smoked.
Only for the scent that overtakes me for those brief moments
where I am transported to the ether world.

I can barely even cry.
My control is so tight, the shields and guards
and armaments so massive and effective,
I can’t even gain access to my inner self anymore.
She’s retreated I suppose and doesn’t want to be found.
I can’t say I blame her.

Oh but it is she that I miss, the one who falls in love,
whose heart overflows
with tenderness, generosity, sensitivity.
That girl – the one who loves.
She sleeps again, leaving me here alone to keep time moving along,
to create a new world for her to wake up to.

******
Evaluation of time spent with the Pyromaniac this weekend.
1) He beat me at Scrabble.
2) What does it take to unlock his sweetness?
3) Is he a friend, a lover, or a student? Do I want him as all 3?
4) Just what the hell does he think of me anyway?
Like I'm some kind of brainless dick-whipped fuck bitch?
Wrong girl.
5) I'm mad because he struck at one of my most
volatile touchpoints. I'm hoping the anger will dissipate by morning.
6) I think we have fun times in san francisco hanging out together.
it would be kind of lame if we couldn't anymore.

*******
I enjoyed a fullness of time that I haven't in a while, this weekend.
Oh xyxyxyxyxyxyxy. . . .time for bed, alone.

I won't ask if you missed me. Because I don't believe anymore that you exist.

(Saturday morning fresh and hot)

[The character Dopamine Junkie is alone in the house on a Saturday afternoon.
She is hiding. Laundry spinning in the dryer.
Freshly washed, freshly stony, watching Chungking Express on Bravo.
#1 Pet Peeve = Waiting for Boys on a continuous loop in her mind.
Half a muscle relaxer to relax the aching muscles. She is writing.]

[I have recently redefined my long-term goal to be a multi-media content goddess
by the time I am 35 (which gives me 9 years), I am now shopping for a host and a domain.
It's my one of my numerous creative "projects" for the summer.]

On the other side of Love, Art.
on the other side of this dynamic vicissitude is a frozen image.
Where I am alone, a still spirit, catatonic, with tears ceaselessly flowing,
wings aching and exhausted from the flight, limbs tender and unsure,
the pain of metamorphosis, the pain of living.

In this space the ugly thoughts get trapped in the flypaper. . . .
Dopamine Junkie is a character. Dopamine Junkie is a doppelganger.
Dopamine Junkie is a complementary personality, born of a necessary duplicity.
But it’s just me now.

Strange to face the world alone instead of hand in hand with someone else.
Strange to lack that pillar of strength and stability that was Hugo.
Strange to cry and feel nothing but wetness on my cheeks.

When the ache starts, I fill my time pie.
Must stay in motion. Stop only to chronicle, to sleep and to smoke.

Stepping careful and cautious into new friendships, new relations
Cautious about my weaknesses, my habits, my proclivities.
Cautious about being too hard on myself.

Ugly thoughts this morning:
You’re like a prostitute who never gets paid.

Something hard and unyielding, rigid disciplinarian
Sunday School teacher within,
debasing myself. Erasing myself.

What do I get out of relationships with lovers?
Some fuck for money.
Some fuck for drugs.
Some fuck for free dinners.

I just fuck for sex.
For synergy.
For release.

But it’s hard to snap out of this mindset of anhedonia.
It’s hard to remember how to truly, truly experience pleasure.
Gratification for my own sake.
Without it being caught up, in another pleasure I have confused it with for so long.
Satisfying someone else.

It started with Hugo, and carries on to my new lovers.
Am I satisfying their fantasies? Am I responding appropriately?
Do I look alright?
Is this complex enough to make you believe that I am really here,
here for you, to become the woman you want, the woman you desire?

In the snuggle afterwards, this is where I find any real satisfaction.
The work ethic satiated, a job well done.
He came.
Never mind if I didn’t. Or at least he thought I did.

My hunger to please, stronger than my hunger for pleasure.
Desire, that state of uneasiness, of pleasure longed for, unfulfilled.

******
Boys of My Life. Boys of My Life.
******
Ex-Boy, when he was young and unsculpted, awkward but eager,
wrote me a letter, a snippet of which
I carry with me in my heart:

You needed a place where you could escape, where you could rest.
And me, I’ve been lugging around all this empty space.
I want you to fill it, take whatever you need of me.

This is why our journeys will always be entwined.
Like a train station locker in Amsterdam
I’ll always come back for my stuff.

