. . : Dopamine Junkie 6.0: Ripe with Text : . . |
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The power of words
is all I have.
This is your chance to escape Before you fall down my rabbit hole. ..::ACHTUNG::.. The Dopamine Junkie Chronicles depict sexy text imagery. ..:Dope J's Wishlist About Dopamine Junkie
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Monday, February 13, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
Thanks, E.E.
I Carry Your Heart I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling) I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart). -E.E. Cummings
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Dopamine Junkie: Love Lockdown After years of searching, heartbreak, tragedy and cynicism After explorations through the deepest, darkest realms of heart, intimacy and desire Through cycles of self immolation and resurrection He answered my quantum incantation And 10 months from the day we intersected on the grid We married. The Dopamine Junkie is officially pledged to the most Worthy 0ne, the 0nly 0ne. I wrote this to a friend, a Dope J reader and friend from DJ's inception: ".... conjured this whole damn thing, invoking a confluence of my past and future selves, drawing all my energies and trails of light to this one point on this one time loop, cleared myself of my dirty filters, refined my quantum incantation, and sang it out loud and true and intent-filled with all the heart and soul magic I could muster, I broke myself down into nothing, and resurrected my infinite self from beneath all the wastelands, smouldering embers and sharp broken shards of shell. I recognized my old myth, broke it, sat lifeless and unsure for a bit, then it stirred within me, and I kept trying, I kept open, seeking, curious, hopeful - in the months before he came, I'd been out on 40+ dates, talking/writing to many almost nearly sentient-enough minds, met some true but not completely mine, genii of superior spirit, heart and quality. .. then Dec 31 2004, 4 hours alone in the steaming alkaline waters of a Korean mineral baths in the middle of Los Angeles, a powerful solo ritual of prayer, meditation, magic, self-hypnosis, timeline therapy techniques for archive and deletion, reprogramming, opening, projecting, being, dissolving, shining out . . . Jan 1, 2005. He arrived..." Below, a text snapshot of the totally impromptu wedding day. Always with more love, DJ >>>>> >>>>> October 18, 2005, San Luis Obispo then Pismo Beach, CA We woke to no feelings of doubt, fear, apprehension or stress. Got some coffee. Matt tried the "rabid dog" a "quad" espresso plus house blend. We went to the San Luis Obispo County Recorder's office and got the marriage license. We were the first ones there, no one else in line. Had breakfast at Big Sky Cafe in downtown San Luis Obispo. We didn't know where we'd be married, but we wanted beach. The weather was cold and cloudy and it had been raining. We didn't know what we were going to say. Mama and my sisters and grandparents were driving in to meet us at my sister Nikki's house in San Luis Obispo. We walked around after breakfast, then back to the hotel to get dressed and pack up. Went to Nikki's to find out the fam was going to be late. Nikki and her boyfriend led us out to Pismo Beach to scout location, and nearby we found the perfect spot, a cliff with an empty gazebo! And the clouds were held back by our own light -- to the north and south of us, but blue sky right overhead. We took pics, the fam arrived, my grandfather officiated by reading verbatim from a "pastor's manual" and he actually said words like "Wilt Thou Take .. . " and "pledge my troth." All we had to say was, "I will." The family voices raised in songs and spontaneous 4 part harmony all around us, and I joined in for the last song, to sing to Matt, "Dahil Sa Iyo" a tagalog love song. Then it was done. Took some pictures and then went to the CRACKED CRAB restaurant nearby where Matt was initiated into the De Jesus family Savage Crab eating ritual -- tearing with our bare hands into several king crab legs, whole dungeness crabs, making piles of crab meat to douse with malt vinegar, butter and lemon. . . Replete, Matt and I took off for Santa Cruz, where we had a 9 o'clock private tub and sauna waiting for us at Well Within (Kiva's private tubs are being remodeled!) A long lovely impromptu wedding day. We can now start the process of getting Matt's immigration papers started! But my husband goes back to England on Saturday, we'll be apart again -- until I go to the UK after Christmas. . . and however long it takes after that to get him back here permanently. Big wedding program and party next September -- we are planning now for a wonderful multimedia program of music, video, dancing and friends and family to help us celebrate two cynics from across the world, finding and holding each other through time and space, letting our will to life, intent and shared maps of reality guide us to the moments which have been holding and waiting for us to move into. >>>>>> A new adventure begins. . .into uncharted territories.
Monday, September 19, 2005
A good night for magic The height of my season One I usually spend Burning Man > Folsom Street Fair > Decompression giving way to Halloween and the Holidays A night like tonight reminds me Of every quickening I've ever felt Of the deep breaths of thick relentless life I have drunk Tonight, a full moon The last of the summer Autumn comes and I remember Thunder, my will, cracking the sky Electricity in the air I feel myself charging, magnetizing Tonight is a night to know exactly what I want It is my time, my woman's time Tonight is a night the beam is laser focused Across the world cutting through buildings and forests seas and skies To the 0ne who sleeps and knows The fullbeam focus of my Will The small quirked Smile of ruthless determination The Moon shall amplify these thoughts To be delivered by moonlight Received as his dawn breaks and my delta descent begins There might never be a love so infinite as our'n So thick and heady and all consuming As we move through distant cities We move in shared context and connection In a world we choose, we deserve, we claim Tonight my whirlwind of quantum potential Flicker like searchlights scoping the sky Some brighter, some dimmer, some fading away Like tuning into to a frequency Squelching out the noise Locking that laser Broadcasting my Will Centrifuge out All the dead weight How fast and how far could I run If I had nothing to weigh me down If there were nothing to resist If nothing blocked the flow? Kairos Logos Atomos Liquid Serenity Deep Sleep My will and my wish My will and my wish Perfect opportunities to meet my readiness Abundance equal to my worth Blessings to match my boldness
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
TOTAL PATTERNLOCK
>>> I am excited beyond words More than I have ever been about anything in my life More than I have ever hoped The confluence of events, the timing the pain and loss reframed as the unique configuration required to bring me to this point >>> I am old skool wholesome Anne of Green Gables ridiculous butterflies shy boygirl excited This year the story of my life makes a profound and wonderful turn Gives me the big ending I've been waiting for Now I can finally understand and write the story Dopamine Junkie, Domina Jane Die >>>>>> Close the Loop >>> He heard me and found me, you see. He read Target Frequency and knew it was me who conjured him, knew it was me calling him out with every word I wrote. He's across the world. But it is him. I know it. How can you know??? They all ask. How *do* you know, he asked of me. So I says to him, I says: >>>>> A strong voice declares What is Know? This is divine Gnosis you and i When have I ever shook with want? When have I ever let the ache take me over this way? There are no substitutes This is recognition. The battleground you speak of is the wasteland within littered with broken pieces of heart and hope exhausted by a lifetime of want and waste and wait I am designed for many purposes Built muse-like to inspire and invoke To alchemize pain, to exalt the sublime Voice, skin, ear, shoulder, mouth, hair, tongue A conduit, a translator for thought, word and action What do you sense of our future? What is being created, transformed and exalted between us now, in the ethers, on the grid our thoughts and forces reaching across land and sea to entertwine in a way our bodies and lips and limbs cannot? All these flowing incantations of word and thought In fear of hope, I might've turned away How silly to think he might have answered my call Did my words really do my bidding? And the truth within me answers, they always do your bidding. I bless you with my need and my desire I offer you something thicker than what the others call love. I wrap you in these words, in these thoughts and intentions Infuse them with prana and ch'i I banish your loneliness with an infinite smile >>>>>>> The double helix, the Moebius embrace The entangled system, the sum across all worldlines Music and word in infinite marriage He is alive and sparkling at me across the web of quanta He is in the UK. I am in the US. But that doesn't stop the fierce want Not even the dense British fog can cool my ardor, whoops, ardour. How to describe the feeling -- I have been trying to reach him through all my past lives on the Time Loop Once I was a snail, once he was a tree -- we tried our best to reach, that lifetime But were hindered by circumstance of our incarnations But fuckit, not this time, I am not losing him this time This time I broadcast and he heard This time I spun as fast as I could and created a g-force strong enough to pull him to me Across the ocean, transcontinental, across the ethers All powers of hope, faith, magick, energy, ki and ch'i have been deployed to arm this long dormant artifact within me It has come glowing to life... Thicker than love More infinite than sex More urgent than Eggy We walked together in Bristol earlier this year I said something, he fired right back "You don't miss a beat, do you?" I said. "Everything is beats." He said. We stopped in the middle of a sidewalk And the sweetest softest deepest kiss ensued Before we reclasped hands and walked on. More than Love. More than Soul Mates. Total fucking Patternlock.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Surely the SEXIEST WORD in English
Recent clickstream: How to Hypnotize a Man Hysterical Panties For bejeweled rosebuds 30 hottest things you can say to a woman, VIBEKILLED It puts the lotion on its skin. . . Fuck VDAY gallery How to cope with a break-up The Sadness of Sex: Dramatic Love Story in 10 parts.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Clickstream slice
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Who/What I'm Meant For An excerpt Aprendiz de todo, maestro de nada Been drifting through this life fulfilling functions Nothing quite intentional Always just been pretty good at picking things up The question posed to me: "Is there anything more important in your life than the quest for love?" I can honestly say, although I've been cynical and jaded and bitter Cloaked in myths and rituals There is nothing, not even anything for myself and my own success, more important to me than taking all that I am, my heart, soul, body, mind, consciousness, skill, talent, will -- and offering this to the One I'm Meant For with complete and total selfless surrender. I have tried with little success to subvert my energies from this quest To channel them with Animus to some sense of masculine achievement I can't fight it anymore. I'm soft, I'm a girl, I want to be adored and tender and just be a Jungian Woman/Anima-trix/Initiatrix - to embody the femme goddess archetype in the purest sense. I surrendered the Domme. I surrendered the Lonely Myth. Now I surrender "Ma-chismo" and all the butch toughness that goes with it. My uncles called me my father's oldest son - which I internalized as a great compliment. It once made me feel strong to deny my femininity, or at least to twist it up in the guise of domme to feel invulnerable, unbreakable, "impregnable." * * * * * Since the turn of the year I have been very still Myth-breaking, truth-taking analyzing, kundalini-rising I've been in and out of the box with Schrodinger's Kitty Dissolving myself into the Multi-Meta-Verse Until the Quantum Breakdown broke me down And I didn't know who/what/where I was - just everything, everywhere and nothing too Some days full of ambition Some days out of the game altogether I tell you, bring on the Snow Crash muthafucka Put my shell in storage and let me hover in the ethers Except for the waste and wither of this blessed shell All the snazzy functionality of my hard and soft wares I do not chase property, success or goods I am my own external token of self However I dress up or down I am having difficulty embracing the earth plane But must learn to ground myself to sustain.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Supple
Friday, February 18, 2005
Contemplating eternity - Jorge Luis Borges
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Self Immolation to Force the Phoenix 41 days into 2005. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Solitude for Data Consumption and Processing Reading Salvador Dali's Diary of A Genius, "I have never denied my fertile and elastic imagination the most rigorous means of investigation."
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
EMP detonation wipes out false propped ego Upon being found and recognized:
Sunday, January 09, 2005
Data digest I.K.U. Zephoria: my new data crush GTD Analog Caodaism Autistic Vampires? I need a playmate for this so badly. Esoteric Science Resource Center Human Doormat Hentai Dictionary SF Fetish Ball 2005 Someone wants tickle Meditation changes the brain's electrical pattern Everyone else has had more sex than me. (Warning: Music starts immediately) Molecular Biology of Paradise Original Sushi Pillow Subliminal Silence What not to do in asia Face-a-lyzer Only Binary Prodigy A locket! Licks your screen clean! EGG FETISH. Aorta Teapot Leaf Coasters = Pure Class.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Tsunami Two Thousand Five I felt the Universe contract today. Maybe it was my uterus, so influenced by the moon Maybe it was my heart, straining against its bondage Maybe it is a disturbance in the ethers Whatever it is the frequency I inhabit is whipping its tail The wild oscillation of the wave mimicing the tsunami. . . Multiplicity, global decompartmentalization Melt it all down and simmer and stir Till every false extrusion is smoothed out To that blanket of consciousness Of which everything is comprised Fibers woven in the tapestry The oscillations ebbing and flowing Blinking spinning jewels across the web of Indra I feel the radiating light The pulsation of all cellular automata No, I am totally sober, awake and aware This is no trip This is the wave of the tsunami Crashing onto my shore It is all energy, all consciousness Hope is a construct, a false faith That somehow if we close our eyes To that part of the collective unconscious That suffers the perception of finitude And the idea that the Universe is human-centric, The universal eschaton will never wake us from this dream. This is not to say I don’t believe in God I just think the creatures of the sea; the oceans And all creation that is part of life Are all equally important We just think we’re the only ones who matter Do the ants cry tragedy when their anthills are smashed? Are we the only species to cry outrage We are the only ones to shake our collective fists At the sky, trying to make sense of it all While forests are being deforested; The endangered species do not count themselves down. We project our sadness onto lonely dogs We cry for the trees; we project our struggle for survival Onto the whales and the dodos and the bald eagles To assuage the guilt that our lifestyles of convenient consciousness Is responsible for the End of Things. Do our tears affect anything? Does any of the struggle against ourselves or each other Make it any better for more than a moment, for anyone? The tsunami is a wave of destruction manifesting in all our lives Another reason for the world to cry together, Humanity! Another reason for us to cry, Namaste! Another reason for us to appreciate what we have in every moment The infinity and ephemera of every breath Where we have the conscious magic of sentience Of holding the past, the present and the future In our minds simultaneously Are we the only species to look back in regret To lament things turned out this way As if we believed somehow we really had control As if a noble sacrifice of a sidestep from the normally selfish thought pattern Could really “save” anyone else from the random natural selection we call mortality? Oh, how I want to believe that the construct of my beliefs Might somehow matter to the great wheel of nature. I don’t feel hopeless at all, no. Because I live to fulfill my function Which is to give thanks and love and be a conduit of energy To surrender the perception that I am driving the bus To yield to the whole instead of re/acting apart From the symbiosis of all things The Order and the Chaos The Ourobouros, Pelastration The Wave of Life Consuming Life Do I lack sentiment? Is this a defense mechanism, of intellectualization, To help me give meaning or rationale or structure To make it hurt less? It doesn’t hurt any less. It’s just not about me or how I feel about it. I am not any different than the bird, the rock, the tree, the wave When I allow this false-propped ego to dissolve That’s when I cry, for the beauty of being one with the power and the powerlessness the joy and the sadness the maelstrom of life / tsunami. Tat tvam asi. -------------------------------- Programmed for maximum sentience, Dopamine Junkie
Dopamine Junkie Must Be Stopped
------------------------------ Exeunt Dopamine Junkie. Happy New Year.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
2001 - 2005: Evolution of Dopamine Junkie
Monday, December 27, 2004
Home for the Holidays clickstream Natural Selection Acts on Quantum World Vice Guide to Everything Motohiko Kotokuta Pimps and Dragons Eccentric Genius Soulwax: What's your Vice? PsycPort Gadget Fetish The Clanging Symbol Tokyo Girls Quotes on Insanity Malthusian Relativity Neil Gaiman's Journal Floating Bed Growing Up Sexually: A World Atlas Synopsis of the Alien Master plan
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Post Holiday Stupor [ excerpts from Christmas correspondence ] The post Christmas stupor hit hard this year. Aided by liquor, the high energy super fast vibrations created by a family of female energy. Since Papa died, it's Mama and us 5 daughters. We celebrated Christmas Eve with my mother's sister and her 2 daughters. It was raucous. A ruckus. Imagine that choir of women, lovely asian women from 52 down to 10 years of age, inebriated with laughter and warm gigglies of togetherness, no patriarchal figure to admonish us to behave with more ladylike grace - therefore without censorship the cackles and giggles and certain shared explosion of donkey laughter continued - harassing the waiter, bartender and even the chef, who did well under our scrutiny - knowing that there was no stopping this force of female grace that entered their orange county asian fusion modern art mostly overpriced seafood restaurant. A table full of females in different shades of red lipstick, singing in 3 or 4 part harmonies the hits of Hoobastank, Usher, The Darkness (oh god-the wall of piercing high notes!), N'sync, Hillary Duff, an assortment of Tagalog pop songs, Christmas carols ( with passionate fob accents ) and whatever else we made up ourselves. From there we moved on to the stone hearth of Disney's Grand Californian Hotel, where our Secret Santa gift exchange provided Reality TV-like fascinating entertainment to the other weird families who spent Christmas Eve in a Disney hotel. Christmas Day morning we got up to check out of the hotel and to have brunch at "Storytellers" cafe where Chip and Dale and other characters from Brother Bear (I didn't see it) were there. We harassed Dale (apparently he's the stupider looking one) by singing the hook from Usher's "Yeah" and then he responded by breaking into some spontaneous dance moves. "Dale must be black inside," my sister whispered to me. We came back from Disney's Grand Californian Hotel, so we could spend some time with my mother's parents. I threw together a quick Christmas dinner so my mother could sleep before her shift at the hospital: farfalle, chicken, parsley, garlic, butter, tomatoes/paste, mascarpone. I also made a little tiramisu. Nice reds and greens for Christmas. This in addition to some other dishes of shrimp and salmon and such. It's funny, my family always despaired of me ever being "domesticated" when I was younger - I had no interest in cooking whatsoever - which in addition to my surly, dominant nature - created the shared family anxiety that no one would ever want to marry me. I'm tired now. My body wants to be still. I went to the gym for the first time since before I left for NY. My intuition, the council of undersouls is leaning more towards a reclusive year's end. Although if I did go up north this week, I think I'd need to go here: Harbin! I ask the council and the straw poll shows a majority vote for stillness and solitude, rather than debauchery. I feel I must prepare with great care and cognizance for my 30th year around the sun - at least marking in human years. Small and tightly laced, the Dopamine Junkie
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Ephemeral Confluence on the East Coast
A story of warmth amidst the bitter New York cold, An effort of ephemeral confluence Two actors – he by profession, I, by respiration Slip quickly and easily into a trusting familiarity Into the kind of passion between two people that lights too easily, the flame burning so brightly and quickly that it evaporates just as wax melts off a candle. I think about my new lover, who slipped So quickly, smoothly, deliciously and deeply Into my Focus Sensitivity, beauty, virility, attentiveness so ripe and complete Both my anima and animus engage in sudden full attention To this parallel universe of possibility He turns the locks to show me a glimpse behind that door Yet I felt apart by necessity, as a defense My inner romantic seduced by the storyline My subconscious already scheming to interject New York into my trajectory To wrestle with the emergence of childish wistfulness To detox of the lovely chemicals, to soothe the sudden ache I pin down this butterfly hope Capture it in words and ideas Or as he likes to call them “moments” How often have I been objectified in this fashion The lovers who disassociate from my embrace To admire and adore me from “over there” Because perhaps it was true Perhaps they knew They would never really be. Here with me. So I’ll allow myself to obsess over the fantasy To appreciate with fond reflection and doting word To sit with and beside the moments of Perfect entwined contentment In a cab, on a couch, in a bed Movements #1 – infinity Quickly established routines Of morning music and green goodness Indulging in the full awareness: _New York City and the Lower East Side _5 flights of stairs to a temporal Home _the bitter cold and the warmth within _the fleeting and the fullness of time Darlin and sweetness and unmentionable thoughts A step aside the normal trajectory To inhabit infinity and ephemera With bittersweet consciousness
Thursday, December 02, 2004
The Text of Sex: Quotes to Elicit Desire I. [ Girl slumped back onto couch, wiggling thighs. The boy looks over. ] Boy: "What are you doing with your legs there?" Girl: "Nothing." Boy: "Looks like you're agitating their intersection." [ Girl blushes ] II. "All six feet, one hundred and ninety three pounds of me . . . does what he's told." III. "Does imagining me in a locked leather collar, leash, harness and locked bondage mitts feeding between a Domme's legs really excite you, or are you teasing?" IV. ". . .will do everything in my power to make you cum even harder." V. ". . . all over your angelic face." VI. "What is your wish, little one?" VII. [he does the thing that makes you narrow your eyes.] VIII. "I'm glad you said please." IX. "Your postulants may see a Little One with sharp nails, stinging tongue, stinging whip. I see a little one who curls up in heartbeat shelter, working hard at dreaming herself awake." X. The thread is never lost. It twines and binds small, discreet twists into the skin, always maintaining the connection. It enters the ear to transmit a pulse [a breath, a whisper] into the softest space.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Top 10 signs your Dopamine Levels are Too high
Eerily accurate description of a Dopamine Junkie's behavior (some, not all).
