Dope J has moved to a new URL

I can't look at this anymore, I need to start fresh.
E-me if you still read me, for the new URL.

Peace out, dope j
_end of line_

Storytelling

I have so many new stories to tell.
They sound better when I can tell them live.
You'd see the animation, the change in characters, the sweeping emotion of all these past few weeks of
newest exploration. Do I have an audience - do I need one?

I love my new whips. I like to use them on whomever walks by.

I struggle every day with the new identity of the Little One.
I wake up wondering if I should just abandon it all, because I can't go through with it.
Why not?

Maybe I don't have the stamina.
Or the imagination.
Or the balls.
Or the nerve.
Or maybe I'm not worth what I say I'm worth.
Who am I to make such stringent demands of anyone?

But wait, I think.
If I wanted to compromise I'd lick the vanilla.
And I'm not even one of those militant Female Supremacy FemDoms that
I've come across in my research of Dominas and Mistresses.
I'm just still here, an infintesimalme, trying some new form of interaction, intimacy and therapy.
Hopefully looking to have some fun, too.

Hoping that with the Little One's confidence, demands and audacity
I will learn again to love myself, to realize my worth, and to exorcise some bad passive aggressive habits
and nagging demons of self loathing.

Don't you see? Little One exists to kill the monster of self-doubt within me!

ache

peeling layers of old shell
leaves me exposed of nerve

i turn away and turn away again
the gates close locking the girl desperate for love, inside.
i put her there. for her own good.

perhaps while she's locked up she'll learn a thing or two
from the Little One.
And in her silence and seclusion she will brood and pout
but ultimately, things will become more clear.

Hi there.
I am lonely but I have made myself alone.
Perhaps because that is what I need, on a subconscious level (actually what level are we on now?)
I know that I cannot be "together" with anyone

And if this is my fate - to love men who are either not ready for me, or who I'm not ready for -
to love them and then hit that glass ceiling - my intimacy limit - I'll be lucky to have been loved
but perhaps I'll always be alone.

Maybe this is why I do not mind the companionship of a 'sexual deviant' whose most seething desires
leave him isolated and lonely.

I am objectifying myself again.
Distancing myself from real love.
I had no idea I was this hurt, this afraid to be hurt again.
I had no idea that my wounds were still bleeding and my heart was still sore
Probably because you can't really feel when you're numb.
And now, am I thawing out again?
Is the new blood replacing the old blood?

my moods have been erratic lately.
i get the domme rush when masterminding devious Little One activities and communications.
At my desk during the day however I am overcome with a sense of ennui.
Ha, more ennui.
within my personal relationships . . .well I'm not even having sex anymore.

is there true intimacy without penetration? sounds like one of those bullshit lines
from sex and the city.

i don't really know where I'm going or what I'm doing.
And sometimes I get depressed about it when I think that
perhaps I'm making a mistake.

But on the other hand, I know exactly what I'm doing.
I'm following instinct through the darkness and trust
myself enough to follow where my own interests lead.

OsciLLATing WavE.

I ache today with a keening tenderness I can't explain.
I can't blame it on the moon, either.
I'm sad and lonely - in the cage I've put myself in.

Always caging myself, always turning my face away.
The world of bdsm doesn't scare me.
Being in love does. Being a girlfriend does.
Commitment does.
Giving my heart away terrifies me.

Oh Pobrecita, che lastima! I cry for you!
Ha. I'm trying to cut down to one self defeating, self loathing
session a week. Get it all out in one session.
Then try to pull my shit together.

My new riding crop is my fetish item.
Fetish in that I feel it gives me magic powers.
Like Dumbo holding on to that Magic Feather to fly.

Change comes on quick

The change in me is noticeable.
I am more direct, more forthright, more unapologetically imperative.
I must guard myself. Perhaps I seem more imperious and impatient.

I bought 2 new whips and have been using them on any willing flesh
that presents itself to me.
Ooh, I like it, I like it.