******
non sequitur
******

I don't speak very often about the last True Love I had.
The First One, the Boy who stole my heart, my dreams,
my imagination, and my virginity.

My most literary lover.
Our conversations are filled with obscure references to
inside jokes, great cinema,
great literature, great comedy,
and to the emo-rock/j pop era of the 90s.

Sample of our conversation:

I am the character FirstLoveMe, and we shall call him CherryPopper.

FirstLoveMe: you're there aren't you cheese?
FirstLoveMe: are you? appears you are.
CherryPopper: Cheese can't write an instant message.
FirstLoveMe: cheese must abhor the instant message medium
CherryPopper: It's far from cheese's forte.
FirstLoveMe: i just got home
CherryPopper: I just sent you an e-mail.
FirstLoveMe: i haven't checked yet
CherryPopper: No hard feelings.
FirstLoveMe: when you lived out here, did you ever hear of/go to a place called asia sf?
CherryPopper: No. It sound a little suspicious.
FirstLoveMe: asian transvestites lip-syncing at a bar/tapas asian fusion place.
CherryPopper: My instincts were again reliable.
FirstLoveMe: i have a few friends, including those of the ambiguous
persuasion, who work there.
CherryPopper: I bet you do.
FirstLoveMe: beautiful wo/men
CherryPopper: Chicks with dicks?
FirstLoveMe: yes
FirstLoveMe: and mad titty
CherryPopper: Styrofoam packing material?
CherryPopper: Corrugated cardboard?
CherryPopper: Double-sided packing tape?
FirstLoveMe: not quite as tittilating.
FirstLoveMe: wait does that have 2 t's?
FirstLoveMe: or 3?
CherryPopper: The former.
CherryPopper: No, sorry, the latter.
FirstLoveMe: okay smartypants: what's the difference
between a plebian and a proletarian?
CherryPopper: Titilating.
FirstLoveMe: nooo
FirstLoveMe: 3 t's then
CherryPopper: Do you mean a "plebeian"?
FirstLoveMe: oh stop
FirstLoveMe: you're not my writing tutor
CherryPopper: I think they are relatively similar in meaning,
but different in connotation.
CherryPopper: You should be so lucky.
FirstLoveMe: i don't need a writing tutor.
FirstLoveMe: aol instant messenger. last bastion of what?
CherryPopper: That's what they all think before I tutor them.
FirstLoveMe: mmhmm.
CherryPopper: Last bastion of bastardization.
FirstLoveMe: so what's an attached guy like you
doing in cyberspace at this hour of the night?
CherryPopper: Well, avoiding bedtime.
FirstLoveMe: because why?
CherryPopper: Because I always hated bedtime.
FirstLoveMe: no you didn't
CherryPopper: Especially bedtime before the beginning of the week.
My weeks now start on Tuesday and end Saturday.
FirstLoveMe: i see
CherryPopper: What do you mean, didn't.
FirstLoveMe: never mind
FirstLoveMe: being fa-ce-tious
CherryPopper: That's what I thought. Nicely spelled.
FirstLoveMe: did I spell that right, Herr Professor?
FirstLoveMe: danke
CherryPopper: Or is that "spelt"?
FirstLoveMe: finished two more Hesse. One last one to go!
CherryPopper: Quantity or quality?
FirstLoveMe: Bof
CherryPopper: Always in excess.
FirstLoveMe: discovering the similar themes in all of them
CherryPopper: I bet you are.
FirstLoveMe: Magic Theater.
FirstLoveMe: For Madmen Only.
CherryPopper: Theatre?
FirstLoveMe: oh la la.
CherryPopper: I love Steppenwolf, especially "Born to be Wild."
CherryPopper: "Head out on the highway!!!"
CherryPopper: Last bastion of Classic Rock.
FirstLoveMe: your essence is lost in this medium
FirstLoveMe: alas.
CherryPopper: You're joking, right?
FirstLoveMe: Joking about what?
CherryPopper: Is my essence that diffuse?
FirstLoveMe: I understand your reference
FirstLoveMe: but something is lost
CherryPopper: Similar in meaning, different in connotation.
FirstLoveMe: about 70% hilarity is lost
CherryPopper: A bad stat.
FirstLoveMe: was hesse gay?
CherryPopper: Is it still funny?
CherryPopper: I don't think he was gay, no, but I'm not sure.
FirstLoveMe: he sure writes a lot about monks kissing monks.
FirstLoveMe: or young wannabe monks kissing other monks
CherryPopper: Hmm.
CherryPopper: Still smarting over loss of hilarity.
FirstLoveMe: i don't think he likes wimmen very much
CherryPopper: Who does?
FirstLoveMe: pobrecito, don't let that stop you!
FirstLoveMe: who likes wimmen?
CherryPopper: Still regretting fading comedy.