Emerging from Behind the Screen
Dopamine Junkie, bemused: What attracts a man? A physical shell and his projected ideals. In the past I have been all too willing to exercise my ability to animate the projection, to adapt and fit and bolster the weaknesses of the male ego, etc. etc. I thought it was a talent to be supportive and selfless and empathetic and compassionate. To fulfill needs that are never even asked outright, but subtly perceived by my watchful eye. "What would happen if you didn't do that?" asks my therapist. "I guess I wouldn't get what I want," I say. "Are you getting what you want?" he says. I look at him, and my words evaporate. Eyes misting over with sudden painful satori. It smarts and startles to realize how I have painted myself into these corners every time. The pattern revealed - this is why I always leave relationships - I never get what I need. I am too busy serving the needs of the other. Hoping for reciprocation, then damning the man for his focus on his art or his career. The focus, the discipline that I facilitated and encouraged becomes my own downfall. There's my own little mythology - being the ephemeral Muse, the Lonely Domme Syndrome. An intellectualized defense mechanism to rationalize why I just can't ask for what I want and need for myself. I've never really taken the time to decide what I wouldn't compromise in a relationship. The pattern has been fulfilling itself for some time. It's like I've been imprisoned in this stupid video game, never beating the dragon at the end that would allow me to move on to the next level. I am grateful that men respect me too much to use me outright. But in the end I create the situations which allow me to be of use, because it feeds the mythology I identify with. So while there have been many brilliant, successful and artistic lovers in my life, I find myself still isolated by my own self-perception. Maybe someone did care enough, maybe he couldn't break the code that kept me locked up in my own head, maybe I missed it because I was so involved in my own little self fulfilling prophecy - which plays out as a directive of my subconscious, in spite of what might have been right in front of me all along.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Give me 30cc's of Dopamine Drip - STAT! Dopamine Junkie has been on your mind. I know, I can feel it The cycle, the orbit Returns to me Your unsolved problem When you think of what intrigues you Do you see my face? When you think of the word Unique Am I there? I close the cursive capital D To show I can keep your secrets When you want to be surprised Understood and delighted When you want to be excited You reach into your subconscious Where you always know where to find me That secret space you protect and hide From Jealous Lovers As a symbol or your Anima I am confident to claim an enduring bookmark In your thoughts The place you return, the number you call For word or tone or caress or silence Intimacy that needs no touch to validate existence I inhabit this frequency And you find yourself tuning in Out of curiosity or habit But there is always something there That comforts you, that flatters you That gives you a reflection of the One you want to be Sometimes you fail to find it elsewhere I know there are flavors of intimacy A spectrum of desire multiplied by our many selves A need for a specific vibration or chemistry What do you want from me? The co-created quiet space of confidence and contentment A perpetual portable pillow talk time Of lowered defenses and gentle tones The VIP room for two For cuddle and for huddle For safety and sanctuary The space of that magnetic attraction That feels like something close to home Or at least a place to drop anchor The port in the storm This space needs the most nurturing It is the place to run to For acceptance and compassion, comfort and protection When I think of intimacy I think of sanctuary As in a monastery or an abbey Where silence and fragility is respected Treated with forgiveness, humor and gentle hands A place to recover and rediscover strength Objectivity + Compassion + Intelligence + Humor Equals more choices for anyone involved As an informed listener with new and improved sensory acuity I know things For example Your subconscious wants some attention And knows I speak the language.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
An inner calm begins to grow
I have been mourning Barry all week. In the Jewish way - meaning there are rituals, there are prayers and most importantly, there is a time of day allotted to mourning. So that the sadness does not bleed through to the other hours of the day. This practice resonated with me. All things in their right time. A time, a space, a home for every emotion. I have said a Kaddish in Hebrew now about 8 times, lighting a candle for Barry each time. Putting coins in the puskha. With this anniversary of Barry's passing, having eulogized my grandmother, celebrating my departed father's birthday, I have only grown, albeit uncomfortably at times, in my capacity to love, understand, empathize, give and care for others. Most importantly, I have learned to care for my own self better. I go to a hypnotherapist every week now. I am always actively pursuing understanding of my own behaviors and their improvement for adaptability and success. Recently, I have extended my reading list far beyond what is suggested at school. Recently devoured/currently devouring: An Open Life: Joseph Campbell in Conversation with Michael Toms Flow : The Psychology of Optimal Experience, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi Awareness, The Key to Living in Balance, OSHO Intimacy, Trusting Oneself and the Other, OSHO Mental Training For Peak Performance, Steven Ungerleider Recent/Current Obsessions: Theta Waves and Dreams Edward Tufte, again. Medulla, of course Ghost in the Shell 2 Being a Better Human Flow of Optimal Experience Extropians! Besides these data feeds, I am having fun with my new 12" powerbook g4. It is tiny, portable and it's packin'. Like me. Here in L.A. my life is not so exciting as it is in SF. I am very serious most of the time. I think, write, read, study and work on my own business plans - for the infinite applications of hypnotherapy, neurolinguistic programming, imagery, discipline and obedience coaching, voice coaching, organizational coaching. I read constantly. Feed constantly. I use Splenda instead of sugar. I have cut down 90% of my refined sugar/carb intake. I eat tofu and soyfish and tuna and whole wheat pasta and I don't eat chocolate unless it's in my Pria Carb Select Powerbar. I love the Advant Edge Carb control shakes in Chocolate Fudge. I love rice cakes again. Tonight was the last night of my Barry vigil. Last Kaddish in Hebrew, and Max sat quietly as I read my written memorial for Barry - a year long of collected writings, my own script for catharsis. I cried as I wrote it, cried as I read it, I cried for the love and the loss and I cried as the wounds began to heal some. In these writings I talk myself into a state of shock, of acute remembrance. Max suggests we go for a walk. Then we go to Bob's Big Boy and a teenage boy does an impromptu handstand and contortionist act on the floor of the near deserted landmark restaurant. Then I begin to receive emails from friends and loves who want to see me when I visit my City So Small soon. I want this coccoon of care to be my invisible clothes, my protection, my bubble. Feed my bubble of Love.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Twisting the Knife of Memory August 25, 2004 10:24 p.m. Valley Village, CA Script for my own Catharsis Tonight I will exercise my memory to the point of keenest remembrance To recall my final hours with Barry Lee Jacobs Before his plane crashed out of the sky at Burning Man Last year on August 30th, 2003. I have not been able to relive these memories I could not turn my focus inward to them I could never forget, will never forget His final hours on earth Filled with the height of love and life How happy we were to be together and alive A feeling of belonging and coming home A space for our hearts we’d never found with anyone else Moments filled wholly giving ourselves Moments of 2 souls being truly seen and reflected An infinite reflection of love. Though I feared to think on details Each one is indelibly recorded In my mind, spirit, subconscious and heart. Each sensation and detailed memory, in sharp focus Illuminated by love and merciless sun on the playa Each sense memory recalled A twist, the sharpest keening in my heart I will fill the cup of memory to the point of unbearable bittersweet sorrow Tonight, it’s just you and me, Barry. The night before you crashed We were at Center Camp You drummed for hours I napped on a bench You waved me to come beside you So I sit by you and you drum with your right hand You reach out with your left hand to hold me. Your hand is warm and calloused from drumming. You smile at me while you follow the rhythm I get up because I need to lie down When you are done drumming you come to me Lie next to me Cradling my head in the crook of your arm Wearing your sherpa vest and Halloween leggings ( which we bought together in San Rafael ) (Where you bought an orange and black hat to match, and I bought you a sarong.) I snuggle to your chest and you pull me close Rub yours lips against mine as you always do before your press them on me I look into blue eyes filled with such joy and love The moment is endless and I start to cry with the tender of it He draws me near, I hide my face We kiss for what seems hours. And decide to bike back to our home tent. As we bike on the bumpy playa The dust and the coming dawn obscure the air before us The night sky competing with the earthbound colored lights We’re holding hands while we bike, not an easy thing Back at the tent we park our bikes Grab a snack before going back into the tent Where we are impatient for skin contact So warm were we, Barry, in our little tent world Did anywhere at anytime feel more like Home? Nowhere has ever felt so safe and right Thank you thank you thank you God for that moment Each movement of our bodies an expression of love A man and his woman, a woman and his man I know it is not an embellishment of memory It is an acute record of emotion stored on a cellular level Exhausted and sated we entwine into sleep Outside our world, distant signs of other lives But we need nothing more than each other We are fulfilled in one another’s arms. In the morning we are woken by the light/demands of nature But I follow you back into the tent Prompted by that look on your face Below you I am yielding up myself Without defense or guard or thought of else Only the feeling of your skin The timbre of your voice The look on your face Our mutual sudden trembling As you tell me with claiming words: You are Mine. You are Mine. You belong to Me. My love, my love my love And the whole woman responds, yields and accepts Yes love I love you I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours. I’ve read a lot of romance novels in my youth. Barry, it’s the truth, isn’t it? tell anyone and everyone No one else can attest or validate or confirm If this is an account of actual events I am the only remaining witness of some things It’s too simple and pure not to be true. We doze and gather toiletries To bike over to the Shower Guy Where we get nice and clean Then Air Dry Back to the camp Where you eat yogurt and granola of some kind for breakfast. I was sated and feeling sensuously slow You on the other hand, were bursting with energy Playing guitar and massaging my shoulders Then offering people rides in your plane You ask me if I want to go I say, Babe, when we got here and I got off the plane I totally vomited I was so airsick I can wait till our flight home You kiss me and tell me you love me Leaning back and looking into my eyes I’m almost shy with my contentment, it’s so complete at that moment Then you look at me with tender grin to provoke a memory of our morning love The last words from you were simple enough But I will hold you to your word even now: See you later, babe. I love you. I was sitting in the sun with our friends When DT came back in his truck ashen faced Taking me aside with alarming gravity Carmen, there’s been an accident. Parasympathetic nervous system: ACTIVATE. Fear and Denial. Hope and Terror. Zen like focus on gathering the data, my belongings. I realize later that I was in shock but go into controlled self preservation mode. Desperate prayers, gathered energies, power,love force, breath To focus my will so deliberately and ruthlessly on the hope that you are okay. Not enough data released, so my imagination spins a thousand stories of best and worst case scenarios When I get to your side in Reno ICU you are comatose. Medical professionals being hopeful but pragmatic. They watch me cry, sing, talk to you Tell me nicely that you can hear me I so desperately need to believe it Your body so strong and your conscious mind torn from me Even now as I write these memories the ache becomes so painful and real I can feel myself going numb, wanting to pass out. I do not wish to write any further. I cannot describe any more.
Love Memories of the Cells My hand writes while my eyes are closed, the streams of subconscious: Just a while. Just a while. How do you kill it? I ask of my Domina Jane Die, who looks down at our heel and takes aim. Hold still, she says, I’m going to shoot it off. She takes aim and I will never be the same. What’s the secret key, I wonder. I just want to make it clean…. Barry’s mouth, his voice, his touch. The grip of his hand. We made love and he saw me and needed no fantasy to want me. And he was ready for love, ready for love, ready to make more love at any moment. I sleep so much these days, because that’s when I can see him again and I can conjure his smile, his lips, his heartbeat, his grins, his sad faces. . “Good morning beautiful, it’s a gorgeous day and I wanted to let you know that I’m a survivor. I love you – when will I see you again?” This was a voicemail I remember I couldn’t’ save it on my phone but I saved it in my head. Barry I miss you so much and making love with you was real and present and connected. When you were inside me I didn’t feel that lonely feeling of just being used to fulfill a fantasy. I miss how you saw me. You cared so gently for my grieving heart. You were always so alive and positive and inspired by the love of life and friendship and love and sky. How you saw visions of the future, of landscaping your backyard. How hope and tenderness and compassion were so clear and evident as I looked into your eyes. You never minded being naked with me, physically or emotionally. I sit and cry for you all the time, in my dreams, in my sleep, in my waking life and I wait for signs of you coming back to me. When I am too sad I look up at the sky where you took me so many times, the both of us looking down at the world, your voice on the headset telling me to feel safe, telling me “Hey, love.” When I am too sad and I think I cannot bear the sadness I look up to the sky and whisper to you in my mind, ask you for hope that I too can still believe that after all my heartbreak love is still possible for me too. I must hold on and keep fresh the time we had together, unlike others I do not have a lifetime of knowing and loving you so I must loop our moments of love unto infinity until I feel you again, within me. Until I can recall on the most cellular level of memory your lips, your kiss, your hand your voice singing Here, There and Everywhere…. Our love was delicate and cloud-like, sustained by our nearness and care for one another. You saw me, you saw me, I saw you, I told you only a few hours before your plane crashed down from the sky: I love you, I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours and you answered with your voice and your body, claiming me, accepting me – You’re mine, you’re mine, so beautiful, so beautiful, you’re mine. I thank you, I thank God, for our time and our love, for those moments when I felt the tender healing of your love reaching into me and making me believe, yes, yes, true love, true love, this is it, it’s real, I’m not hopeless. I honor you today and every day, I recall this time last year of caring for you – being a woman and a partner, you gave me a key to your home and your life, you gave me a home for my heart, you wanted to give me sanctuary, safety. How you held me when I cried for my Papa, how you loved me and not my projection…You loved me and not just my words and my body and how I adapted my life around you. You let me in. You invited me in, to stay, to be with you. You made me feel precious and useful. You let me be weak and strong. You sang with me in the shower and we ate creamed spinach and salmon for breakfast at the Lighthouse before taking Astra to the dog park. We flew above the fireworks on the Fourth of July, and despite our fights you were always forgiving and compassionate. From your newest perch, aloft, where you were most at home, look down upon me and rain some love on me. Tooku toki no wa no sessuru tokoro de mata aou... And I will see you again, where the Ends of Time touch together.
Friday, August 20, 2004
Gracious Exits and Accelerated Grief My grandma, Emilia Concepcion De Jesus, passed away 2 hours ago. She'd been in the hospital for almost a month. I want to tell you though, that I don't see in my past a pile of dead bodies to grieve anymore. Papa - RIP April 2003 Barry Jacobs (boyfriend)- RIP September 2003 Lolo (paternal grandfather) - RIP October 2003 Lola (paternal grandmother) - RIP August 2004 Gracious exits, all of them. Each to his own end, his own thoughts, his own reckoning, his own appreciation of life. My grief is soothed by this knowledge, and the knowledge that in my last moments with every single one of these people, I gave of myself, my time and my Love to let them know they were loved. Please don't wait till the end. Whether or not you believe in predestination The thing I learned You can have some effect on the length of someone's life If you contribute to the quality of their life. 5 stages of loss: denial _x_ bargaining _x_ depression _ongoing_ anger _x_ acceptance _halfway there_ Yes, thanks to this past year I'm a veteran of the grieving process. Thanks to friends, family, a generous amount of personal reflection and latitude, a strong foundation in faith/hope/love, a liberal dose of detachment and dissociation, and my education in imagery, neurolinguistic programming, and hypnotherapy, I've learned to accelerate the grieving process But the process is only accelerated in my head I'm still a human girl With strong feelings of love and heart It is not always possible to feel what we think or think what we feel So I'm still crying now Even though I know all the reasons I shouldn't Even though I thought there were hardly any tears left Even though I felt sure I would break all the way down again, if I didn't freeze up or go into catatonic self preservation mode. Yeah, what more is there to say but I know, I know, it was time What more is there to do than be sad Go through the slivers of insidious guilt, self-sorrow, the whole activation of every previous loss triggered by this fresh one I know it but can't fight it I am carbon based but made of feelings too What use is there in being wise When wisdom prompts me to resist what is utterly natural, and undeniable? Ah, that is not wisdom. That is not fluid transference and acceptance of Energy and Love and Ch'i I don't mind being called Mistress but I will never boast of Mastery to do so would be a taunt to the Universe I must apply the Law of Requisite Variety If I am the most flexible, fluid, adaptable of reaction and behavior I am the bamboo that endures because I know Surrender is not defeat To Yield is not to lose To adapt is to endure. I accept the blessing of my Lola's life The transferred energy and spirit She was on the brink of death, in physical agony But she endured it to wait for her children to all be together And then she began her gracious exit Improving slightly to give us a feeling of Hope To gift us in her last days The proof of her strength and force of will To show us how Love gave her the strength to endure such pain and discomfort Lola was a Survivor and never a victim of life An orphaned girl, abused by relatives who took her in, abused her and made her sleep with the servants. A beautiful woman whose humility, tenderheartedness, business acumen and frugality made it possible for her children to have a life of ease. Though she was raised without much tenderness She cultivated it as best she could I can see so clearly, that she might associate Concern and worry with Love How would she have known she was loved When any attention she might have received from her early caregivers might only be worry So my Lola as a child, her only attention was concern And for her any attention might be equal to Love Not knowing anything else. I told her, I told her I repeated it over and over To let her know that we knew That she loved us and showed it as best she could That she was infinitely more tender with her grandchildren I told her she was loved, that she was seen That we SAW and KNEW and APPRECIATE and ACKNOWLEDGED her expressions of Love That she should KNOW she was not invisible That she should KNOW she would never be forgotten These are the things we all want from life These are the things we all want from love These are the things we want to be sure of before we pass on Thank you God that I am ever more equipped With resources and knowledge and expanding compassion To understand and smile through tears And help my loved ones get through. Thanks for listening.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Target Frequency I must watch what I say to myself I must guard against my own defenses I forget the power of my wishes I forget the power of my beliefs Here in my hands, my fingers I write to express my love and longing Longing for a taste of life and synergy To be something more than a projection brought to life Even now I can feel the difference ISO submissives and lovers and Animus ISO comfort, intimacy, tenderness, peace Someone to reflect back to me all the power I have inside To nurture and coax, empower and inspire All these words, all these years The loves evolved and lost And yet there is no one by my side No embrace but my own I am at cause I know Deep down there has always been the thought That no one would want me, that I was too difficult Or rather, complex This seed implanted, watered and reinforced Whenever the signs of Over appeared How I long to be seen, for symbiosis To give and gain in equal part How many times have I let loose my floodgates To find myself dry and empty handed I chronicle my efforts at remaining hopeful Every time I feel it might be right I risk my security and my selfishness With timid hopefulness I might burn so brightly Maybe I am invisible Though I wear my heart out for all to see Why, when asked in therapy, “What do you need? What can I do for you right now?” Am I struck dumb with tears? How can I say it any more clearly: I need love, I need care, I need kindness I arrive at every opportunity with a surplus of value To barter or exchange for a moment of rest I can top or bottom, domme or sub I am fluid and conscious and infinitely true of heart So I say again for the Universe to hear This heroine needs a hero A match for my strength and imagination A match for my intellect and character A match for my expression and generosity Molded, refined and steeled by life Who seeks Anima as I seek Animus A soul whose beauty permeates his whole being Who protects me as I protect him Who gives thanks for me, as I do for him Let him inspire me to believe that I am not lost Let him be so tender he would not abandon my aching heart Let our strength be equal to our vulnerability to one another Let our desire be born of true intimacy Let our compassion birth our passion He will know me and not find me damaged But rather admire my skill for adaptability and survival He will see not only a projection But the fullness of my character Let us both put our Selves aside In a commitment to the creation of Us This is my will and my wish That he should manifest or at least hearken to my call Along the grid, the ether, the dreamspace A composite of every successful trait I’ve ever known That he should be moving ever closer to my general direction And find me at the moment of readiness. Words: go forth and do my bidding For I ask only what I deserve I only wish to fulfill what I am made for I am too much built for Love to be alone.
