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?