FirstLoveMe: it was only that one.
FirstLoveMe: i wish I could remember a funny joke to tell you
FirstLoveMe: i never remember the jokes
FirstLoveMe: only the punchlines
CherryPopper: My favorite Hesse moral: Remember to laugh a lot.
FirstLoveMe: are you sure that wasn't kundera?
CherryPopper: No, no. At the end of Steppenwolf, the gods laugh at him for being so serious.
FirstLoveMe: that's a shitty thing to do.
FirstLoveMe: like any mortal could be so carefree and good-humored
CherryPopper: I thought it was fantastic, because I was taking
the whole thing so seriously, too.
FirstLoveMe: i was esp. surprised by the bloodshed.
CherryPopper: I was thinking, "Oh no, how could he kill her?"
And then they laughed at him and me.
FirstLoveMe: Do you remember what killed Kerouac?
CherryPopper: Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.
CherryPopper: Drinking and drugs?
CherryPopper: Lung cancer?
CherryPopper: Not funny enough?
CherryPopper: Not funny in the instant message format?
FirstLoveMe: Heroin is always funny.
CherryPopper: Are you referring to my essay on the subject?
FirstLoveMe: mebbe, mebbe not!
CherryPopper: Mememorme!
CherryPopper: You're still kind of funny in this format, BTW.
FirstLoveMe: did you hear there was a ulysses play?
CherryPopper: That's Finnegan's Wake, not Ulysses.
FirstLoveMe: it probably sucks
FirstLoveMe: nu-uh
FirstLoveMe: mememorme is ulysses!
CherryPopper: Yeah.
CherryPopper: Yeah to both.
FirstLoveMe: why you lie? you don't gots to lie!
CherryPopper: No, it's not, sucka! Born to be wiiiild!!!
FirstLoveMe: this can't really be you.
FirstLoveMe: you are a figment of my imagination
FirstLoveMe: right?
CherryPopper: There are at least two other JG in the United States.
So which one is the real JG?
CherryPopper: Does the real JG like classic rock?
FirstLoveMe: the one who said cheese can't write an instant message
CherryPopper: Is the real JG only a little funny?
CherryPopper: Do the other JG know that line?
FirstLoveMe: he's only funny like a funeral
CherryPopper: I need you to bury me.
CherryPopper: If you don't remind me, I won't forget you.
CherryPopper: I scratch so I won't itch. I reach so I won't miss.
FirstLoveMe: why don't you bury your own self, like Paul?
FirstLoveMe: those aren't aphorisms
CherryPopper: Paul McCartney.
CherryPopper: ?
FirstLoveMe: yeah
CherryPopper: A near miss or a close call?
CherryPopper: I learned to put on airs. I needed them to breathe.
FirstLoveMe: i got to you there was nothing left
CherryPopper: I love that song.
FirstLoveMe: yeah I remember how you love that song
CherryPopper: I thought that was after you.
FirstLoveMe: you flogged me with it
CherryPopper: Oops.
CherryPopper: Now I flog myself only.
FirstLoveMe: your log you mean!
CherryPopper: Leave him out of this.
FirstLoveMe: tee hee
CherryPopper: I could just hear your gleeful giggle before you wrote it.
FirstLoveMe: tee hee hee
FirstLoveMe: i like "flog your log" and "whacking your pud" makes me laugh
CherryPopper: I wish I was like you.
FirstLoveMe: boys masturbation is more funny than girls'
CherryPopper: Easily amused.
CherryPopper: I know, girls' is sometimes too damn sexy to be funny!
FirstLoveMe: i hate people who sign their emails: Cheers,
CherryPopper: If they're British, it's OK.
FirstLoveMe: it's late where you are.
CherryPopper: Indeed.
FirstLoveMe: why are you not cuddling with your anna begins?
CherryPopper: So provocative a question.
CherryPopper: We don't live together. Sometimes I get my stuff and plan ahead.
Sometimes I just stay late, put her to bed and come home.
FirstLoveMe: Jes asking, you don't have to disclose
CherryPopper: Have to have a shirt, tie, pants, etc., and sometimes
don't have the energy to take it all over. That's all, really.
FirstLoveMe: mm
CherryPopper: Not a provocative answer.
CherryPopper: Still sorrowful over unfunniness.
FirstLoveMe: do you think I am crasy?
CherryPopper: Yes. Sometimes in a good way, though.
FirstLoveMe: like mebbe 35% sometimes in a good way.
FirstLoveMe: sometimes I wonder if I have a Jewish temperment
CherryPopper: Nah. 35 percent in a bad way.
CherryPopper: Don't know what Jewish temperament is.
CherryPopper: Jewish humor, often.