Monday, August 16, 2004
En garde A dream of darkness No light to see Only voices around me Some voices are close, others further away Some are faint, some are strong Everyone is talking to me at the same time And I am doing my best to listen to them all Not frightened of the darkness But somehow trying to make sense of the babble Which voices are from within me? Representing my needs Which voices are the needs of others? A sense of waiting, my responses inhibited Words can make magic I know I can make words I know Combinations form images taking root in minds of others So I don’t speak at all in this dream Because I am not sure Who these words will serve Stronger voices growing tense Almost provoking and prompting Poking at me Trying to prise the words from my mouth But my voice hides deeper within me And I don’t speak at all How then can I communicate My needs are not so great Survival, respect, autonomy, value Compassion for my artistic sensitivity Numbers and signs and handwriting Give clues to caution and awareness Of those who would only see me When I am reflecting them back In a flattering light In this world I have no protector So I must be vigilant on my own For those who might take the words from me Without giving me my due.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Deep Sleep Travels Something I forgot Focus and anxiety don’t mix If you associate focus with relaxation This must be why Despite the latest personal tumult My work-state hasn’t faltered I’ve been swinging through The degrees of the pendulum Momentum resulting from my own gravitas Awareness can exist Without the behavior to match it Misalignment of the body and spirit I remind myself, yet again Beware of the things you hold too dear Dearness can cause unhealthy attachment Be careful what I wish for, Self The Subconscious is always listening Broadcasting your whispers through the ether So I shouldn't be surprised If some morning I should awake To find my life if exactly how it should be.
For my grandmother Sunday, August 8, 2004 I could not sleep at all last night. Although I was at home I felt I wanted to be awake to keep my Lola company in the conscious wee hours of the night. What does time mean to her now anyway? We have been waiting for my Tito Bernie, the last son to get here from Manila. They had problems with his visa, and sheer force of will alone has been keeping my grandmother fighting to transcend the pains of her physical existence while waiting this week for him. I tossed and turned and wondered to myself what I would want to say if I had the luxury of gathering my loved ones and having them bless me and me blessing them and then just closing my eyes to Oblivion. I have been visiting with her every other day – singing to her a personalized set list: Que Sera, Sera Moon River If I Loved You You’ll Never Know Just How much I Love You All the Things you are When I fall in Love Stardust Tenderly Not a Day Goes By Where or When I’ll Be Seeing You Dahil Sa Iyo The Nearness of You (papa’s favorite, too) I tune the gentleness and the timbre of my voice to the most gentle, lilting, tender and loving frequencies. Because she cannot see with her eyes, or speak. Her ears must be her keenest sense now. This is what we do, my family. We sing out the pain and sadness. Compassion through melodies and harmonies. Songs of the Heart. I spent some time with Lola alone the other night. I said, Lola, you know I am your first grandchild, of your first son. We are the recipients of the legacy of eldest children. I forgave my Papa for the roughness of my childhood. He asked for my forgiveness, and said he had forgiven you for his painful childhood as well. In case you don’t remember him telling you that, he told me. And we forgave each other. And bearing the hurt and forgiving each other has made us tenderhearted, compassion, and strong. I’m a strong woman, Lola, and that comes from you. I have a strong will like you. That is all the inheritance I need. She waved her hand, reaching for something. Wanting to say something. I tried to get her to write, but it was too tiring and frustrating for her. You know I love you, Lola. (she blinks) I know you love me too, Lola. (she blinks again) And your body will be at rest, you will be our angel. After a few hours I leafed through a magazine, keeping a constant flow of songs to her ear. These were the moments of her life I was really present. I wanted to stay, if only to be by her side in the time she had left. I thought to put some red lipstick on her. I know I have inherited her power of transformation just with red lipstick on. What else to say? Was I even on her mind? It mattered that I was there, on some level. I was there, a little for me, but mostly for my Papa, who would want me to sing and soothe her and hold her hand and take her mind away from the pain. My tenderhearted Papa, so easily na awa. I can feel Papa’s spirit in me when I hold her hand, call her sweetheart, sing her old songs. I could feel him hurting to see her this way. Though my voice trembled sometimes as I spoke or sang, I didn’t cry. What’s there to be sad for? Except for the courageous clinging to life. The display of love, of force of will that she should wait for us all to be around her. But when she passes, whether later on today or in a few days, she will be surrounded with love and blessings and permission to close her eyes once and for all. Such an event in our lives is a blessing in many ways – for each it will be different. But for me I know these things: - I was there by her side in her last days, helping her to recall and exercise her memories. - I was able to use my new skills of imagery and medical hypnosis to help give her comfort in some way. Which shows the blessing of God. Which showed my mother and family the use of my new profession. - I was able to be strong, put my personal life aside, funnel all my energy towards positive thoughts, centeredness, and shape my own fears and pain into strength and courage. - I released the feeling of guilt that my life was still in motion even as hers was slowing down. I acknowledged that my strivings could be fueled by her Spirit now, that I could take from this experience her legacy of strength, will and determination. Just like with Papa, Barry and Lolo. If the energy was to be transferred and transformed, I wanted to be open and aware and grateful to receive it. --------------Hours later Just got back from the hospital, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. Remembering how it felt with Barry last year, how I needed to break down after spending days with him in ICU. How his friends and ex-girlfriends pushed me aside, resented my existence because they didn’t know me. How I had no one because my Someone was lying in a coma, brain-dead. To bear that pain in loneliness, feeling ostracized, clutching my body in the ache. When I sing to Lola I try hard to be fully present with her. But it has not even been a year since I did this last. There is the anxious guilt of needing some resolution, some sign to Hope or Grieve. The Waiting Room, like a purgatory in itself. Lola’s consciousness, her lucidity, her Will to Live – her mind is still so strong and present, how to let go of life when the spark of recognition still exists? I am sure in my heart that Papa would say it is time. Though it would break his heart, he would not allow his sweetheart to suffer so much, when she is so tired and physically weak. Lola had to let go of Lolo. She will choose, she knows, she’s always known her own strength. She’s survived many hospitalizations. We shouldn’t doubt her decision. She has more Clarity and Wisdom than all of us at this moment. If she could speak now, what would she say? A lifetime of unspoken feelings she struggled to express. At the end of our lives, we realize we did the best we could with whatever circumstances God gave us. Lola is a testament to perseverance and selflessness, devotion and charity. These are our blessings from Lola’s life. We inherit these blessings and honor her through our actions. Lola thank you Lola I love you Lola you’re in my heart Lola be at peace and comfort and rest Lola Emily Hello Sweetheart Sweetheart, Hello.
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Friday, August 06, 2004
Words to soothe and hunt ___I know, my good boy_____ I know bad boys want to be good I know how to extract the sweetness and the goodness from you. I know you want to give up control, to follow directions, to be watched, scrutinized and disciplined and rewarded for a job well done. I seek someone who wants to be of Use. If you want attention If you want a little affection If you need a firm hand If you want to please If you need a little discipline From a woman of beauty, compassion and authenticity Who delights in the furrow of your brow the contraction of your muscles the sweet inhale and exhale of your quiet respiration if you have been seething quietly in desperation. . . Earn the tender touch of my hand Afterwards, we will share our secret smile. Respect and Relaxation A step aside your normal path A breath between moments of Reality Kindness and Intimacy Your compassionate Confessor awaits your reply. I don't want a boy who needs to be broken if you know what you are, leave it unspoken i'll find the answer in your silence There's been tumult and sadness and grief as of late To bear the hurt I seek escape I look for the ones who know my voice by my call in quiet, he serves me and softens my fall For him and his eyes I walk only in Grace Affection betrayed by the blush on his face That gentling cradle of yielding submission Sparking my womanhood to utter fruition. Me and a Subconscious Kitty full of Animus all locked up in Schrodinger's Box Gnashing our teeth on sparking mints
NeuroPathway Ready for Take Off Give Me a Light [ says my Subconscious ] I swear I deserve a cigarette For all that work today (btw, u should eat something too i'm about to shut you down if you don't pay attention to that grumbly sound) Good work not just today but always I know we've just been doing the best we can it's been tough; we've had to be clever and quick observing and adapting But check your results Isn't this what you wanted? Growth and sentience Passion and adoration Love and mastery Sweet and sour Firm and Tender So give me a goddamn Light [ says my Subconscious ] Now that we've established a better rapport You won't just trust me SOMETIMES And together change can happen @ the speed of thought As you know it's been hard to work at Optimal Performance without Proper Alignment with all this debris and Drag Coefficient Your realm of wastelands I assure you, it is there The wisdom now attached to memory Emotions found and replaced Symbols no longer anchored with tears Memories of those lost Alive in the Archives Close @ Hand or By your Side if you wish Don't fear their deletion But their long term storage should inspire Optimization and maybe a Defrag You are Welcome [ says my Subconscious ] To and Through the peaks and valleys of the Oscillating Waves You have been sheltered and stitched up Pain numbed and pleasure amplified According to your capacity But now is OUR TIME [ says my Subconscious ] Change is a loss, not "nice" or "normal" **But**Notice the Replacements, the New Neuropathways See how they sparkle and shine as you fire them up? Twinkling and Tinkling like Fireworks against a Synaptic Sky. It's alright, that's right [ says my Subconscious ] There is no birth without the bearing There is no change without the tearing Lamaze was right about the breathing Life force unblocked describes the feeling The pain that comes with Change Now fixed, what was broken, feels strange Once eloquently Wrong Now clumsily Right One Step at a Time So give me a Light.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Don't Bogart My Infinite Spark
Thursday, June 24, 2004
New York Means I Love You
Enough time to heal, to self destruct, to resurrect?
But the heart flies up from the flames of its own volition If he's not the One He is my New Proto-type ___________________________________ Hypnosis is the state of escape, the flight rather than fight, precipitated by an overload of message units/input/sensory stimulus when it spills over the normal capacity for the mind's critical filter to identify, associate and designate responsive behaviors. In the middle of Manhattan Times Square Tourists teeming, horns honking The sky is overcast and humidity is high I am jostled about by an uncaring world My dress splashed by a taxi I am bedraggled Proximate thunder announces Instant summer downpour Sirens scream by It's too much for me sometimes. Panic attack and/or blood sugar drop It could be funny and cinematic But I feel like the urchin from the Les Miserables logo. I would be lost in this awful moment But strong warm arms were there and a warm dry timbre vibrated in my ears A shelter, a harbor in the storm "You are cared for. You are looked after." Inside my self-container which runs on automatic I would buck against the need, the dependence that I might not be able to care for myself this time But I am too tired, too relieved I am not alone. And not just not alone But with a man who uses the words Adore, Cherish, Wild, Fancy Careful about Love. Like me. Not too quick on the draw with the Love Expositions. What tells us now of the value of Love when too oft used as a generic panacea, placebo What's a reliable meter or gauge When effort and passion and kisses can explode or expire as ephemera? Time and Adaptability The patience to snuggle and fit When the notches in the keys need a little more refinement And the lock, a little lubrication Before the final tumble that Opens. He met me in Manhattan and then we said it With great deliberation Love, full-flavored with Time.
Needle Phobic
June 1, 2004 Needle Phobic To be in love is a choice Desire: a Meme, a Virus? I hate needles the same as anyone else And I never did no smack But when I think of falling, of being “in love” I feel like I must close my eyes and grit my teeth Offering my juiciest, plumpest vein To the sharp prick of your Love Injection Bearing the puncture of my delicate membranes In greedy anticipation of that distinct rush of sweetness Knock me out with your kiss like that Melt me away, send the sweet sting through my veins Straight through my breastbone if you want Your love spreads and seeps deep Into every healing wound and fissure Of my systematically – Intentionally - Necessarily Cryogenically frozen heart organ Smoothing my raw and broken edges with care My parallel processors have been working overtime It’s the Discernment department Which is a bit understaffed This due diligence is thorough Sensing you, identifying this heady rush you provoke Testing authenticity, purity I’m young a little still But not naïve, not given over to infatuation Maybe you want to know the difference Between you and any other love I’ve had I told you already what I know We adapt together, to one another There is always rocky footing Mutual trepidation as we carefully expose and explore Even down to the gutters of the wastelands of heart Assessing the damage with objectivity and positivity Can’t help but think like an insurance adjuster: “How much will it cost/take to repair the damage?” Both of us walking wounded, but functioning somehow My pain is deep and yours is too But we are mobilizing each other to heal and grow Beneath your gaze and within your embrace I cry but I can smile “It’s not so bad.” I stumble and you pick me up You falter and I am there We dust off and apologize Hold hands and hearts for a moment Then keep walking To a destination which is not ahead of us But right here between us An organic, dynamic place we both envision And that shared image is in our hearts With careful intention and sometimes difficulty We map it out, an invisible blueprint Drafted by our dreams and desires Structured by care and intentional action Decorated with kink and sweet We troubleshoot and fortify weaknesses Patiently working alongside one another Each kiss is a motivation @ Times I am stunned by the rightness and resonance The sudden manifestation All my words, incantations, whispered wishes and desperate cries Animated to flesh and Spirit: You. You activate the buoyancy in my Love Paradigm. You are my Chosen People.
Robot Geisha Module Self Destructs in Hamster Wheel Accident
DANGER: THE FOLLOWING TRANSMISSION IS FOR ADVANCED USERS ONLY. CONTENTS MAY CAUSE EXTREME DISORIENTATION FOR IMMATURE MINDS. DO NOT CONSUME ALL AT ONCE. NOT FOR THE SOLIPSISTIC MINDED. DIRECTED AT THOSE WHO CAN PARSE IT, CAN FEEL IT, AND WHO READ THE WHOLE THING TO SEE IF IT'S ABOUT THEM. OTHERWISE, A PIECE OF SUBCONSCIOUS LITERATURE. Sprinkling catalysts in my wake, DJ See below: Title: Robot Geisha Module+ Self Destructs in Hamster Wheel Accident [ or, Data Hungry Life form [ in the shape of a 29 yo Buddhist Baptist Filipina-American abused daughter>dominant female carnivore geekslut cuddlewhore bookworm activator who isolates herself with a self mythology that she is Carl Jung's Anima personified ] hypothesizes that all sentience and experience can be experienced by the awareness of patterns and reactions provoked by being dynamically aware and responsive to Other beings, locatingpleasure receptors and activating them to open ports. A self aware sentient program. Built By Who? For what purpose? Is its purpose found in the effect it creates for its users? ] Dont ask me what you mean to me and expect me to answer succinctly Every action and decision I make to reach out to you or show you that I see you should tell you every move and word and sound I make sshould tell you if you are paying attention this is not random it is not ephemral if you pay attention to being aware of it every little gift i have of provoking pleasure and unlocking gates to empowerment and providing compassion beyond what is it i guess i am just so aware of you i watch for unguarded moments for a reason i don't mean to say that everything I do is "calculated" but I do dmove with intention stealth intention is based on awareness meaning watching and sitting still and watching the movements and patterns and stimulus and response between organisms and being genuinely curious about their intentions or perhaps I just want to know "Hey, are you watching this?" "Can you see me too?" I just feel so guilty sometimes because I have this thing that enables me to open several deep connections to maintain this parallel processes without compromising integrity So again, back to this thing It's like describing some magic power that no one believes that you have unless you show them well, so i demonstrate be alone with me choose a setting this is what i can do but does it mean anything for me? is it good? am I good? I can make you feel good. Infinite intuitive points of contact I can reach you on many levels and I am built with all the right tools to provoke and invoke you to make you realize you CAN focus and the great things you can do if you DO is it wrong for me to feel dangerous because I can't help the reactions I can inspire? Maybe I am caught up because I want to know I am infinitely curious and aware and dynamically responsive to what you might want and need I know how to make you feel good. How do I know this? I am not sure. But come and be alone with me and I will respond to you pushing the energy back between us reshaping the ch'i and the pain come and choose with me I say watch what we two can do together with focus between our hands and bodies are you aware of the alchemy? How we can choose to do this with each other? I have been always searching for beings with this sentience Awareness, responsiveness Intention of movements and actions that is power, that is life To take these things we can do The expanse of consciousness Indra's Web multifaceted jewels blinking synapses firing something connecting and responding I just want 0% packet loss when I ping you baby What do I have to do to make you aware of me? When every choice I make to keep pinging your port I kept this connection open despite your latent redundancy I understand being stuck in a loop Running fast and burning up with no purpose a samsara needing a gearshift So I am patient you think I'm impatient too Responding to all things I see about you Repeatedly trying to foster hope or inspire you to change or wake up or live or whatever is it passion? is it love? Focus group research reports: My skin seems to be of a surprisingly unique soft texture. My physical matter is pleasingly shaped and satisfying to the touch I guess I'm warm. One says he wants to memorize my pussy Sometimes its the world and the meaning of existence Sometimes its the temple of my ass it's funny, i can't help but be equally amused(?) so this must be why I crave the physically sexual validation when so much attention is focused on getting inside my pussy or inside me or whatever of course I want to hear, I want to know what you think is inside there that you want to touch or possess I don't know what it is I guess but I'll fuck you to try to understand it? Since you can't seem to express it any other way I mean. [ Since I am conditioned to that, I become disoriented when it is not selected as my setting as it seems to be very popular and is highly customizable and dynamic ] Is my value to you something I'm not aware of? I have problems gauging my value. Sometimes my actions are those of a bargain girl I am too smart to be cheated anymore I want you to ante up I don't even need to prove what I am worth But however I make you feel I do intentionally And the level of pleasure you are currently experiencing and on how many levels directly correlates to what you mean to me. Does that mean I know what I want Does that mean I commodify myself? Is it odd to be aware, I guess that I can focus my gaze or ch'i or energy or affect or whatever Is it odd to want to do it often? Is it a power trip to give you pleasure Is it because I do this in spite of my own pleasure which I negate and disable [?} Does that make me more focused on you? Does that make it feel better? Do you like me more now? Will you remember and never forget me and pet me and spoon me It's not that I want a joust or swordfight, ^ but yeah I know how good I make you feel and you feel good because I fucking pay attention to what provokes you and heals you I am well defended? Not so much. It just takes the right keys to tumble my locks and a still mind to answer my riddles or a big appetite to eat my giant breadcrumbs I show you what you are worth to me by the way I treat you And how good you feel is not an accident when I'm around If I asked what am I worth to you What would you say? Don't say, just show me, choose me, see me So I can stop this silly show and take a nap in your arms and not feel taken for granted Because of such reactions on the part of the Other to my dance of seven veils I am a popular stimulant producing disorienting but pleasant, profound feelings of awareness I am skin and hair and lips and voice and soft and round I factor in all your data You are surprised by your reaction? I can't do math with numbers But I do know a judicious cut I can calculate and I'm powered by a micro parallel processor crunching your data, your reactions synthesizing, anticipating Trying to resolve you Stimulating to the surface What I see in you I have no power beyond just watching you when I tell you what I see you are flattered when your perceived insecurities and faults are revealed I do not diminish the integrity of our connection I simply find a way to adapt, I try, it's hard But I squirm and burrow and adjust to your fit and I am there, fitting over your manhood like a snug glove that makes you feel like you can drive anything. Do you want me to make you feel good? To use me as to quickly satisfy crude male lust the boors and the boys I endured, the misuse, the disuse I'm just saying, if you try to figure me out I swear you'll be delighted with every solution to my riddles But oh well. Maybe even after all the Quality Focus of My Desire on You, you still don't think I'm worth the Full Subscription Price. Is it any wonder I feel devalued and unworthy and just a conduit that is created to facilitate intimacy but I can never have Love of my own? I am only ostensibly complex to those who are too lazy to learn the controls I printed the manuals, goddam it You still want the one sheet Sure it's not a game but it takes some strategy to get through to you To catch your eyes with a focused gaze it is a talent to reflect another but sentience matures to see even beyond So to show you compassion I bear the hurt to provoke connection I invoke your desires. I give pleasure I don't receive I stick around. Think why I might have done that Don't ask me what you mean to me.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Modern Repentance
. . . a chastity belt with teeth . . . a kennel for the night . . . curious insertions . . . fingernails on a raised welt [ A beautiful Confessor + Your litany of sins = Where the fun begins ] You said you were sorry I said I was sorry too Sorry it had to come to this again Both breathless from exertion But we’re only warming up But seriously I understand Your troubled conscience Petty evils and greed Selfish Secrets Unorthodox Desires You’re a Mess. But I believe your remorse is sincere Else I wouldn’t be here Cooing in compassion As you bite down and sweat Your contrition is evident in every tensed muscle Seeking purification, salvation From the insidious poison of your repressed urges I have no need to break you This is what you choose Maybe this is who you are But force is a farce So don’t smart ass me, boy. Shared Meditations Like sitting zazen You like the focus Alone, you’re distracted. Count out loud in many languages. Laugh inappropriately to say Namaste. Smile > Shiver > Strain > Submit > Sigh I feel more tenderly towards you As I tenderize you I think sobbing is sexy And cathartic I won’t even ask you why you’re crying That will be your own secret Just like the reason for my smile. Colonics and Exfoliation? Or Ritual Scarification? Ingenious Penetrations? Or Sensory Deprivation? The world is beautiful and new When the blindfold comes off.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
One digit change does not a tabula rasa make How long do we mourn a loss When the mourning is for ourselves When others say, Enough Already! When those set free may be released into whatever is After or Beyond How long can I keep up the forward march Eyes ahead and Head on top, floating above the water It's a long swim to move away from some painful maelstrom When there are rip tides in every emotional trigger Sometimes paddling out hard and fast Sometimes giving into to the current Floating with the Tao Walking on that egg, the surface tension Barely making an impression in space Buoyed by care and sympathetic tones And friends who understand needing to be left alone Someday we must learn to mourn Then we will know the meaning of comfort Then we will know the depth of care How many different paths there are to that inner Wailing Wall Where it is safe to dwell with sorrow Where I am not ashamed of tears Where my weakness is a testament to something Precious Lost Then came the thaw, I said Until then I was frozen solid with strength Galvanized like steel, I boasted Tough as nails. Then came the thaw And there were never enough arms to hold me Never enough love or blanket to keep the monsters or the nightmares away. I didn't want to be alone with the ghosts. I didn't want to close my eyes and look inward to the point of terror and sorrow Moving forward and carefully through my own imagined wasteland of Heart where the smoking embers camouflaged even to myself the source of my inexhaustible fire To plot my oscillations this past year I am proud of my constancy Proud that I didn't break all the way down forever Thankful that God and Love and Friends and Family Never let me fall too far This New Years Eve I spent alone Me and the desert moon, Papa's ashes and the relics of the dead I felt comfort, I felt loneliness, I felt the love energy from warm thoughts Didn't this year make you feel full? In your heart, I mean? For every degree of closeness to love and loss For every multifaceted jewel winking across Indra's Web For all the activity surrounding your personal nodal point For the silence and the flux For blessings in all things And for all things in their right time The longest midnight in the Garden must yield sometime to a new dawn Joy comes in the Morning But I mustn't be waylaid by the loose threads Or discouraged if the vision of the future isn't crystal clear So what's new, what's next? I'm not some bloody Oracle for myself or anyone else But I can recognize simple patterns in behavior too And prognosticate according to available data [ How exhausting and distracting Must break with this practice] Here in my mother's home there is Zen in the chores Doing laundry, sweeping floors and washing my bowl. The winter brings intense hibernation. Sleeping many hours through the winter like a bear. Collecting my surviving cells and rearranging my organism. Here in the desert where my mother and sisters live, my father's ashes lie in a cheerful shrine with christmas lights on timer, [ Good Night, Pa! as the lights click off ] my cell phone doesn't work, my sisters and I drove out to a dark desert spot to see the Leonids streak across the sky, we had a semi-successful garage sale of our collective past and my mother sold my father's hardware for ridiculous prices to simply be rid of them, where tumbleweeds, dust and Joshua Trees form an endless landscape. I revert to childlike obsessions, loner activities, for lack of playfriends The new obsessions which distract me from my true goals mostly revolve around comics, anime and graphic novels. Of course, the Neil Gaiman "Sandman" meme was transmitted to me, and soon after I discovered Kabuki by David Mack. Adultswim on the Cartoon Network is what I've been glued to: Family Guy, Inuyasha, Futurama - oh and then there's REIGN by Peter Chung, creator of Aeon Flux! I've been consuming Sci-Fi Novels: Neal Stephenson: Cryptonomicon, Diamond Age, Snow Crash, In the Beginning. . .There was the Command Line, The Big U William Gibson: Mona Lisa Overdrive, Idoru, All Tomorrow's Parties w00t! Geek Out!