FirstLoveMe: are you old?
FirstLoveMe: i'm still a kid
CherryPopper: I am 26.
CherryPopper: You used to call me "old man" when I was 17!
FirstLoveMe: i know. because you were.
CherryPopper: In some ways.
FirstLoveMe: which is why I wonder if you are even older
CherryPopper: But not all, in my opinion.
FirstLoveMe: guess what?
CherryPopper: I think I am old in good ways.
FirstLoveMe: it's too morbid a thought, never mind. don't guess,
CherryPopper: But if I don't guess, your defense mechanism of
constantly changing the subject won't work!
FirstLoveMe: I'm raging against the dying of the light!
CherryPopper: A nonsequitur?
FirstLoveMe: that's two words, boy wonder
CherryPopper: You're just jealous.
CherryPopper: But correct.
FirstLoveMe: and so what if I am jealous?
CherryPopper: I would be flattered if you were.
CherryPopper: Jealous of an old man?
CherryPopper: I grow old. I grow old. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
FirstLoveMe: i have no wish to enter dangerous territory, sir
FirstLoveMe: sylvette is at home alone with me
CherryPopper: I don't know what you mean. Really.
FirstLoveMe: about what?
CherryPopper: Dangerous territory.
CherryPopper: Is Sylvette a picture?
CherryPopper: Barely remember.
FirstLoveMe: you don't remember the Picasso you gave me
CherryPopper: Mememorme.
CherryPopper: !
CherryPopper: Is she blue?
CherryPopper: Or just sad-looking?
FirstLoveMe: she's black and white and very "angular" as Dieter might say
CherryPopper: Really sad?
CherryPopper: Or just maladjusted?
FirstLoveMe: lost in flux
CherryPopper: I remember getting you a painting that fit you perfectly,
and that you liked it a lot. But the rest is hazy, for I grow old.
CherryPopper: Trousers rolled.
FirstLoveMe: speaking of flux, do you like aeon flux?
CherryPopper: Sort of.
FirstLoveMe: if i could have her and bjork as my best friends,
I would be so happy.
CherryPopper: Did you say you're alone?
FirstLoveMe: and I would kidnap natalie portman and watch her pretty
eyes fill up with tears and make her my best friend too
FirstLoveMe: yes I am
CherryPopper: Where's Hugo?
FirstLoveMe: probably fucking some girl
CherryPopper: Talk about dangerous territory!
FirstLoveMe: no that's not fair. he's out with a girl I don't know.
CherryPopper: Sorry.
FirstLoveMe: not home yet, nor am I permitted to ask
when he's coming home, or where they went
FirstLoveMe: so it's like that
CherryPopper: Raymond Chandler, as Marlowe:
"There is no trap so dangerous as the one you set for yourself."
FirstLoveMe: thanks so much for that inspirational
quote, it's almost like chicken soup to my soul.
CherryPopper: No need to take it out on me, kid.
CherryPopper: I didn't set this one.
FirstLoveMe: i'm too cynical these days for endless platitudes
FirstLoveMe: Sorry
CherryPopper: You think you're cynical, huh?
CherryPopper: Now who's the old man?
FirstLoveMe: a lot of times I wish I were a man and I had a penis.
CherryPopper: So you say you want a revolution?
FirstLoveMe: so I could beat my meat!
CherryPopper: I think Freud figured that one out a long time ago,
or else I'd tell you to write a book about that.
FirstLoveMe: I jes wanna beat my meat!
FirstLoveMe: what movie is that from?
CherryPopper: You are intrigued by the idea of meat-beating?
CherryPopper: Dunno.
FirstLoveMe: I shot Andy Warhol. Lili Taylor as Valerie Solanas.
CherryPopper: Didn't see it.
CherryPopper: I am familiar with the sentiment, though.
FirstLoveMe: An update: so now I am in that desperate state of
growing hysteria of clock-watching.
CherryPopper: I'm sorry.
CherryPopper: The gods are laughing.
FirstLoveMe: Not your problem
FirstLoveMe: at me?
CherryPopper: Both of us.
FirstLoveMe: denouement?
CherryPopper: Did I use it to your liking?
FirstLoveMe: always
CherryPopper: Good.
FirstLoveMe: I'll leave you to your sleep now? You seem sleepy.
FirstLoveMe: falling asleep on the phone.
CherryPopper: I remember.
FirstLoveMe: mememorme
CherryPopper: You OK for now?
FirstLoveMe: ya.
CherryPopper: Good night, Rosasharn.
FirstLoveMe: I'll be alright. smoke a bowl, take a pill, go to sleep.
FirstLoveMe: I'm tard Pa.
CherryPopper: Te quiero mucho, baby.
FirstLoveMe: Yo tambien. Hasta luego