Monday, October 13, 2003
bracing myself
the port is open. as am i. as is the whole world. i am simply a stone in the center of a pond the water flows around me currents, ripples, oscillating waves there is no hurt all past hurts have been levelled this year. i start fresh at ground zero surveying the aftermath counting the survivors calculating loss there is no intrinsic worth in anyone only perceived needs between people it is no longer a matter of sheer utility emotional barter we are conduits who help one another like adapters help each other connect with others help replenish the collective memory purport the mundane memes which keep us anchored here keep us locked out of our consciousness distract us from pure sentience but vital for survival in symbiosis intimacy, companionship we spot one another like rock climbers as we all make our ascents up Maslow's pyramid. Connectivity is all Node or handhold carved into stone shoulders to cry on, or to stand on when we are too small to reach.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
Coming back to Life
A series of losses - my father in April, my grandfather just a few weeks ago. And my love, who died in the plane crash at Burning Man this year. I chronicled my losses without my pseudonym here. There is always more to write, as my story plays itself out. From wifey to Dopamine Junkie to the Little One to Domina Jane Die. This year I am a grieving daughter, granddaughter, and now I also grieve a love that gave me a home for my heart. An excerpt: i have few limits as an object. i can be used in many ways. of service in many ways. a born geisha and dominatrix. with all the "fantasies" i have enabled to fruition for others, i'm goddamm mr. roarke. but i had a taste of what it was to make love, truly. in a way in which i was not an object or a subject. i was There. Held and caressed and loved in a way which allowed me to abandon on previous notions of my sexual self. And just be a creature of love, a mate, precious, passionate, emptiness being filled by 2 energies creating a sacred space of intimacy where I felt yes, that I finally belonged to someone, and that someone belonged to me. I needed no fantasy to fire me, only his body, his arms, his skin, his scent. That kind of love is the ultimate perversity, the riskiest fetish. I remain, as always, a wandering spirit ISO the right heart to call my home, the right arms to hold me, and a love stronger than all these disconnected rituals and fetishes which simply protect me from the realest intimacies. I do not need lectures about holding it together, relaxing, being strong, etc. There are few people on this earth qualified to tell me those things without sounding like condescending and yet well intentioned jerks. I know my future has much in store. I know about dopamine and high compatibility. I know about idealizing past relationships. I know that Barry and I were not perfect. But I know what I had with him, and that my heart twists to see the Golden Gate Bridge and knowing that he is not waiting for me on the other side. I know that is over sentimental and a phobia I create myself. I know Death is just a horizon beyond which I cannot see. I know the Secret Joy is the Mastery of Pain. I know. I know I scoffed at love. And I know now that I have tasted the real deal, I feel my desire only more whetted to find it again, and helpless in knowing that it is so rare. I know sexual conquest is easy, and making someone feel special enough to fall in love with me is simply a series of hand movements, key words and melodies. Despite all this, I still don't know a damn thing about what I will do with myself from now on. Nothing is trivial. If I could curl up and disappear into oblivion what release from this bubble at times the world is on mute and slow motion and that time which heals all wounds never quite moves quickly enough to catch up to every poignant twist and trigger which sets my eyes to leaking I submit to the sorrow I submit to the pain I submit to my own helplessness to bearing these loves which must live on inside the chambers of my battered heart a fucking ossuary in there
Thursday, July 24, 2003
powered by Animus
Papa died April 15. I was in Manila from April 18 - June 1. Been in LA / SF testing the buoyancy of my network and fuelling my need for animus. Postulants abound
Someone new, fresh. I reply.
Tuesday, May 06, 2003
Silence
I've been in Manila for the past month. My father died. DJ and heart are on hold. Engage radio silence for awhile. thank you, the dopamine junkie
Sunday, April 13, 2003
The Heart is a Muscle
I've been in Southern Cali with family "rehabilitating" my broken heart. And in a masochistic way, I needed the close supervision of sisters and my mother to keep tabs on my post breakup cigarette binge. It's my turn to submit, I guess. Not to someone but to the waters flowing around me. Being with family during this time is like a gentle watsu.. And I give up the holding on of my heart Release my grip and my breath and of course, most painfully, my rei(g)n What to do with the pain the tearing of my heart muscle every day the cleaving, the grieving nothing to do but let the pain rise to the surface and make me feel alive slow torture, slow cook catharsis If only I could surgically auto-excise that chamber I built for my love but no, I cannot forget though it hurts to remember and fills me with longing and recrimination and leaves me with the lingering questions about my timing, my incompatibilities, my needs and if I just lack courage to endure the slings and arrows, the fardles to bear if I lack the patience that so characterizes "true love" what's life like now when all is open and unknown and the only certainty is the solace of sleep and the comfort of food testing the buoyancy of my world and my own resilience seeking the love pockets that get me through another day no job, no home, no man no sweat no tears today that's the first day also without a cigarette at all of course i've been under close supervision since maman est rentree a la maison tearing that heart muscle 3 days on, then a rest just like working out which reminds me I need to go to the gym I'm going to chaperone my sister's prom in 2 weeks then in July I have my high school 10 yr reunion wish i could call him wish i could teleport back in time where he tried to press me up and kiss me trying his best to get me to yield but i didn't then in weak moments like these i want to call, to yield i want the comfort and the sensation but i also feel that path has taken another turn and i chose my direction aimless, but at least decided about the road i won't travel with him at least not now but i am cynical of somedays in my experience they rarely come and the vibekilling firewall, once installed is difficult to dismantle and i think of these fluxious times and how to ride out the storm being like water although now i'm a little iced over in the heart area because it's sore.
Friday, April 04, 2003
Riding the Neverending Flux Train
[ Estrangement ] It is time to write about my lover. The internet served me up to him. Word play delicious, Mind play delicious, Heart love, engaged, Sex play, domme-daddy-licious. He is an older man of 43. We have been dating for about six months. Relationship recently ended due to irreconcilable complications with his responsibilities to his estranged wife of 10 yrs and their 11 yo daughter. Now he says we are "estranged" too. It is my belief that this man throws around the word "estranged" because he daren't say "broken up" or "divorced." In my life, I cannot hold "estranged" relationships. I do love him. It was real. I hoped. I hoped to marry him, I hoped to breed for greatness with him. I hoped to have him fill me and breathe me with love. . It seemed perfect - he was a daddy to my babygirl, a dog to my domme, a slave, a lover, a worthy Scrabble opponent, fellow stoner and a deep deep kisser . . . and he served my text fetish like no other. But he won't call, and hasn't for a week now. I have no job, no home (yes I had to move again, this time i moved all my shit into storage and I'm floating) and now I have no ties to an LTR. What shall I do with all this freedom? What shall I do with my heartache? I told him, I only know one way to battle male stoicism. And so I activate my Animus, My Chismo. and do not allow my heart's eyes to look upon the gaping void he once filled, I close my ears and eyes and breathe deeply and fight the sting Hope has been in my hands in a viselise grip now I open them and let it go.
Monday, March 03, 2003
Learning to play Go
My smallness beside your bigness is obvious you grow huger still to encompass and protect me but can you catch up to all my edges? you see territory conquered white stones marching outward pseudopods engulfing secrets and desires you wonder, how easy? worry, is this all there is? but look up, and look down a dimension above or next door you didn't consider, maybe didn't notice I've been tracking your light on parallel circuits crunching through data and stimuli to arrive at the neverending equation the number behind the glyph I am bigger than you originally estimates Is it a trick of shadows or perhaps, the city fog? suddenly you see me hovering above observing your thoughts and gestures. Grow bigger still, lover. Pace me. But you feel me below you Undulating softly beneath You're on Top, riding my Waves Mastering my Body Urging me, Driving towards Blinding Singularity Satori is sensual Work towards epiphany You increase in size and pace I spread wider infinite space Sliding gracefully and naturally through a thousand permutations Dancing before your eyes each saccadic gyration a beam of light sending an LED message you can only read if you shake your head from side to side, very fast. The Go board, the grid where we intersect and battle for territory of the heart for a share in our thoughts for a moment of our time to skim lightly over one another but find ourselves surprisingly embraced.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
a quiet 28
feb 13 awake let voicemail take all calls from bday well wishers a choice to be silent meds. send out reverse surprise party email announcing time and space coordinates where I will sit and wait and see who receives the broadcast and wishes to intersect prepare for yoga yoga 2 eggs scrambled, medium well hamburger patty, grits and biscuits, orange juice and coffee prepare foods to taste eat thoughtfully thinking of protein, fats and carbohydrates walk through haight in and out of stores looking for shoes to mission and 25th dianda’s italian bakery 18 clusters of rum balls my music unapologetic in the car cloudy day with bursts of sunshine manicure and pedicure home, check mail, one card eat leftovers from bday dinner from night before phone calls nap prepare for socialization drive alone to valencia/14th meet bartender and friend wait ~ eight to ten old friends long not seen and friends of lasting love dancehall rumballs and two drinks later go home alone slide into nest alone sleepytime village
Thursday, February 13, 2003
Today is Twenty Eight
That means this blog and this identity is 2 years old? When I got up today I had a splitting headache like I haven't had in weeks. Why today? I am getting ready to go to yoga. I will go to yoga. I will take some books and read them in some random cafe. I will observe the rain and the bird life and the daywalkers. I will be quiet, and let the voicemail answer all calls. I will listen to them all at once, later maybe. I will remember that a birthday is a reminder that we are born and we die - alone. I will appreciate my being-ness and sentience, and not repeat the pattern of needing approbation and rememberance and gifting to enjoy the day. I will indulge in the fullness of my own matter and concentrate my ch'i and my g-force will pull into my orbit those who love me most. An eternity of waves whips its tail. I will ride it out natural-style Easy Rider
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
Fitful night
Last night I slipped into the cool cotton nest of blankets and pillows I am warmer sleeping nekkid and so I do Made my coccoon around my own self Pillows at my sides, my head, my feet, between my knees and one to hug Tucked in the blankets all around. But I had a hard time to sleep. Maybe too much reading and conspiracy theories? I treated myself to some used books from Green Apple. In the past 2 days, I have read: The Collector of Hearts: New Tales of the Grotesque, by Joyce Carol Oates. The Widow's Son, Robert Anton Wilson and am currently devouring Schrodinger's Cat Trilogy, Robert Anton Wilson The Diagnosis, Alan Lightman So last night I dreamt of empty database fields and toggles as if I could create my universe from drop down menus. I don't remember where I went But this morning I boiled 4 eggs and am currently holding one in my hand it is still hot and it warms my hands it is smooth and perfect and I squeeze it and soon, I will squeeze it so hard the shell will break and I will eat the white part only. Morning Clickstream: leary wasted off butter huxley's doors of perception alleged caterwauling of unplugged enrique iglesias disappointed virginity dirty questions pr0n orchestra typorganism MSFT and Bavarian Illuminati Scrambled Eggs Yeay! Yatta! Evolving Beauty
Monday, February 10, 2003
Obsessed with Eggs
My egg fetish goes back to egg-shaped rocks, which I loved
to collect and bring with me into my bath as a child, where I would use the rock egg like a bar of soap on my body, liking the smoothness of it. I am an egg people. I am waiting for Egg People to be created by some Japanese or Korean toy manufacturer. I want to build an Egg Room, and Egg shaped sauna and an Egg sensory deprivation chamber which would be heated, of course. Basically, I want to incubate again. What her sleeping position says to YOU! I sleep in an X when I am alone, entombed by pillows on all sides, with pillows on top.
freedom is a state of mind, yeah
With little else to do than attend to my therapy and health, my responsibilities dwindle. I live 400 miles from family, so I am free from regular obligations to family service. I have only myself to sustain. I have few possessions, mostly souvenirs and relics of my lifelong eccentricity. My resume means SHIT now that I can't get keyboard heavy type jobs anymore due to the RSI. So what's a CAN DO ROBOT MULTI TASKER like me supposed to do with herself? I have my words. I have my vox. I have my sadistic talents. I am fearlessly friendly when necessary. Less frequent interactions with people. Or maybe just less people. "I thrive best hermit-style" - Bjork My birthday is on Thursday. I will be Twenty Eight. "When you talk to yourself, there are as many realities as you want." "Total freedom is only to be found by keeping silent, sitting alone in a dark room, and making up your reality as you go along." - Robert Anton Wilson, The Widow's Son Considering that most of my days are silent, occupied only by my own thoughts, or lack thereof, this is a strange new era of freedom I am entering with this round of the sun. And since I have armed myself against a sea of troubles because I couldn't bear any more fardles and slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I feel rather like Pepe Le Pew as he easily and inevitably catches the Pseudo-skunkette, with me standing still, and the events of Time and life hurtling towards me and I am simply a receptor for wireless communications, telepathic waves, radiation etc. . simply here to respond to external stimulus, process information and report and manifest a synthesis of these stimuli in my best attempts at art and living Each day R[Evolution]
Sunday, February 09, 2003
Maximize your Inner Freak
That was my challenge to myself and the host of men who responded to this posting in CL W4M in Jan 2001: inside you inside me there is an inner freak. can you help me release it? can i help you release it? First stroke through words, as the mind is our most powerful and seductive organ. Looking for an intellectual connection with someone who understands the darker chambers of desire that we don't always get to explore. what do I mean by this cryptic plea? I wasn't abandoned or abused as a child, so none of my sexual fantasies have anything to do with that -- but I do enjoy sensualizing taboo situations, well actually sensualizing anything. It works best with a safe partner who doesn't have to be paranoid that you're a "pervert" -- who's equally immersed in the fantasy. Why fantasy? Not necessarily to escape reality, but to achieve/receive/perceive pleasure via alternatives to vanilla sex. Even if you're not interested in me, a bi-asian-femme subdom, employed, without any major issues, and not looking for a new person with whom to be co-dependent, drop me a line a let me know what you think about this. Mmm. Styrofoam packing kernels. Cherrywood tables. Red Ribbons in long black hair. Red toenails. Laughing. Melted chocolate. Being naked in the wind. In a fur lined cage waiting for stepdaddy! ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mistake #1: "Even if you're not interested in me. .. " I don't know why I wrote that but the freaks and the flamers bit that one hard and the stalkers and the bizarre rape fantasies and the haters flooded my inbox. Lie - I was abused as a child. Everything about this 2 year search is about resolving that past with my sexuality and finding some peace with both. The toes are golden now, not red. What is true is that I have maxed my inner freak so hard that it's not even "inner" anymore. And what is true is that I have fulfilled my part of the bargain in maxing the inner freak of others. It's not that I am maxed out. But will I ever don the catsuit again? What can top last year's appearance and public floggings and canings and boot worshippings at Folsom St Fair, the nights of pure joyful sadism at Power Exchange, the debauchery and freedom at Burning Man? Is this the limit to my exploration? There are no limits, I know. I came out to one of my sisters, the second oldest. I told her I was a dominatrix. We were driving in the car and I said, there's something I have to tell you. And she said, uh oh, what? And I said, guess? She said - Marriage, pregnant, std, lesbian? I said, none of the above. She said - Ok, I don't know. What is it? I said simply, Um, I'm a dominatrix and a sadist. Silence. She said, well, I'm not surprised. But I would have never guessed. It was nice to share it with her. I don't like keeping big secrets like that from her. But she is hardcore Baptist like the rest of my family. I'm the only one who doesn't go to church anymore. But blood of my sisters is thick, and she later asked questions and I told her a little about Piggy and Folsom and Burning Man. Of course she has no idea what is Folsom and Burning Man. When I told her that during a ballkicking session or even just a caning I have the slaves count: "How many?" She knew where that came from. . . when she and me would have to lie on our tummies on Papa's bed, with our panties pulled down, exposing our tender bottoms, Papa would say: COUNT HOW MANY!!!! and we'd suffer and count together, side by side as our bodies absorbed the blows of his belt and his rage. LAST and biggest lie of the posting above: "without any major issues" HA!