A man who can use the word denouement in a sentence without hesitation. Mm. yes sexy.

******

Letters every other morning from a Hugo in mourning.
Every morning at my desk, coffee in hand, door closed to the
enormous office I will occupy alone, the tears come.
Starting off my action items list with an emotional catharsis.

>I would like to find that special friendship we had;
it won't happen tomorrow for many reasons.
My thoughts are with you during this purging period.
I once saw you fly on top of twin peaks: you were in love.
>
And I weep uncontrollably, the poignance I have not heard from him in so
long piercing through my shields.
If we could have only loved each other . . .better, more. . . who knows?

He and I, are not accustomed to failure in any arena.

*****

(Friday morning)

Sometimes the young Pyromaniac can twist me right with a crinkle of an eye,
the slightest betrayal of a smile. That little crack in the skillfully played fantasy
between consenting adults, that’s the bunny rabbit in the teen twat spread,
the impetus to push me over the top. . .

With him I play out the childhood I never had but always wished to have.
We are 2 of so many grown-ups out there, who are really children who
had to grow up too soon, who didn’t, for whatever repressed, abused or traumatic
reasons of life’s hardship, were robbed of the pleasure of innocent childhood discovery.

*******

(Thursday)

Sigh. Wistful. Dreamily remembering fuck faces looming above me.
Making me smile, want, laugh.

My own face in the throes of passion I have no picture of.

I can’t reconcile the sad still girl in the mirror with the girl
whose legs are being arranged according to her lover’s pleasure;
whose mouth is being filled with dick;
whose cries echo through the neighborhood as she rides.

What I can see if the shower of little exploding points of light shooting
towards me as the orgasm is being strangled out of my bated breath;
I can feel the pain of my teeth biting down hard on my lip as I savor
each slick and filling stroke.
I don’t know my face, as I’m being stabbed in my sweet center with a hot meat Pole.
But I do remember, the vibrations of the grunts and moans echoing in my chest,
rolling in my throat.

*****

Dopamine Junkie.
Packet Junkie.
Information Junkie.

Fleshy sentient mass I am, strapped to the earth and addicted to stimulus.
Some prefer physical exercise for the endorphin fix.
That’s not really my gig.

Alone in my room I lie in my nest
Curled in a fetal position
2 6 ft body pillow flanking me

The body goes to rest
but the spirit awakes and takes her place
Takes up where she left off last night
Stepping gracefully onto the grid

She breathes in, information stimulus
The nectar of choice packets
Breathes out, a synthesized dream
A pathway for me
A map to find you

And here I am.

Jonesing for a fix.
That fire in my synapse.
Arresting and Soothing to mine eye.
Heady and fragrant in aroma.
Consonance, Dissonance.
Smooth Silky Firm Tender.
The tender chords of my senses strumming, humming, cumming.

The days offline I spent are my decompression chamber
A cleansing sensory deprivation tabula rasa.

Except for that other sensation.
Which is the lack.
Tu me manques.
Te extrano.
The longing, the void.
If I become a part of your consciousness,
of your thoughts, or a small part of your life
(at present)
and I am gone.
Do you notice, do you care, if I’m not around?

You’re used to instant gratification.
Choice packets from random search queries.
Shift reload is there something new?
You’re used to the almost telepathic instant messages.
Or emails that take one minute to cross the earth.
Jpegs of me at your fingertips, instead of the dog-eared photo in your wallet.

I miss the missing, do you miss it too?
Modern love lacks longing and suffers
From the depth of love that downtime brings?

Virtual infidelity
a streaming media conscience
evaporating with each play.