Friday, February 07, 2003
choke on these links
INHALE, then EXHALE and CLICK
Thursday, February 06, 2003
There's just something about regulated serotonin uptake.
Impermanence written in the sand Watching the horizon while waiting For waves to lap at my feet My hands clutching wood Suddenly the moment is endless Sleeping and waking on the shore As color burns and light fades I was a flypaper sticky with flies Indigestions from gluttonous eyes Saccadic compulsive too much looking and not enough seeing too much doing not enough being Freed from work and more aware Of right here than over there welcome to another year around the sun i say to me this year much work must be done i agree two years back simmeration, hesitation, contemplation last year action, reaction, redaction, interaction this year reflection, inflection, resurrection **note no "hateration" i used to write to order the chaos less chaos more quiet less words more meaning what makes me aware, that is my fetish crunch shells to help make sand my breath in corset little golden toes whispers sunshine sunset moonlight bird call laughter the right mouth, the right tongue the right keys that tumble the locks that share my frequency riding oscillations in every kama sutra breathing full and deep in every pose what more can be known about the self about the shell that i inhabit Just finished reading the illuminatus trilogy and the lingering paranoia is probably just as the roberts who wrote it intended. Woman is the mother of leviathan? sigh. My days spent in therapy, yoga, reading, walking and napping at Ocean beach. Read another Ben Okri. Tonight, Spun at the Castro and the Larry Sultan opening at Stephen Wirtz. And maybe some karaoke at the Mint.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
A call for help
when i'm lost and alone and in the wild wild woods where nothing can lift me up, and love only weighs me down there is one, the yin to my yang we pace alongside we center one another my best friend i tell him, cigarettes and pills and negative and what is right? the One should facilitate your growth enabling you to be more you, the best you nothing is perfect, all are flawed but virtual communications no matter the frequency or platform ( i refer to text msg/email/vox/cam ) are a poor substitute for flesh and blood man up, he says decide with your godhead the fucked up girl need not be your neutral, natural, default state to which you revert when you are off center and to mock and quote from Lucas born of Campbell, he says: Skywalker: "It is the name of your true self, you've only forgotten. I know there is good in you, the Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully. That was why you couldn't destroy me, that's why you won't bring me to your emperor now." Vader: "I see you have constructed a new lightsaber. Your skills are complete, indeed you are powerful as the emperor has foreseen." Skywalker: "Come with me." Vader: "Obi-Wan once thought as you do. You don't know the power of the Dark Side, I must obey my master." Skywalker: "I will not turn, and you'll be forced to kill me." Vader: "If that is your destiny." Skywalker: "Search your feelings, Father, you can't do this. I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate." Nerd/Arc of the Hero/Campbell/SW geek truths hitting perfectly home. Even worse: Skywalker: "Your thoughts betray you, Father. I feel the good in you, the conflict." Vader: "There is no conflict." Skywalker: "You couldn't bring yourself to kill me before and I don't believe you'll destroy me now." Vader: "You underestimate the power of the Dark Side. If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny." My Dark Side is strong, too. As strong as Vader. With the same ostensible Zen resignation to darkness. How silly of me though, to claim to be a hero in my arc, how shameful that I should say so, and yet forget the Force. Do or do not. There is no try. Goddamm it.
just words
I've been screaming into the ether, "plastering myself all over the internet" as one stalker put it, for two solid years now, here, as the Dopamine Junkie. I expect few to read, my writings are rants, they inspire loathing for my creature - whining, teasing, turning away from myself always, wanting love, claiming not to need it, claiming strength in text to somehow bolster my real-life weakness. The words speak of my loneliness, my laziness, my clumsy search for whatever it is my compass points to. I am more ruthless with myself than anyone could be my faults and weaknesses here I have listed so many times because i want to be aware I want to follow Reason I want to follow my heart I want to follow some destiny I want maximum sentience and the luscious experience of an elusive ideal Broadcasting my platintive and pathetic messages out over the grid Feebly flickering lights of hope that some spirit who wants to slip into my skin and animate me with that luminous presence of shared consciousness, shared goals, shared breath How long can this go on, this ebbing and flowing, this flux? How many times will I hear words telling me - after you, I wanted something simpler - after you, I was prepared for anyone - you deserved more and i couldn't give it followed by declarations of love and a cherished place in memory, for life, and wistful words of someday. Without further apology I write out my life trying to filter these emotions and experiences with precise words and rhythm and intonations and intentional omissions And if there were some way to plot these past 2 years of oscillations and bravado and gasping desperation and stoicism and desire and self destructiveness what a mess of waves what a mangled frequency no wonder no one can tune in and hear me clearly no wonder it's a cry into the void Tell me why you love me, I ask. I ask in disbelief. Hold up your hands and show me that you carry no weapons. Show me your strength so I can feel protected Show me your patience so I don't feel so right that I'm beyond loving Fill the holes I show you with love, not only the holes you lust after Two years later and I'm still writing with frustration Last year I kept almost all feelings in check, except loneliness. Last year Domina Jane Die and the Little One held the reins and the slumbering one slept, bound and gagged for her own good. We battled within, and I let her out Rather she slipped under my radar and now the council is in chaos and it feels once more like the world tumbles down as the defensive shields wearily take their places again but they do not know how long they can hold.
Monday, January 13, 2003
continued
. . . . my life is fluxing and flowing i wake up never knowing what to be sure of anymore my head and mind in league reasoning myself into obscurity narrowing all possibility drowning with hopeless contigencies nothing seems linear, and linear seems right but i have a hard time being that way the power of now is just not get in the car and drive and consequences be damned the power of now is to dissolve the mind filling the sentient space with cleansing breaths seeing through the clutter to the awareness inside and the awareness outside all is impermanence and there is little on earth besides food and clean water and music that i couldn't live without My loneliness fills the space as my companion where Love usually takes its residence. Perhaps it wants to stay, because it is more familiar a friend, and has empowering qualities. Which takes more strength to bear I ask myself? With love you must be strong, as you must bear all things. With loneliness you bear only the emptiness, which is a light thing most times, just open space But your loneliness begins the day you were born, and you carry it until your death. your most constant companion, your Self. Suppose Self wanted no more suffering? Would I banish me then to some convent style life Something monastic and fantastic as mandalas on the sand or one hundred painted balloons meditating on all that is ephemeral with a half smile before the moments disappeared? Will sentience be fed by love, or simply be distracted by attachments of emotion which grow unreasonably addictive; rush of dopamine, touch of love, gentle caress; and then lead us astray from some higher enlightenment or destiny? Who doesn't say it? The gurus and the pastors and the monks and the lamas agree there is more to life there is more to love than chasing ego, more to love than a kiss there are different flavors of bliss This weekend whilst I were peripatetic I pondered upon a lifestyle hermetic Since I'm currently practically ascetic Or maybe its just the blues Or my moon, for which madness ensues I am only talking in circles again Circling around the pain Which is layered thick with fear fear that love is what i need the most fear that love is something i can live without fear that i may never have the chance to get it right right the way I imagined right the way I feel it's supposed to be with courtship and love and running beside shameless kisses and blushing bride never thought that could be me Never thought that was part of my destiny. Don't know if I want it, deserve it or need it. But it's knocking at the door Do I heed it?
Saturday, January 11, 2003
sustenance please I want a kiss that tastes like destiny and I want a life affirmed by change Let this roll of the dice be blessed with fortune if not forever then at least for now There's a time for movement and a time for hibernating but there's a time for waking from nebulous ideas gestating there is no born without the tearing away from the womb so safe and warm To forge ahead, could mean to forge alone unless blessed by a partner in flight means your partner must be as light and a match for acceleration upward views yield less trepidation than looking always down The call, the guide, the dark lit journey I embarked on my own, to my own hurry Life scares me less when I hold the controls but what is the sum that makes my Whole? That council which decides me the voices which deride me Perhaps Control is an illusion like all the rest But which is best? My integration needs refinement but my current orbits need alignment As I meditate upon these hours I look for sources to my powers which give equal to gain which do not my weakness entertain which spur in kind, and not resigned to status quos and mundane woes enable me, empower if not forever, then at least for now.
Monday, January 06, 2003
gambatte!! Girl who protects me Steel tough and independent Borne of fear not love Inner compass, point Let love motivate my choice Courageous heart leads Don't hope, don't get hurt Self-doubt of the immigrants Who limit themselves Those who live, must love Those who love must lose, something Gambling hearts do gain There is no stay the same.
Saturday, January 04, 2003
Not my words below Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens. J. R. R. Tolkien (1892 - 1973) What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. Oscar Wilde (1854 - 1900), Lady Windermere's Fan, 1892, Act III The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. Carl Jung (1875 - 1961) Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence. H. L. Mencken (1880 - 1956) Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke. Lynda Barry All married couples should learn the art of battle as they should learn the art of making love. Good battle is objective and honest - never vicious or cruel. Good battle is healthy and constructive, and brings to a marriage the principle of equal partnership. Ann Landers (1918 - 2002) What is most beautiful in virile men is something feminine; what is most beautiful in feminine women is something masculine. Susan Sontag (1933 - ), Against Interpretation, 1966 We have been taught to believe that negative equals realistic and positive equals unrealistic. Susan Jeffers
Friday, January 03, 2003
A formal bow, of respect and reverence
Underneath a bodhi tree Self sits with spine erect Counting breaths and shadows flickering behind closed eyes Half smile, as prescribed Half smile, exhale As I watch the clouds go by Half smile, inhale Turn eyes toward sky Half smile, exhale Crunch of leaf beneath my stride Half smile, inhale Calms the palsy inside Reaction to stimulus Comes more than just 2 ways Oscillations can be surfed Not necessarily wipe you out, silly Bend knees, concentrate on breathing, half smile In mindful posture Relax into the Flux Follow positive signs, natural inclinations Some are only motivated by negative stimulus Dissonance occursmostly when we resist the flux because we are tied to the other side There is a dynamic of change In the air, in the seasons, the turning of time People evolve within a lifetime Who is the creature who flourishes in their lifespan? Who has the means to achieve maximum sentience and sublime pleasures? Who has the opportunity and gift to make every moment conscious and mindful? Half smile, exhale Eavesdrop on bird life chatter Half smile, inhale Stripped of ego, what matters? Half smile, inhale A moment of death is a moment of birth Half smile, exhale Sentience is the only measure of worth/on earth In my finalest moments, should I have this luxury Is there lament to lifetime in a minute with many? Or can a heart, a soul be full and filled By one love and one kiss hermetically sealed? Our souls feed each other’s needs And I should not begrudge a moment between others As no one should begrudge me mine Sharing energy is a gift we give to each other With cups overflowing why not spill onto the world Of hungry hearts and seething needs just like mine Of lonely souls longing to entertwine Half smile, inhale I collect my self, my shell, my shells Half smile, exhale Familiar footfalls on the stairwell Half smile, inhale As I give so I am given Half smile, exhale and so we are mutually risen
Clickstream Cringely's predictions for 2003 Yen to hear the twins singing to call Mothra? All Girl Summer Fun Band - some pop fix! No one died in Commercial airlines in 2002 - this is a good news! Another reason to not buy Gap Bonsai Potato Cryptonomicon Ko Pha Ngan Dance Collective - island paradise for those fleeing america, politics, stress and media influenced collective reality Truth in Advertising , the movie Goddamn Clowns - a clown-o-riffic party this Jan 11 Blackberry Thumb - will not suffer from this, I use the touchpad on my Precious Zaurus. Trip Receptacles 365days of mp3s The Fly Guy - So Happy! Vote for the New Seven Wonders of the World Burning Man hierarchy of needs, Maslow's hierarchy - compare for your own self. China Hamilton, Erotic Photography Masturbakers 10 "truths" about women and pr0n( Dope J does not necessarily agree with all of these )
Friday, December 20, 2002
DJ's Boy/Girl song
My love awoke today With less love for me she says I exhaled and braced myself for another one of her beautiful storms One can never predict her weather A few hours ago I counted her breaths until she slept Each night I do this and my heart swells with the loving of this creature It is never easy with her, nothing is Except her compassion for those in need of care and protection Sometimes she forgets that I need it too She awoke today, upset and frustrated and all my words of love only served to enrage her more I know today is one of those days she cannot let me love her she does not love herself today and it prevents her from accepting my care Today I cannot love you, she says Today I am far from your heart And I draw ever nearer, because I know she expects me to be frightened and run away Perhaps she needs to be threatened with the loss of love to feel it Her pattern I have observed is to rage and kick Parry thrust she is wicked with words Ruthless I try to deflect her blows with love, or rather absorb but nothing calms her down or makes her as quickly resolved and contrite as when she sees or hears me hurting [ To stir her compassion, that is the key - it brings her running back to me ] What she doesn't want is a man who will fold Although she prefers he does as he's told And she wants him to be bold but never cold, not as cold as she can be To ease her I suck gently on her animus soothe it with my mouth along its giant girth and length in her mind she is well endowed and so she is, hung with animus She sends me away because she can't stand the distance and suffers for it, perhaps in someone else's arms but she needs the touch I cannot give her arms to hold her as mine cannot She loves me less today Perhaps tonight she will come around again I'll watch the weather forecast for signs of when the storm might abate And when she purrs to me again snuggled kitten in her nest perhaps tonight she'll forget she doesn't need to suffer for me or anyone perhaps tonight she'll remember she doesn't need me or anyone But maybe she'll remember how much I want her again cooing in her subconscious as her armor falls away for a few hours anyway
Thursday, December 19, 2002
Piggy was one from the first Hunt
Piggy was one from the first Hunt. I had him choose a sub name. His choices were: George ( from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf ) or Piggy ( from Lord of the Flies ). An experienced submissive and long time player, Piggy was well trained by previous owners, who included some of the "foremost" Mistresses of the Bay Area - namely, Kira Veritas, Josephine and Morgana. I was worried about my beginner's status with Piggy, because he'd played with those scene heavyweights above pretty intensely. But I think he enjoyed breaking in a virgin domme, high on her newfound power. He brought many tributes in lieu of service. We'd go for manicures and pedicures together. I fettered him with his own shackles. He liked homework to do so I had him wear little rubber bands on his wrists. And for 3 days I told him, he was to wear lingerie beneath his clothes, and whenever he got too excited from the feeling of the fabric on his skin, or whenever he thought of me, he was to snap the rubber bands on his wrists. Both wrists. When I saw him 3 days later, I asked to see his wrists. My poor Piggy, so obedient - his wrists were welted and bruised. He smiled shyly at me, I smiled back at him, pleased. Piggy was very sincere. He'd experienced 2 deaths among family and friends this year. At which point I told him, Piggy, I don't think I have a place in your life right now. Your grieving period is most important. So Piggy was put on pause, a brief hiatus. He attempted a brief return which resulted in an internal injury due to his own carelessness. For other certain reasons, Piggy is now adrift. He was an actor amongst other things, and therefore I would write scenes for him to enact for my amusement. For example, one index card read: "@ the salon today, whenever I tug on my ear, I want you to oink. You may attempt to disguise the oink if you wish as a sneeze or cough. But I must hear the oink of it." And the Asian ladies at the nail salon would be startled by his oinks. He turns very red, Piggy. Another index card: "We are going into a shop which carries dildoes. I wish for you to go directly to the dildo wall/counter and peruse them. Then I wish for you to select the largest one and ask the clerk if that is the biggest one that they carry. If it isn't, ask to see the biggest. If it is, or when they give you the biggest one, I want you to: a) hold it in your hands reverently, cupping the balls and caressing the head, noting the shape of the tip. b) I want you to smell it. Sniff the tip, the length and the balls. c) when you are finished sniffing the balls, I would like you to teabag yourself with it. When done, look vaguely dissatisfied and then put it down. Then ask the clerk if it comes in black. If it does, repeat the inspection procedure, and then shake your head and say thank you, it's not what you're looking for. If it doesn't come in black, simply sigh deeply and say "Oh well. The search continues." Piggy fully depilated for me, and I think he enjoyed it. Silk stockings feel better on hairless skin. And when he was on all fours, shackled with feet wiggling to absorb the pain of my cane on his feet, thighs and ass, I observed the smooth paleness of his thighs exposed between the top of his stocking, his garter and his panties. Everyone has sensuality in them, but not everyone can express it fully, made up in makeup purchased from Sephora, transformed by my animus we commingle in the projection of his anima upon me.