Life online is still real life.
It doesn’t shut down or suspend.

********
You found me.

Dopamine Junkie Reading Reading trying to reach the sublime. . . .

*
I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people,. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.
*
Each man's life represents a road toward himself, an attempt at
such a road, the intimation of a path. No man has ever been entirely
and completely himself. Yet each one strives to become that--one
in an awkward, the other in a more intelligent way, each as best
he can. Each man carries the vestiges of his birth--the slime and
eggshells of his primeval past--with him to the end of his days.
*
We all share the same origin, our mothers; all of us come in at
the same door. But each of us--experiments of the depths--strives
toward his own destiny. We can understand one another; but each
of us is able to interpret himself to himself alone.

- Herman Hesse, Demian

DJ Z-Trip and DJ P Remix of this song: Beautiful.

Letter from Hugo arrived via email yesterday. He's only beginning to focus on the bigger picture.
>
I want companionship, I need to be loved, I desire to be challenged, I want
to be understood completely.
Can you ever give me these things?
Difficult question to answer.
I went through the motions this weekend, I wonder if anyone realized?
Babe, why did we choose to go through the motions? We had an
opportunity to build something special; instead we allowed our tainted past
to control our interactions, communications, and beliefs.
I can only apologize for my part, and tell you that I'm available to talk.
Hope you were better able to "forget" this weekend than I.
>

I will leave him to ruminate.
I don't have the strength of heart at this moment to try to show him more.
He's a brilliant man. He will understand soon.

Yesterday @ werk.
Thankful I have an office now.
No one saw me weeping silently.
I couldn't stem the flow of tears.

Last week I was "ostensibly numb"; this week I am beginning to thaw.
It's making me tender to the touch, sensitive to light and loud sounds.

*******

Just as the Connoisseur loves women, I love men.
A smiling man is so attractive, esp. when he is laughing.
He is adept at smoothing out my rough and jagged and irritated edges Sometimes.
His secret weapons, more than what lies in his pants.
Patience, a teasing sense of humor, and a busload of affection.
Some days it charms me.
Some days it makes me want to throttle him.

Meanwhile, there is the volatile and sulky beautiful boy, impatient and often scowling.
But when the smile spreads across his perty mouth, softens him, I am enchanted.

While waiting yesterday by the Powell St. Cable Car line, across from the SF shopping center,
I am approached by a young man.

He approaches me with such familiarity, I think I must have either met him before,
or perhaps he is a friend of one of my sisters.

Wide, unflagging smile.

- Hi! he says but I have my headphones on.
- Hi, do I know you? Do you know me? I say, pulling off my headphones.
- I'm Carlos.
- Hi Carlos. Do you have a light?
- Yes. he takes out his lighter, and a pack of Newports.
- Thanks. he lights my Camel Light (I'm sorry I'm sorry. At least the one and only pack I have bought since "the Change"
isn't even halfway gone. That's good, isn't it?)
- What are you doing here? he asks.
- Waiting for my lover. I answer.
- It's a trip, I can't see your eyes.
I take off my sunglasses.
- Better, he says. You have beautiful eyes.
- Thanks, I say. So why are you talking to me? Did you come here to spit some game?
If so, go ahead. I'm interested in hearing it.
- I saw you standing here. You're very attractive. I thought I'd come and talk to you. So what's up?
- Hmm. I say. A week ago a 3 year relationship I was in, ended. Now I have no boyfriend, and I don't want one.
- But you're waiting for "your lover"? Don't play like that.
- He's right over there, I say, pointing to the Connoisseur, who is standing off to the side, he sees me but isn't coming over
until I'm finished with this guy. I've told him before that I prefer to handle these things on my own.
- So it's like that? Carlos says. Damn! He is still smiling, though. But not moving away.
- Yup. S'like that. I say. I wave at the Connoisseur, to bring him over, extend my hand to Carlos.
- Thanks for the light, I say.
- You're welcome, he says. Maybe I'll bump into you at a better time. He is holding on to my hand.
- Peace, I say. Then I turn to the Connoisseur, take his arm, and we walk away.

It's strange for me to be approached on a day like yesterday, when I didn't feel beautiful at all.
No makeup, well-insulated clothing that does little to really betray the shape of my body, my hair a
wind whipped mess. Interestingly enough, it is on days like this when I am more often approached by men.
Not when I'm tricked out, got all my war paint on, cleavage abundant.

I don't get it. I wasn't pretty yesterday.