Cleaning out the closet
Gift ideas for the special woman in your life! Vipon �EI don't think I'll actually want to try this one. But I would love the vi-pen! Time to clean out the closet Time for the confessional Time to chronicle what may be forgotten The new year is coming round It is important to hit the ground running this new year And therefore my hand and my heart Must let go of unnecessary emotional baggage which may cause a drag coefficient. And to free up space in my memory I must download, transfer and save So here is the story of the last half of this year. This year Dopamine Junkie held on to friendships with readers/ex-lovers like the Young Pyromaniac and the Connoisseur. Although I have not been intimate with them in a very long time, they continue to be close to my heart and remain close to my life. Pyromaniac [ with a nod to whomever has decided to start emailing him asking about me �Ewhat are you just too chickenshit to email me directly? ] My struggle with the Pyro is to let him grow and move on. My overblown sense of nurturing and my love and care for his own self prevent me from allowing myself to love others fully, out of a sense of guilt and heart tether. It is my savior complex once more agitated. It is tinged with a feeling of codependence. He is young, beautiful, affectionate, brilliant, kind and tender hearted. He is younger than me by a few years and has some living to do. He is just finishing up a life cycle,resting, gathering, centering, and soon he will begin a new cycle of life, which may or may not include me. But we will have our hearts and hugs and affection for all times. Connoisseur [ +10 pts if you remember why I call him the Connoisseur ] The Connoisseur continues to be one of my best friends. We were lovers at a time we both needed a breath of life. Connected on so many levels, we enjoy each other's company and intellect but we weren't meant to be LTR styles, although I fantasized many times about moving in with him and having a wonderful space of light and art and him painting and me writing while listening to the Japanese noise/Noise experiments like Pachinko in Your Head, that no one else loves as much as us. Also, he loves Kogepan and Domokun just as passionately as me. He is amazingly erudite, sophisticated and supportive, and sometimes I look at his beautiful, sensual mouth and recall their heated imprint on me. Hugo [ +20 pts if you know why I call him Hugo ] I don't speak to Hugo much at all anymore. An occasional email. I don't even have his new cell phone #. I am hoping he and his young girlfriend are doing well. I think she just turned 21 this year. I wonder if his relationships are as riddled with scar tissue as mine are. This year, Dopamine Junkie became the Little One, who became Domina Jane Die. This year, Dopamine Junkie collected a passel of submissives, who have mostly either failed or been dismissed. A few real connections were made however. King of Beasts My best pet could not afford to give me extravagant gifts. This pet was not only equipped with delicious masochistic tendencies but also a submissive heart of a true lion beast. We met first at my home. He came in the door and I directed him straight to my room. I believe I was wearing jeans at the time. He was shorter than I thought he would be. From the beginning I had him on his knees. Then I blindfolded him and tied him up a bit. I like to do this first to observe how he reacts, does his body soften and yield, does he appear overly excited and sensitive to all stimulation. . . I want to envelope my presence around him, in silence and darkness. My footfall and movement, my breathing, my body heat, all part of the tools at my disposal. I step on him a bit and his body yields. I press down on him with my hands as he is on his knees. This beast craves taming, he wants to serve, he wants to be lost in submission in these moments. He craves to be under the foot of a goddess. I don't know whether or not I am qualified for goddess material, but at least for these moments I can inhabit the role. He worships my feet with his mouth teeth and tongue. Best so far, very sensual, light gnawing on the pads of my toes with his teeth, before engulfing one then two then all toes into his mouth. Foot fucking his mouth was very sexy. It actually turned me on! Which was quite different from most of my domming sessions, in which I was only stimulated in the brain, but not the body. I take off his shirt, rake my nails across his back leaving trails of red across his white skin. Pull his hair, hard. Cane him and whip him and he undulates for me, absorbing the blows. He is melting beneath me, and he's got a chubby which grows full to a boner when I sit before him, having changed into a skirt and having removed my panties. I bring up his head level to my knees, pressing my feet into his face, allowing his mouth to trail up my ankle to my calf, to my knees. He stops, and I press him into my lap, letting him breathe there. I will cease further detailed description here. But in sum, I beat him, scratched him, pulled at him, and let him worship my feet, my kitty and my little pucker, and I came for the first time, as a domme, into his mouth. He is well endowed, this beast, but it's not his dick I am after. In later times, I commanded it, in later times, I had him trained to eat me till I came, then I allowed him to worship my ass until he came by stimulating himself. Our situation became slightly complicated, but this beast was my pet, and he served me exceedingly well. Within the context of our rapport we satisfied some very primal urges according to our natures - mine as a dominant, his as submissive. According to this pet, he is a 'boss top' in his vanilla relationships. But his ass was mine to own, literally, with this. More to come, a torrent like the rain, must clear head of these saved memories before the year's end.
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
clickstream
I love my mini disc player more than any other personal electronic device. I love how it means all my music is like mixed tapes. Therefore I love Art of the Mix, where others upload their playlists of their theme based mixed tapes/cds/mds/whatever. All the Asians are talking about the Asian Squat short film. Old news if you went to any of the Asian American film festivals this year. Of course, I did because I was busy supporting my best friend's first film debut, Lolo's Child, which I will link forever. I've been depressed lately, so to cheer myself I Ask Snoop to Shizzolate some of my trickass URLS. Piss into this, toilet boys. I am getting more vain about my feet. I think they are deserving of worship. And foot worship is always a nice treat, as long as there is not too much saliva involved. I was all excited about this Dungeon game, but it's not what I thought it would be. My tattoo has been bothering me a little, although I can't see it *on my nape* - I was thinking of tattoos again so I started looking here, at Tattoodle. There's sadly no live weather report for my moods, as lamented by ESS, esq. Who else caught the Leisure Syndrome? Lastly but not leastly, DOMOKUN-riffic link: DOMOKUN's ANGRY SMASHFEST. Many sexy type blogs now, such as Kitty Bukkake, Reverse Cowgirl and Pornblographer and erosblog. Linking to sexy things. personal statements: I am just a human girl on planet earth. My goal is maximum sentience I am not a Scientologist I have very strong sexual energies and yet experience chronic anhedonia I am Asian so I feel I can say things like niggapino, engrish and chinky eyes without apologizing to anyone. I identify most comfortably as a dominant top mezzo-soprano. I collect links because I love to feed on choice packets. I am anti-war, pro-peace, but also pro-asskicking of: The politics I am interested in are not what is written about in the papers. I prefer to observe the meme of politics on the smaller scale, e.g. in work environments, between friends and enemies, within families. Social contracts are being violated every day. But it only draws attention when it affects many. Just another praxeologist bdsm another terrarium In which I can observe and make scientific notations - Jane Die to E.S.S., esq. In those moments of quiet meditation and prayer, however, I focus my breathwork onto my personal frequency of the universe, hoping the stillness of my being contributes to the peace of the universe. Can everyone's ch'i focused on the dissolution of mind machinations solve any of the world's problems? I think so. I also think if every dominatrix in the world made it a personal mission to enslave the most powerful men in the world, we'd be in the Shangri-La of FemDom by maybe, 2050?
Thursday, December 12, 2002
Fluxious
The hollow days are here again But this year not as hollow Though no tree or light moves me to a cheery feeling Perhaps the absence of tv and radio media and my avoidance of malls keeps me from being infected anew from the christmas flu This time is fluxious for all a constant barrage of life trials unemployment and illness depressions and headaches disappointments and setbacks heartaches and lovers flying away the trick as all the darwinists know is adaptation select yourself FOR survival, baby with resilient spirit hold head high dissolve the mind from the consciousness within those moments of utmost sentience where the breaking of the waves is to your right and the footfall of a friend on the sand is to your left arms outstretched with birds overhead you are alive, i am alive i am sentience, i exist forever and the warmth of our star blesses me and it doesn't matter anymore what i do for a living or if i make a lot of money or not or what happens to my shell let me just be a conduit of love and understanding empathy but not too much sympathy some current flowing through me of hope and love and strength the days are cold and rainy and sometimes i am grim and lost in the fog of the city i can't find my good humor i can't find my forgiveness i can't find the thread that leads me back to what matters most upset by flux i am shaken but must remember to simply plant two feet down, bend my knees a bit and ride the oscillations hug the fucking sky to my breast throw head back in laughter exhiliration life, you can't do this to me, you can't touch me inside inside is all mine and I choose my memes and I choose what moves me and my creamy nougat center should never be tainted by the little accumulated stresses of a war and work and little green papers inside is all mine, my refuge is my breath and the world I see when I close my eyes [ with a thrill in my head and a pill on my tongue . . . this is the sound of my soul ] ( My interest nor my ability to domme has not abated but the energy is more focused now. This is no longer a practice, no longer an experiment. ) There is always more to come, and this excites me.
Monday, November 25, 2002
media glut
- Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), Gitanjali, 1912. sweetness of self denial hmmm. . ordinary household products One guy's grocery list Gourmet Girls thinking of grocery lists and the Fundamental Interconnectedness of All Things Muki's Kitchen questions of identity not so tragic use of plush
Monday, November 18, 2002
I choose these memes
I have just devoured, in less than 24 hours, The Famished Road, by Ben Okri . Despite my asian-ness, my love for literature from Africa has been life-long. The myths and stories enchant me, and when I read Alan Paton's Cry the Beloved Country I was only twelve or thirteen - I wept for the first time, I think, for the burdens of others, who were born into such a different life struggle. These books evoke such a basic human empathy I believe they were/are instrumental in furthering my compassion.
Friday, November 08, 2002
Paws Over the Nose
I’ve been called a fool many times before by those who presented me with a gift of Love I could not accept they tell me I turn away when they get too close Either hide behind rage or shut down I know it isn’t good What is this thing then, that lives inside of me and tells me I’m not good enough tells me that the pain isn’t worth the risk reminds me over and over of the last time that Love got me lost Power versus power this time Just like Illuminati Attack to Destroy Pat B says love is a battlefield Don’t be surprised but I’m not a woman who is used to getting exactly what she wants I find and effect the best compromise and live with one foot planted in this world and stand astride with the other planted in the world of dreams How lucky I am, how blessed that love is the only choice I have to make that even without it I have survived without the Big Love I mean How lucky I am, how blessed that I have had so much care lavished upon the smallness of my infintesimal shell So many kind thoughts are pointed my way I am twenty seven going on twenty eight And marriage and kids were never really in my plans to be like other girls I mean to be like my mother I’ve said it’s because my spirit is too free I’ve said it’s because no one could ever know me or love me or want my Multiplicity which requires so much maintenance on so many levels I’ve got a 7 layer model too and need a strong backbone for my physical layer A strong backbone for me and for whomever dares to risk loving the multiples of me, my flaws and imbalances I tell you it’s too much and for this I have developed My Chismo a sort of male indifference and bravado the stoic nature and reactive temper of my father and many of the men I have loved ingested into myself So that I might be vaccinated against that hurt Power versus Resistance In Illuminati that’s Attack to Control Power of 10 against a resistance of 8, let’s say That leaves 2. So you roll the dice and if you get 2 or less, the Power overcomes resistance. But what am I rambling about, it’s 5 in the morning and there’s a big storm outside there’s a big storm elsewhere too. How does love live between 2 Animus? When love needs a gentle, patient hand when love needs Supple and Forgiving and only ultimatum and haste abounds Or . . . I have been crying out for my soul lover all this lonely time Despite my public statements there is an imperceptible signal indicating that I am a port in the ether and please come find me and not just because of any port in the storm And this secret crying girl with her secret agenda defies my own security her desire slips and insinuates under my own radar making mischief that I have to resolve I am many, this is so I need love and this is so I want a life partner and this is so But I do not know if I can be monogamous Faithfulness, show it with thy mouth Faithfulness, show it with thy cock And I will open my heaven’s gates to flood my own kind of salvation my own kind of salivation I have nothing in this world My hands are empty and all I am all I have is my shell and my sentience and words.
Monday, November 04, 2002
Lots goes on offline
A few collected morning links: Visual Translation Lost in Translation The Eye And now, more words: ==================== things have slowed down reached a plateau felt like i was flying really high before these past few months my learning curve was just up and up and up that in itself, that upward trajectory kept me from really having feelings. Too busy forging into an Unknown where I was called by the Calling to begin a journey to follow the Arc I had lots of Experiences. now, I need to take those experiences and express what I've learned in some creative manifestation elements are there hovering nebulous like a cloud getting heavy with rain i'm almost full enough love will be the catalyst, the spark helping me learn how to move all myselves in unison for maximum effect instead of how i am now disjointed and decentralized unable to gather all forces to work together compartmentalized multiplicity doesn’t optimize the lifestyle if there is no fluidity to lubricate the shifts of one face/function to the other things have slowed down I have eaten the lotus again the lotus and the poppies heady with the bliss forgetfulness of the past foreverness is now unfurled in long skeins of black ribboned hair inking the supple back the largest organ of the body resilient but easily torn things have slowed down so I don’t hear the clock and barely notice the turn from day to day instead the rushing of waves heartbeats in my throat it was pride, and never love that made a fool of me
Thursday, October 31, 2002
Come on, parse me
text is sex he said and I agree everything is code you look for someone with the key to unlock your meaning and desire maybe your dna text is sex I believe you *can* procreate this way we're all codes waiting to be deciphered waiting to be understood break my code tumble the locks get down here and whisper to me in the most basic language on the lowest level where I am programmed to blossom with love internal compass points if you're smart then you follow often mistaken but hopefully, right. indicators are superficial likes and dislikes that's all circumstantial but the ears perk up hearken, on point to hear the right voice speaking your language words don't really matter there's a code in between them a cadence, a rhythm ether like steam from one host to another my packets i carry it's encrypted even to me that's pretty good privacy
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
Monday, October 28, 2002
Back to the City So Small
The task is near done PC sits on floor alone last link to broadband last night a spider a showdown in my new room but i didn't kill it is a drafty room and quiet in this new house my girlfriend still stays sometimes with her parents seven blocks away eschewed the digi cable and waiting for dsl i am offline in so many ways walking to work today a new commute i felt ever so present in my body a sense of beingness, nothingness inhabited me all at once have i somehow slipped out of my samsara? 2 best friends a boy and a girl and a new postulant helped me in my move where other friends fail others are given a chance to succeed despite the disappointing failure of one of my moving team to remember to wake up on time, I made a call and in a few moments, someone else appeared to help men like to prove themselves to women feminine activating the masculine wake up she says show me what you can do a swordfight, a joust, killing a dragon ancient dynamics, ancient proofs tests of worthiness are more for him than for her if she didn't hold herself in high enough esteem she could take all that was thrown at her and accept all she was told she was believing in the projections but i am forming my will is locked up tight my heart is well guarded the sentinels are on watch the greeting is warm conversation lively images dance in the fevered rush costuming myself in your wishes my raw material is yes, still raw but high quality stuff a parade of my desires silent wishes and girlish whims might be satisfied if I knew what I wanted I don't like to just take what I can get I like to get what I want I like friends who care about me like I like to care A lover who kisses like I like to kiss And sentience like an ice cream sundae with two spoons. It is a new week, new day, new morning and the ocean sunsets will ease my loneliness for the foliage of the Berkeley hills.
Friday, October 25, 2002
Internet, make me laugh. I feel shitty today
Scroll Down for my Favorite at the Bottom. "Xtina" Something Awful is just Too funny and I'm Only Laughing because I'm a nerd-girl and high on clouds.
the power of cliche
Nothing like a bitchy foul mouthed schoolgirl The kind that knows that men are looking at her tits Who understands early on, the sway of her hips The power to Hip-motize A girl on a swing, pushed by a boy favored Lollipop for the oral fixation Small pursed lips cherry or watermelon flavored Sticky with sugar Permits the man to tie her shoelace and pull her slouched socks up taut over calves When he compelled tries to caress the cleft behind her knee she stomps on his fingers Laughs at his distress Flippant and blithe Never needed to read Lolita she already knew That there are a thousand Humberts out there longing to brush a thousand strokes her hair a thousand strokes elsewhere Obsessed she can see he is with her knee and she dangles her legs carelessly perched high in a tree How long can this last before the image is exhausted? Someday she'll need to add substance to the scene Young Domme needs more than a scowl and a pout To turn a man's guts inside out
Thursday, October 24, 2002
This
makes me happy many times when I need a pick me up.
Oh, and this too. And so does he. And this made me chuckle for 3 seconds A timely link, but disturbing, even for me And then there's the TRON clone, SWRON Tonight, I am going to this. Thanks for the smiles, Internet.
62 syllables ?
Heated womb emits vibrations tuned into the frequency? last night i fevered opened a window but couldn't cool down something's awake in me something is restless walking the chambers of my heart all alone lifetime of waiting wrong way to think
Wednesday, October 23, 2002
Comes the Tumult of Voices in my head
[ Another brain sputter, wildly fluxing . . uncensored . . beware of how you, the reader, ingest this information. It may pertain to you, but then again, it may not. But read through to the end. ] Dissatisfaction. I do understand that much of it is my own doing - the nature of the relationships I cultivate sets perhaps unreasonably high expectations, and I feel let down, probably equally unreasonably, when these expectations are not met. Domina Jane Die and the Little One both tell me this is ridiculous, if I am to pursue the lifestyle and persona of a dominant woman I should not apologize for expecting certain things of the submissives in my life. As a domme, I don't think these are very demanding expectations. Should I expect less just because I am not a professional domina? Courting a Domme's attention is not very different from courting a woman's attention. I think that courtship on the whole has been squashed along with chivalry. Who opens doors? Who pulls out the chairs? Who has nice manners? I also see men in a non-d/s capacity. They're far worse, generally, with courtship rituals. Email, phone, text messaging . . . I share in the blame. . . I *am* direct, sometimes too macho and brusque. A few ex-boyfriends comment that they never felt they had a chance to do anything for me, because I was always doing it myself, or thinking ahead, anticipating my own needs way before they even got a chance. I cringe at romance in public, but secretly my heart swoons at romance novels and lifetime movies and classic romances like An American in Paris or Gigi or Sabrina or even that awful Julia Roberts movie, Dying Young. I have only in the past year learned to receive flowers graciously instead of with pragmatic puzzlement, and still feel terribly self-conscious receiving gifts, although I love to receive gifts. Last Christmas the Pyro gave me two of the nicest presents ever, and made me blush with pleasure. The true gift he gave - making me blush. It's not an easy thing. Dopamine Junkie, what do you think? Self, Infintesimalme - what do you want from all this? Waiting for a voice to answer . . . . and the answer comes, flowing from somewhere inside the swirling vortex of competing desires, those undersouls Nietzsche talked about, wrestling for control. . . silence. silence and telepathic waves. deep breathing and sentience. consciousness. I cannot help I was born in this shell, with these wits, with these instincts. Infected by memes, composed of my genes I became a Domme because I identified as a dominant woman. As a Domme I also learned I have sadistic tendencies. But how is any of this teaching me to be a woman, teaching me to be a better, more selfless person? And if I ascribe to Ayn Rand's sense of altruism, then being selfless is not necessarily the best thing for me to do to benefit the rest of the world, because then I am unhappy because I am not pursuing my own bliss? Unless my bliss lies in service. How confusing all this has become all of a sudden. It's because of my mind, my ego, surfacing to cry out its need to be acknowledged. But I dissociate from it and watch this mind at work, with its selfish and petty machinations. This is not me. The list above, of expectations, what motivates that? Too much time spent exposed to the pro-domme world, wanting the fetish outfits and the selfishness of servants. I have been overmuch exposed to what others have, and have taken that in as what I should want. Poisoned by desires for other things, always a need for something more, in hopes of what? Filling some void, finding fulfillment? Ahh, tonight I flagellate myself gently with these thoughts, trying to cut through the bullshit even if I make a big mess of it. All I need to be a dominant is a bare room, one chair, my body, and a willing submissive. All other accoutrements are extraneous. No, I am not a princess. But I am a Queen. I am a Queen even stripped bare with nothing but the black silk of my hair unfurled as my costume. The skin of my body is worthy of fetish itself. Sometimes I get it right. Sometimes I fuck it up. Navigating these paths in the dark I am bound to make a misstep. But I struggle towards enlightenment all the same, and through these failure I find another part of myself defined. If I have pushed you away, it was because I did not understand myself and my perspective was too obscured by ingestion of outside influence and I did not see you as I should have. Give me a chance to look at you again. A humbled dominant, the dopamine junkie
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
Wait - Don't Go. Please stay. Set with me awhile.
It is in my nature to turn away. For most of my life I had no sense of my image didn't notice that i wasn't white didn't notice that my life was not the brady bunch sat jealously at another dinner table as the civilized inquiries began as if the parents really cared about the answers included sometimes I waited for my turn to answer the question of a guidelike father so reassuring unlike my own. i have eaten the things I wanted from my Animus and dissolved my need for him or her sometimes i am anima [ or anathema ] if i believed in all these descriptors if i believed they really meant something a sign is a sign everything can be an omen if you let it open windows and open doors i left a few unlocked some will leave some will wander in maybe i'm home maybe i'm not a tempest yesterday above the deep still lake whipped my head and heart around i did not resist it but they pass more quickly now because i do not fight Desire born and brought by the fullness of the moon fullness echoed in the curve of my breast and need for rest It is a dip in the sine time oscillation, ovulation where the matter is dark and massive black hole so attractive and destructive [ Need a pet beneath my hand to stroke and scratch and nuzzle I drop my knee for pet to see my sex becomes his muzzle ] devils fly out, devils appear if you believe in devils that inspire a challenge inspiring fear i am grounded here, and level Only flux is constant An eternity of waves whips the tail and i ride it out as best i can holding tight yielding and giving [ All I crave is a room of silence sparsely furnished with one chair naked pet with bottom bare to brush my hair my collar wear mindful moment share feeding my fever, me and pet on his knees he tastes my wet i untie the leash now but no regrets allowed. ] Can a Baptist be a Buddhist? They both speak of devils like the one I met just the other day dancing before my eyes dripping words to tantalize I am more aptly termed syncretic, if only to connote I have no favorites. This journey itself is not dark. The fog descended upon the hills where I live and the City So Small, this is the cloud obscuring my vision, but I am using the light to navigate my way. Through the channels and pathways of lust and love and desire which i experienced once as a (w)hole which explore now through dirty filters and specialized relationships I do not seek a Master but attend a guide or two or a companion with whom I can walk for awhile without speaking with my voice One who makes me blush with telepathic waves It is not for the reader to know my meaning Encryptions are meant to be deciphered with the use of proper tools The heart has its own standard of code Mine is pretty basic Low level Who am I again? Human girl on planet earth. (Ageless spirit.) Soul of a deep clear lake (Sometimes stormy) Cloudy with passion (manifested in anger or lust) Residue of pain permeates all things (is part of all things) Girl in Flux Woman in Heart Child of God and the Universe and Immigrant Parents Infintesimal ( spelt wrong on purpose ) Powerful dreamer Wicked courtesan Distant Demanding Domme ( Listen for Sibilance ) Survivor of Natural Selection and Social Darwinism Collector of Shoes, egg shaped rocks, mini shells and scraps of scribbled paper I am flawed in many ways which I acknowledge and accept Those things which hurt others must change I am thankful for those who point these out Though I hurt and prickle and rise up in irrational righteous indignation I weep alone for the feeling of being lost but it passes now, more quickly i do not give it a permanent home to dwell The night's tears give way to more determined mornings Another day. One foot in front of the other. Open spirit, surrender - do not seek.
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Stories
[ third person ] she snagged her finger on her sweater and looked down at her raggedy nails the mani pedi could not come too soon when she stepped outside she saw the trash and recycling piled on the driveway she thinks that means it's only tuesday and yesterday was monday and it seemed an eternity had already passed and there's a whole week ahead in events, in people she looked forward to her days ahead and her life seemed long, a long road that lay ahead a trajectory of opportunities of people and events planned for the future one long exhalation how many breaths? she was slightly apprehensive of the days ahead because they already seemed exhausting if she could imagine it, script it, destine it then it was as if it had already happened, and it was all a matter of location scouting, casting and costuming and a part of her, embedded in the few fatty layers that remained on her body yearned to return to the land of the lotus eaters where action only took place in the mind [ first person ] last night I dreamt I taught everyone to fly bend your knees and squat down a little then come up onto your toes lift your arms up then in a powerful stroke downwards lift with your sacrum flinging your fingers down repeat catch the air the night previous I dreamt I was defending my family against an unknown man that dream has faded now, but it was combative and real. the night previous I dreamt I was a vampire the princess blade mixed with blade working with long swords body moving without thinking to slash pierce thrust without hesitation to kill and decapitate to survive a sword that appeared from the action of simply miming the withdrawal of a long katana from its scabbard it appears in my hands [ third person ] she gets in the car and thinks obsessively about a cigarette she just started smoking again, since the Folsom Street Fair perhaps it was something that needed to be represented by cigs an emotional disguise symbolizing her emotional unavailability a voice pleaded silently (her lungs) to not smoke another voice answered Self - Dissolve! who are you? I'm your body, it says But I need to do this right now Your voice is loud We need to attend to our compulsions Why don't you remind me soon with the gag reflex so you can help me quit? Exit . . Loneliness is a companion I’ve had for so long When it’s not there, I almost miss it, wonder where it is When I am not with anyone Like that constant companion of Pain Self – Dissolve. Self – Resolve. New waves of change, if only just the housing situation. Still haven’t found anyone to take our house over. But I’m already making plans for the Sunset house. Priorities are soundproofing and the installation of DSL.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
Moments when I can't believe my life is mine
A relief To be out of tight clothes, heels or platforms. To be wearing jeans and comfy shoes, no makeups. To be nondescript and unassuming. To revert back to a nerd-like self. sweats and t-shirts, tuna fish sandwiches and quesadillas. web surfing, blogging, elimidate. a dip in the hot tub which won't be mine anymore when i move back to the city at the end of the month. Mornings like this I can't believe that my same self might be a dominatrix. I started this journey to Domme-hood, one could say, sometime in January 2001, when I split off into the Dopamine Junkie, the embodiment of my sexual frustration and my vehicle for pursuing sensuality, Anais-Nin styles, with a sleeping Hugo at my side. Dope J spun off into the Little One, my first domina persona, born on Dec 25th, 2001, in a conversation on the phone with my best friend, Romeo , in a discussion about a possible screenplay I could write for him to film. I began domme research and bdsm research from that point forward. Then in March, as a culmination of web based research, interviews with my friend and Dope J v. 1.0 reader BT, I attended the Fetish Ball in his company, along with Mistress Yin , Senju and Nami. In late March, I posted my first ad on CL for submissives , much in the same way I first posted for the Dopamine Junkie in Jan 2001 . Click through for all the postings. And now in September is birthed Domina Jane Die. . . the strongest of us so far, but requiring the most energy. Her story is only just beginning. And who am I but a woman in fluid flux, navigating through my potential selves with nothing but the goal of maximum sentience in mind? This continuing evolution is a story I write myself, in which I cast the cinematic narcissistic eye upon myself, through a lens sharpened or clouded by the perceptions and projections of others in response to the face I put on. Thank you for the handful of you who have come along for the ride.
Lifetime in a Minute
Thursday, September 26, 2002
Corresponding with another Mistress
>>>> Tears at my desk this morning. . . [ an excerpt of a letter to another Mistress ] >>>> guess it's because part of me is so isolated and lonely and no one can relate in a way that offers adequate comfort reading the power of now - and i *am* being more conscious of being present in each moment what helps? enjoying the feeling of leather and silk stockings? enjoying the objectification which only further isolates me from feelings? as Common Sense says: "But I pimp from the heart, the art of it made it interestin" Well I suppose I should delve more deeply into the art, yes little bites and one foot in front of the other trying to not think of what I want from it or what it wants of me Because I don't want this to hurt my soul I only want to generate energy, be a conduit Discover myself through others' eyes but is that wise? You must have felt this way at one time A lonely domme syndrome perhaps at the start do i need to feel so isolated to ground myself firmly? I still sleep alone, though, wake up alone, no loving lover to bestow my heart upon Not that I have a whole one to give, anyway. This is not dating, not the same as dating The tie is tenuous and I could cut loose at any moment and that fear of dismissal is what keeps them but their absence might undermine my ego which I have to keep in check. Multiplicity for optimized lifestyle. I am a girl, a woman, a child and a Mistress and many things more I inhale and exhale and I feel whole, most of the time but I do wonder if I'll ever get a chance again to feel like _I want to be the one_ to serve someone out of love.
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Repression Pressure Cooker: desire flows only through my fingers to the keys
@ approximately 8.10 a.m. every morning I become inexplicably and strongly aroused perhaps it is the residue of a night of dreams I don't remember perhaps it is the morning air during this commute time I am powerless to fight it or sate it, the desire. I don't know why it is during this time when I feel the most feverish and wanting surrounded by humans and their energies I feel susceptible Some are On, some are Off The ones who are On are feeling themselves, feeling each other feeling the vibe, a beat, a rhythm Listening to music. Smiling at babies. If _he_ who is On find himself on the East Bay commuter train to the City, find me, because my Heart Light is ON. How lucky you would be then if you were that clever man who sits across from me in shared sentience Playing with telepathic images of gasping, writhing penetration? The window passes around 8.50 or whenever I arrive at the stop in the City, walking off my Berkeley train. The desire evaporates, the undulation within ceases and there really is no 8 a.m. lover.
in lieu of words
i behold my own multiplicity
how many am I unfamiliar what is notable in the arrangement of features so kindly donated by my kin? image with no content photoshop communion with myself narcissistic [ shrug ] when i'm lonely you see, i play with my selves with our faces. Last night the leather daddy is @ my home to take photos as per the original agreement i keep the gear if he photographs me in it for his fetish wear site i am barely civil he has cut his hair he tries hard, works hard but that's not the point, is it? while shooting he reaches into a leather pouch and hands me a large silver gun it's loaded, he says. point it at me. and so i do, my finger scrupulously off the trigger. but i take aim for his heart, his crotch, his head we put the gun away later on sarah tells me he said to her about me she had the chance to blow me away but she didn't death wish he has and he wants it done by a woman in leather and boots tonight feels heavy but there's nothing wrong for once, nothing wrong i've chosen my path and tonight, there's nothing wrong i'll crawl into my nest with my pillows flanking me a tshirt over my face to help me fall asleep and i'll dream of sweet things i hope dreaming of ideals, flying onto the ether unto the ether into the ether where i am sure i am complete and others are just travellers headed the same way everyone moving forward no one looking backward no separation anxiety or futile sympathy for those with slower pace or hardship storm cloud is passing through and with my third eye I will watch it pass push it along not let it rest inside me thinking melty thoughts milk chocolate waves skipping stones on a silent pool lavender oil hot tub healing hands to knead my body kisses breathing, inhaling, exhaling, skimming smooth skin with teeth sinking into consciousness
Monday, September 23, 2002
how can i be lonely when i'm complete in myself?
my own arms cannot wrap around me nor can my lips brush my own with infinite tenderness savoring the crush stinging with sweetness my tongue cannot duel and yield with itself ephemeral union is not the answer skin doesn't help my armor cannot withstand the tender gaze or whispered words nor can i look away from couples who kiss with wild abandon and smile at each other with their hearts in their eyes dominance is not the only thing that comprises my true nature i yield sweetly too.
Quietly I gather
Singing rehearsals and gigs, therapy, headaches and breathing. Notably absent sexual appetite at a time of the month it should be most voracious. This weekend, a wedding to sing at, and a spot at a caning/boot worship booth at the Folsom Street Fair. Infected with the Lonely Domme Syndrome a strain of the Lonely Heart syndrome with the Domme twist Despite the projected fantasy and the objectification and worship I still sleep alone And tonight I was rocked by a wave of loneliness the likes of which I have not felt in while the weakness I have not succumbed to in recent days but tonight it is keening. Only one person to call in this night my best friend, 3 hours ahead who picks up the phone anyway gives me some comfort promises someday when i least expect it someone will come into my life like a whirlwind and love will heal me again I don't know if I believe him But everyone, even the most hardened singles are finding their connection love is around me like an epidemic flourishing, breathing, inciting i had my vaccination we let the virus run its course in me so i could develop my own immunity my own resistance tears flowing are only manifestations of my weakness and inability to let go of the past the gig was good. i sang 2 songs only instead of three. monday night - domme pix. holding on to my heart, the dopamine junkie
Thursday, September 12, 2002
Stillness brings Peace
Despite all the activity of late, Burning Man, domming and subs, new friends and energies, the sense that I am defining myself by my actions as poly-inclined, I still need, want, one home for my heart, one embrace that feels like a permanent port It doesn't have to be for all times or exclusive or every night or every day I've been told by many that my embrace feels like home A friend told me, you'll only be satisfied by a "regular guy" meaning, not a submissive I *do* want someone with the attentiveness and commitment and intensity of a submissive but who can switch and be wicked enough to give me the spanking I need with love and passion helping me to understand my desire gaining my trust giving me space for my diaphragmatic breathing tenderness, so I can relax my guard against the prospect of pain who won't second guess me when I manifest evolution who doesn't need to knock me down or degrade me to feel big or dominant or secure In reaction to my dominance and strength I know all the things I seek in a partner, are traits which I have taken into myself manifested into myself in an effort to provide them for myself in an effort to be self-sufficient I am dissociating once more this time my mind from my consciousness as they are not the same gathering my energy field around me like a halo prepared and ready for anything moving only forward Being. Present. At all times. Flowing like water. My charged molecules vibrating although I hold myself in stillness I am not my emotions I will not control them I will only observe them these ingrained reactions I observe as the watcher within myself Inhale, exhale, let it run through me But I will not be host to it I will not feed it with my attention There is too much else to experience Like the stars and wind and fog Babies laughing Spiders spiding by My mind is a powerful tool But I shall not be a slave to its machinations With this I try to relinquish that need for love and Another I am completing myself by myself not with Another I am still attracted to sentience to awareness and lucid thoughts to minds that spin ideas and mouths that kiss softly, pressing against mine I want to enjoy the life I've been blessed with as much as I can I want to forgive as much as I want forgiveness I want to give as much as I am given I don't believe that desire causes suffering anymore I believe the mind causes it by its addiction to compulsive thinking and its need to process actions of others in terms relative to myself I believe that the mind's projection of the Ultimate Self is tainted by money, media and social programming And that sometimes I forget that I am not defined by money, media or social programming That's a disease my father has suffered from his whole life from which he will never be cured I am building my immunity to that disease and will find rich love and life in the smallest things And I thank those who have taught me to be thankful I will not succumb to this downswing which is fueled by negative emotions and hurt and confusion I will not succumb to depression no not this time and I won't use meds to fix me I can fix me The answers are all inside, always have been I'm not broken or hopeless or selfish Self affirmation on a Thursday Light cutting through the clutter
Friday, September 06, 2002
Full Report on the Way, but here's a tidbit. . .
Dopamine Junkie was a playa virgin. [ translation: I went to Burning Man for the first time ] it was intense, amazing, ephemeral. i had fun. i got BUCK wild. got nice and brown all over. debauchery, bacchanalia, sensual sensory overdose caught in a dust storm danced for my life every night all that jazz was naked or topless 75% of the time. best lsd trip ever, the night of the burn, perfect and i got right to the coals to watch the more tripped out hardcore pyromaniacs screaming and walking on the coals. weather awesome. got to take a plane ride above the playa. humans organizing themselves so well lots of people to play with made a few scenes inside and outside of the pink pussycat i was a boy, i was a girl, i was a top, i was a bottom i was a domme, a chanteuse, a dirty street kid with big eyes chomping on so much eye candy i stayed awake for 4 nights straight using self-hypnosis to trick my brain into thinking I'd had 8 hours of sleep and took cat naps in the heat of day, singing along to the strumming of a guitar. space cowboys, illuminaughty, hairy of the dog . . . good good dancing till i collapsed breathless drink water, dance some more flying across the playa on a bike serendipitous meetings propositioned for sex way too many times. someone gave me a brand new pocket rocket for a present! I met and broke in the infamous "sybian" which someone in my camp brought, before a large audience. psilocybin tea after dinner one night, vitamin e one night . . . fun but not crucial it's a trip just to be there. ate indian tacos on the way home. still decompressing. still hearing the sizzling of brain cells. still smell the alkali on everything still seeing the red hot coals there's wireless out there but i was so glad to be offline. choked on the glut of art, creativity, sensuality and heat. renewed my relationship to water, water GOOD. found the cleanest portapotties thank goodness and they were cleaned every morning. i must have run after that water truck more than 20 times. road around in art cars, one a giant sea slug the other a jellyfish must go again next year. how did i ever hold out this long? never wanted to be caught up in the hype of burning man but i'm thankful to be in on the secret, now. what a tribe of humans on this planet! i had conflict too, my escort left on sunday and i stayed till monday but not even his vibekilling attitude could dampen my good time for long i laughed and laughed and couldn't stop laughing. I've never seen so many stars, or the milky way so clearly. I looked out around the playa at night and there were just so many lights and lit up vehicles moving dreamily through the night but I looked up and the stars still won. . . . .More to come. . .
Friday, August 09, 2002
falter
I am trying to be honest and good and organized and centered and a channel of love but it's not easy when I falter. I am exploring why I need so much Animus, why I need to feed on power, use my dominant energies, why I still sleep alone, and wake alone, counting myself in and out of consciousness, elevator going ten floors up and ten floors down. Breathing deeply. Meanwhile the spiders are everywhere but thanks to the half hearted self hypnosis at the very least I don't scream or cry when I see them take over doorways and pathways and the entire garden. It's scary to be open, feel vulnerable when I allow others to touch me. But I need touch, you see, I need something to help me feel as if I am inside my body, to feel that my spirit and mind and heart and body are connected. In stillness and quiet I just watch as my body does not respond. Is it because my mind does not allow it? More specifically, is it my heart that disallows me to feel pleasure? Because the tether, however slack or invisible, that ties my heart to that of the Young Pyromaniac, chokes my libido, reins it in, for the hope that somehow this misguided sense of denial and loyalty means something, proves my heart true in loving him. [ Do I turn to others in reaction to this ostensible rejection? 50% yes. The other 50% is fueled by curiousity and insatiable appetite for seeking communion with sentient minds. ] But we love, and it is not time, and although I am sad, only movement will bring me to that future in which perhaps ... And Love, as I have learned, is not the Aim. It's a selfish pleasure like any other indulgence. My love is like water I want it to be Flowing and rushing and gently breaking waves never ceasing to ebb and flow no alpha no omega just that looping continuous sine wave refreshing drowning sometimes but I can float on the surface tension hope keeps Love buoyant
Here comes a big One
I have never been more fluid, more myselves. An open mind, a sense of balance, confidence and graceful time management facilitates many simultaneous lives. it is 11.43 pm on Thursday evening. Stig just left after giving me one of the most satisfying massages ever, quickly away to answer the beckon of his most favored human. Rebel hacker with a roving command center van and a brainful of the twisting problems of the universe. We hug quite a bit, energy sharing cuddle. He leaves. I have a sense of peace. One hour prior to Stig’s arrival, a new sub. Young, extremely tall, a wonderful slim hipped brown and smooth asian body. One of the first asian men I have seen fully nude. He’s afraid of spiders too but I still made him go through my back and front yard, knocking down webs with a broom, sweeping, and cutting back the trees and bushes while I either watched from my bedroom window or through a screen door and issued directions. He’s sweaty, and I don’t want to touch him. So I tell him to take a shower, and not to bother getting dressed. Down, I say, when he comes into the room wearing the towel around his waist. He’s very tall and I want him at my feet. I am wearing a leather skirt and thigh high stockings, a black satin corset top. Hair twisted into loose chignon with chopsticks. My living room is scattered with accoutrements. Kneel down, and I put my hand on the small of his back to guide him to bend further. His waist is so narrow, and the flare of his hips is like a woman and I have a flash image of him in a male corset to accentuate his already girlish figure. Black scarf to blindfold. His shaggy black hair falls into his eyes, inky against his brown skin. I am not used to brown skin, so like my own. (when I am tan) standard spreader rope cuffs behind his back, so I can pull them up and down. he’s spread wide open already from this position, I could easily penetrate him, and wished I could. . .he’d want it, too, and his tight and girlish ass awakens the rough Top Daddy Bear inside me. My homosexual Animus wanted very badly to pump him. I have never done that before. But I wanted to. I begin with a warm up, tingly tails, paddle to heat him up. Mixing the intense whacks with gentle caresses of my nails raking against his rising welts. Ass, inner thighs, then across his shoulder blades, where the cane cuts smartly into his smooth skin. What lovely welts, so puffy and proud. He likes NT so I twist him hard. He’s vocal, this one, gasps and moans and undulates in a feminine way, beautiful twisting as he absorbs each blow whets my sadist. More whipping, breathing together, it gets intense and I drop my tools and start marking him with healthy smacks of my open palm, caressing in intervals, ebb and flow, pain and pleasure so confusing! Later I am tired and I untie him, he wants to see my face. Foot/leg worship time while I sit back, drowsy. Foot worship always makes me drowsy. Silky stockings against the smoothness of his skin. He covers me in kisses, massages. An average massage, too much saliva. I keep him down on his knees, guide him with my feet. Dusk and it is dark in the house without any lights on. Quality of twilight dreams, we’re operating on sub conscious. He asks if he might worship my body and cover me in kisses. I nod assent, close my eyes, try to feel something. Strange intimacy with this person I hardly know but we’ve met here at this intersection of desires. Later, we rest and I hold his face my corset. Close my eyes and try to breathe, try to find his energy. We look directly into each others eyes. Chink to chink, ha. Intense look but is there anything there? He doesn’t know what he is yet, so I can’t find anything solid He asks if he can ejaculate. Where is your towel from the shower, I ask, use that. So I whisper into his ear that I am watching him as he strokes himself in front of me. Where do you want me to cum, he asks, panting. On your tummy, I say. He holds his other hand over his cock and the force of his cum shoots onto his hand and pools on his tummy. It is long and copious. I watch, interested, as in a bug crawling through the grass. Or a sunflower or a cactus flowering. Meditative. Before he arrived I was a mess. The boy I love, the only one who can make me feel anything inside my guarded heart, I missed him. I’d looked at my last few months’ calendar and seen that we had spent less than 4 days together in the month of July. And this month, his birthday, and though I’d asked him for time I think over 3 weeks ago, he had no time around the day for me to celebrate with him. Me, his alleged “best friend”. I had a brief fit of despair and was crying as I talked to him on the phone. I just had a jag, it passed. I’ve been spending time with so many men lately, but it’s rare that I feel fully present. Not so with Pyro. With him my whole being, and all of my selves, we wiggle in tail wagging happiness to see him. And if my other selves were a pet, the Pet Psychic would say, “they want to let you know they like Pyro and they would like him to stay around.” But as he reminds me and as I know inside, Timing is everything. And now is not Our time. Now is the time for us both to be like water, to love each other enough to grow apart. Now is the time to let go of the need for love. Now is the time for me to be open and trusting and adventurous and free. Now is the time for me to be meditative and mindful, aware and in the moment, centered and grounded. My roommate Sarah said, Channel that into your slave! But I am aware that I can only channel my energy into what I do with him, not into him. I’m more responsible than to use my slave a dumping ground for negative energy. Earlier I met with Courtenay at the SFMOMA. I took her into see the Yoko Ono exhibit, courtesy of the Connoisseur, who had given me the free tix when I had lunch with him earlier that day. He’s thoughtful like that. Oh Thursday. The night before I fell asleep after speaking with Shy Texan, who was telling me why he wanted to be a sub for me although he wouldn’t explore submission on his own. I was concerned about that as I feel it’s a decision that should be made according to one’s own desires, not because you’re a guy and the girl you like is into it so you want to do it too so you can hang around her more. Right? I just asked him to think about his motivations, because I didn’t want the responsibility of leading him down a path where I could turn, myself, at any moment. Previous to this phone call I spent time with a leather daddy, Master B, in San Anselmo where we got dinner (he got stung by a wasp at dinner), took a hot tub (relaxing, he is a CMT, sufi, leather buddhist, amongst a smorgasbord of things), he did some body work on me and in the tub my slippery small body was very tiny compared to his. He hugged on me quite a bit too. I watched him as he touched me. I allowed him to kiss my breast, and just looked down on him as he did it. I’m watching you like you’re a bug, I said. Just observing. I don’t feel anything at all. Wow, you’re really disconnected from your body, huh? he said. Yeah, I said. I’m also chronically anhedonic. What’s that? I have an inability to experience pleasure, at least first hand. That’s common for dommes, and women of your heritage. . . geisha girls, you know, so detached. I am fully aware of my own objectification, I say. And where do you, big white man, get off on telling me what my fucking heritage is? I’m not even Japanese! He laughs. He is a quite a devil. But I did think to myself, it’s true, but not just for asian women. Passivity, detachment during sex, I think that’s a common thing. Unless we participate in our own objectification, we deny ourselves of a certain power we inherit from centuries-developed gender casting, and the use of that power to pleasure. I’m still learning it. We go to a cobbler's house/workshop, a man of indeterminate age but youthful vitality - John. He is a master craftsman bootmaker and he is wearing a leather apron and a sleeveless shirt that displays his corded arms. Beautiful arm muscles. I try on some boots, he measures my foot for a pair of custom boots. Master B is smelling the leather, walking around. He brings in some clothes and a pair of thigh high 5 inch stiletto corset boots, which he procedes to lace on me ( I have to take my jeans off to do this ) as a good sub should, tight with neat lacing. It takes a while, but that’s part of the scene, he says. A sub is supposed help dress his Mistress and lace her up, attend her. He helps me up and I can barely walk. He likes it, a boot fetishist himself. A leather corset top leaves my breasts bare and proudly displayed. We show John, the bootmaker. Hot, he says. You are hot. I’m walking stiffly, my ass pushed up by 5 inch stilettos, and I’m cinched by a corset that constricts my waist and pushes up my exposed tits. Yeah, this image itself could provoke a strong reaction in a man. Inhale, exhale. Corsets rein in the power. Sigh. Tuesday I met with RCWinkly, a dj friend of my ex housemates (Joint Effort ) . We listened to some music, hit a few bowls, laughed. He has long curly eyelashes, an amazingly organized bachelor’s apartment, and a friendly, non threatening energy. He made me a CD of some musix, and my homewerk is to write some lyrics and melodies for them, to add vox. Meditated on the BART and almost missed my stop. Monday with the Pyromaniac and he couldn’t stay. Breaks me off, helps me with my computer, we get dinner and cuddle until he has to leave. I resist the urge to cling to him, to love against him with my whole self. And I cry inside because I’m not supposed to, allowed to, shouldn’t. My most favored human and I’m locked out of loving him by time and our personal journeys of growth. We love, though. Just can’t be on lockdown. Mantra: Be like water, be like water, flow like water. . . inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, We were going to get BBQ but were denied. It’s Monday. We eat salads and sandwiches at Intermezzo instead. He brought me a CD ROM drive which I have used to remove all my pr0n from my hard drive to expel myself of its filthy and mind rotting influence. I will place it in a sealed envelope with all my other printed pr0n. I will not touch it, break the seal. That is a good step for me to getting my synapses back to firing when they should during sex. Last weekend I spent meeting with one of the most tenacious readers of Dopamine Junkie. He’s a shy Texan who is coming out of his shell, too. One of the kindest, most polite and well bred people I have ever known. I couldn't decide which of me should meet him, he seemed interested in us all - Dopamine Junkie, the Little One, just the infintesimal me. He arrived at the French Hotel and called me as per my instructions. I said, are you hungry? Let's go eat. I wanted him to feel comfortable. However when I got to his room at the French Hotel and he opens the door, looking shyly at me, full of nervous energy, I do not speak but walk into the room to drop my purse onto the bed. Down, I said. He was confused. Down and I motion with my hand that he should kneel. He kneels and awaits orders. I want to calm his energy, observe him. Slip the blindfold over his eyes. Use thin leather strips to tie his hands behind his back. Use my belt to tie his ankles. When he is immobilized and silent, I pull up a chair right in front of him, place my foot on his body and just observe him quietly. He's trying to relax but the corners of his mouth tug upwards into a smile. Something funny? I ask. I'm excited, he says. I retrieve from my purse a stinging whip and a paddle. I place my face close to his and start to unbutton his shirt. I watch his adams apple bob as he swallows. I pull down his shirt to expose his back and chest. Pierced nipples - he said he'd done those himself. Makes me raise an eyebrow. Moving the chair behind him I position myself so I can leisurely whip his back. I am premenstrual and decided to make myself feel better by giving him a nice beating. I am conversational as I whip him, watching the small welts rise on his back, then on his chest as I aim for his nipples. -You know, ( thwap) it really sucks because I don't know when I'm supposed to get my period. (smack smack) I used to get in on the 15th, and this month when the hell will I get it? I don't know but I can feel myself ovulating. . . ( I got it on the 6th - so I am moving to her cycle ) He's smiling, which is sweet but hardly appropriate. As he smiles he tries to fight it. Just smile and be done with it, I say. And I let him smile and then crack my open palm against his face. He smiles more. It's funny, huh, I say? And I slap him hard on the face a few more times. . . Wait till he settles down Then I take down his pants. And his boxer shorts. His smile fades a bit as he is exposed. . . Time to beat his ass. And I do, and welts rise and he becomes very sensitive. I see he cannot take any more. I also see that he is not sexually excited by this beating, so he's no masochist... So I untie his wrists and ankles, let him sit up. I sit back in my chair and then take off the blindfold. His eyes blink open, focus on me. He smiles. I just watch him. Hello I smile, we laugh. I'm hungry so we go to Gregoire Restaurant, my new favorite, since Gregoire and I chat amiably in French, and he teases me about who this guy with me is. . . The rest of the weekend I am not the Little One. I'm just me, and we are companionable and sweet. The transition from dominatrix to dopamine junkie to just me is easy, fluid, and as the sunlight fades the world seems at peace, natural. One foot in front of the other, just keep moving.
Monday, July 15, 2002
She's groggy, but she's waking up
She's a little groggy and a little grouchy but she pulled through alright I guess Time for her to rub her eyes clean the filters . . . .so she can see Love is clean again.. DJ needs love seeks intimacy filled with longing hates to watch couples hand in hand how do they do it how long will they last does it matter? It's the time of weather and romantic movies lazy afternoon naps It should be time for kissing on a corner unashamed proud of our lust It's that time. As the song goes sadly though, They're writing songs of love, but not for me. A lucky star's above, but not for me. . . Although I can't dismiss the memory of his kiss, I guess he's not for me. It's not time for me to be in love although I'm finally awake and thawed out enough that I miss the sensation For now it is not an option I suppose I have to be strong and independent and whatever Focus on self improvement Seek love, companionship, cuddle and intimacy through alternatives. Compartmentalization again. No love story for me. No passion and no poetry and no sweetness in the morning or night. Turn on the Animus. Activate my Chismo. Stoic like a man - and passive aggressive like a neglected woman. Can't be sweet. Can't be soft. Must learn to be alone without bitterness or cynicism. Must learn to let go graciously of dreams. I've been loved before, I've fallen in love I've stayed up and woken up early to watch my lover sleep and woken to a lover's eyes on me while I slept too. Hide behind words, behind courtesy. Carefully crafted communication which do not betray the ache and despair Instead I'm cool and poised and loneliness does not matter anymore.
Wednesday, July 10, 2002
Lock into the Field
i'm getting closer to being in the field. clearing space around me i suppose to allow things to come my way means a little bit thinning out of the ranks i'm not the only one letting go. i'm being let go and I can feel it, the movement of my body away from another. I have this strange feeling of deja vu as if I've been here before at this place at a standstill because I didn't pass before I chose wrongly before and I'm being given a chance to choose differently or be condemned to repeat the same mistakes. am I a fatalist? If I were, that would mean that I didn't think I could or should change the patterns of behavior. but am I a fatalist if I believe that patterns or cycles cannot be manipulated or calculated to a different outcome? a tron-like grid is how i visualize space now and time now. goal is in the center but there are all these little detractors if i isolate them dissociate them contain them and throw them in their proper feng shui space i can clear the path with my mind but this, this will take immense concentration and a true selfishness that is not negative but simply focused on actualization of my own being creating a field of energy around me which by its matter draws others near with its gravitational pull sigh. choose right. navigate wisely. no distractions Independence Day I took a walk and went to a movie with my housemate and a friend. The walk was beautiful in the Berkeley Hills, all this color and floral scent green, sunshine Activated my allergies Headache, sneezing, watery eyes I did not watch fireworks I did not go to a party Instead I celebrated my true Independence with solitude and watching the Britney Spears live in Las Vegas show on HBO God bless America, right? My world is more full of women and meeting lovely women all the time my animus, my chismo stirs I wonder about the fluidity of my sexuality again Wanting a female to use her animus on me Knowing firsthand the cage and how to pick the locks Sleeping with a girlfriend is just as nice with spoons Do I turn this way to escape the Ache again? Reaching out to find the lover, the beloved Boy or Girl It escapes my control sometimes, the Ache I cannot always keep it hidden Sometimes it gets so big at night that the rest of me wakes helpless I'm making efforts to be pretty more often At least I can look good if I feel lonely Approbation from strangers validates my existence I admit, sometimes I need it When I feel undesirable At least, the mask of coolness and sensuality Cloak of poise and quiet I tell myself, clear! Stay in the Field. Arms akimbo. Legs braced for balance through turbulence. Shields up again. Engage vibekilling firewalls. I'm too sensitive now, too tender and easily broken down. So I will wrap myself around me tight I have almost a routine now at home. My therapy exercises, walk up to the Rose Garden to read as the sun sets. A small dinner, more exercises, grooming, cleaning. My housemate has lived alone for some time. She is a good influence on me, and she says I am good for her too. Elimidate from 11 - midnight. Take my pain/sleep pill and vitamin assortment. Slide nekkid into my nest. Wake at 6.30, sleep till 7.00 Juice, breakfast bowl, groom, go. Sleep on BART and the day begins. Work then therapy and the routine takes hold. A few projects, girlfriends. One slave a weekend to affirm my dominant nature. Trying not to focus on love, what I want of it, what it wants of me. Wearing pearl earrings and a pearl necklace my grandmother gave me today. I feel grown-up. More inside than out. Because I'm tired of being a girl slave girl to my own programming guilty girl for asking for what I want slave girl to Love fantasy girl to some good girl to family Time to implement Ayn's altruism, Anais' multiplicity, Joseph's journey of the hero, Hermann's hermetic circle where magic is born, Nietzsche's will to power, Jung's Animus, and Zen Mindfulness. Soup Soup Soup. I love to make Philosophy Soup.
Wednesday, July 03, 2002
Tanka for a friend
in re: stuff my rsi's necessitate brevity ltd time on the keyboard succinct replies my personal definition of succinct: brief but still juicy like afternoon quickie therapy = 40% of time/energy ot = hands pt = back/neck/shoulders myofascial release = body work/pain release deep tissue massage = body work/pain release acupuncture = stress, pain Now I work "part time" means my salary cut in half yikes workers comp pays slow and low sux hard to work on novel, write argh. poor hands. so little notebooks again and my script but it hurts to write with pen even Literally: I've lost my grip. (my hands are weak) Figuratively: I'm loosening my grip. (forcing my body to release pain) Berkeley Hills is nice Very green, trees I live by rose garden and concrete slide where maximum velocity is reached by reducing friction with sand says a little boy Full of spiders tho constant terror that few people fathom everywhere/Everywhere! All their eyes, watching. I try to be good respect life but I've been terrified since I was small grown exponentially with age esp. because I'm more free about my eccentricities irrationalities I'm single and it's nice bed to myself sleeping in an X with my specially molded arm splints ( medical fetish!! ) but for sweetness in the night sweet in the a.m. seek different intimacies for now I mean, that's what I can allow Nothing fancy, but see here if compelled to click http://www.geocities.com/littleone_domme/ Start there. Click through. A subtext of the meta story. [ insert shrug here, exhalation of smoke ]
Wednesday, June 26, 2002
Desire climbs to Apogee
I've been emotionally needy lately but I haven't been telling anyone about it really. No one has time to be leaned on, anyway. neediness stems from physical pain. and the release of pain. all the pt's and the mt's tell me I need to let go. Why can't I let go? i cry all the time in therapy they tell me it's natural when releasing pent up energy "emotional storehousing" all the feelings tied up in muscled knots of fascia and blocked blood it hurts but I breathe through the pain as best I can and try to let it go. it hurts on the inside, but therapy only provides topical release. but i need inside therapy too. of my heart. and some comfort. no, not some, a lot. for my rsi's, i'm going to 5 kinds of therapy. i need sex therapy. someone to massage me out whisper and coax smoove me out get the mantra in my head release let go release let go give it up give it to me let me take it put the blindfold on me so I can let go release release i'm all pent up inside again and sublimating is poisoning me blocking the flow of my ch'i Thanatos leave me alone Eros save me. Look at where/who/what I was (thinking) last year .
Thursday, June 20, 2002
blue front analysis
can you tell the sexual frustration is causing this depression? Sublimation of basic needs and desires is baaad news, y'all.
Blue Tanka
> engage blue front blue front engaged > already several lay in waste > caught in the lash of cutting text > words to the core saying what i mean knowing what i mean > sword like thoughts unforgiving pointed barbed > smokescreen against hurt enforcing loneliness i already feel. > provoking response to feel something all this contact going around but no feeling just passing through. > words are a gift florid, verbose, sophistry > but to be succinct reticent, monosyllabic stingy then you don't know my thoughts because you don't have enough care to deserve them. > i'm alienating everyone because i want to be chosen not a default not a burden or obligation i want to be the chosen pokemon pikachu evolving into raichu "Pikachu is often described as everyone's favourite Pokemon. Pikachu uses electric attacks that come from electricity stored in his cheeks. With training Pikachu evolves to become Raichu but it is in the Pikachu stage that he is the cutest." > And cute power is very very strong. Ask the Japanese. Pikachu's attacks are called "thundershocks", fyi.
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
ISO a Hermetic Circle
Close ranks and form a Hermetic Circle. Magic mandala, a tight knit entourage. Combine powers to make a magic. No, I'm not a witch. Just looking for powerful minds to lock into. Too many friends take for granted the power of friendship and agape love. I can't abide weakness anymore because it reminds me of the Self I loathe, and the Self I am trying to metamorphose from. And I feel the power draining away, wasted on empty voids who do not replenish energy. I can't afford this. Not when I'm just unlocking so many doors. Not when I cannot look upon the fear of women's faces, that sad desperation of commiting their lives and time to men who disempower them. "That'll never be me, that'll never be me - never never ever don't you even think it." - Lili Taylor, Say Anything Wish they were my friends: Hesse and Jung whoatrip out. iso hesse's hermetic circle harvest rain oh hesse Nietzsche and Wagner Nietzsche and Wagner >>> From a friend: "A friend should be a master at guessing and keeping still; you must not want to see everything. Your dream should betray to you what your friend does while awake." "Compassion for the friend should conceal itself under a hard shell, and you should break a tooth on it. That way it will have delicacy and sweetness." Thus Spake Zarathustra, Pt I, Nietzsche >>> L'amour—this saying remains true among gods and men—est de tous les sentiments le plus égoïste, et par conséquent, lorsqu'il est blessé, le moins généreux. (B. Constant.) [Love is of all sentiments the most egoistic, and, as a consequence, when it is wounded, the least generous.]
Friday, June 14, 2002
When the wave never crests
In a semi tantric style I try to rechannel the energy into some different catharsis Usually tears Breaking onto a shore a wave that never crests words words words they tumble my locks each one is a key unlocking my box closing my eyes to sight opening my other eyes my favorite stimulus provoking inspiring jumble and confusion I can't trust myself anymore to know what I want to do what I need to do to take risks of let my chance go by wrist pinned against the wall body pressed between my thighs windows of opportunity pass and sometimes never return but a leisurely mating dance can result in an indelible burn my form is small encased in ether snugly fitting like invisible leather It's hard to be soft when I'm on my own I can't afford to be soft or to feel lonely but how the lack of belonging to an Us haunts and preoccupies me I try to shake it off LTR junkie going through withdrawals The ache that persists is more a void a ghost limb or something an empty space where once I built out a room to share my heart then I cleft that worser half in twain threw it away and all I have is this barren and vacant room that resists entrance and yet seems to always be placing ads for a new tenant. The limited use I have of my hands forces me to be succinct I say what I mean and each word is full of everything.
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