Some people aren't going to like this.
The fact that perhaps I am not as accomodating, acquiescent, affable as before.
I am so far away from Wifey Me, from the awful pit of self-denial and self-deprecation
that mired me in my relationship with Hugo.

Will I be able to pull this off, I think?
Having "slaves" of my own?
Finally asserting myself over these alpha males.

I do not want to bend anymore, to yield.
Instead I wish to be the one who is yielded to.

I am fashioning a syllabus for my exercise that each Postulant must meticulously follow.
If not obeyed to the letter, I will simply dismiss.
There are more in the queue. I will glean for the most faithful, the most subserviant,
the ones who will actively strive to please and dedicate themselves to my whim.

I will still be like water, be not too proud or loud.
I must not show my truest strength until it serves me best.

For you who are left, dear reader(s), email me for the Little One's blog URL, if you are interested.

The Little One has waked and has posted an ad for submissives where DJ was born

First, a brief sorbet of my latest Photoshop/Hentai works for your amusement.
Second, I'm not dead and I'm not depressed (today) but I have been overwhelmed, in a good way, by lively activities.
Thirdly, my hands and wrists have been hurting a lot lately, so I've been very seldom at the keyboard.

A new experiment is afoot, and a storm of soup is brewing.
The content must be transcribed and arranged from assorted envelopes and tiny notebooks.

My hands hurt again.

Always a new incarnation, and now I'm not waiting anymore for any man or woman to activate or help me.
I'm simply going to follow the instincts of a born dominant woman and do what I like.
I will be cautious, careful and unapologetic about my whims.
Now I'll prove to myself just how strong the force of my will is.
And how attractive is the power inside me to others who wish to submit to it.

After 2 days or so posted I have been inundated with responses from men wishing
to submit to my dominance. Some don't know how to respond to a Domina, and think that this
experiment is just some kink to vanilla. Wrong. They don't get answers. They aren't worthy.

Then the real players come out, addressing me already as a proper pronoun.
Seeking heat.

My imagination is blazing with plans and terms and limits and schemes and scenarios.

What do I want? I have to ask myself.
Because all I need to do is ask.
And to the faithful, the willing and the most responsive
flows the grace of my voice and smile.
Pleasure/Displeasure.

This experience will have no sexual contact or nudity on my part.
Which is fine because my libido is on the wane again.

Status report to follow upon further development.
And yes, the Dopamine Junkie is now officially out of the cocoon
and the Butterfly we shall call The Little One.

Picking at the scabs of my last LTR

The moment of most despair
was when I stopped wondering, or caring, what Hugo thought about me.
I remember once on the way to his family's home for the holidays,
that we'd fought before, leaving our apt.
He drove and we sat in hurt and angry silence
from Oakland to the Interstate 5.
I sat beside him, pleading with silence,
beseeching looks and telepathy.

But his mind was closed to me.
We'd stopped looking each other in the eyes
months before.
When he would try to deliberately express
his disdain for a topic, he'd fall silent,
all dissociative glance and lip smacking yawns.
Whenever he did that, it was the sign that
he had begun to shut down.
How I loathed him in those moments, and myself.
Disgusted with myself for pleading, being meak and
appeasing, for wheedling, my pride would assert itself against
the debasement. Then, @ first sign of his withdrawal,
I too, would shut myself down.

All we'd wanted before was to animate and empower each other.

Instead we spent months as 2 indifferent ghosts haunting the same space.
Deanimated.

We lost our look of love.

You know that look?
I think it's exemplified well in the movie
Some Kind of Wonderful.

At the end of the movie, where Watts (mary stuart masterson)
is walking away from the car, crying, and eric stoltz has
just gotten the earrings back from amanda jones (lea thompson)
and he's running after Watts, yelling her name
and she wipes her tears away and slowly turns around
and the look on her face is proud and naked, so repressed
and yet in love that her shining eyes and trembling bravado
give her heart away.

It's All About You, but it's also All About Me

the teats of february have been milked
sweet cream of love spurted directly into my mouth
overflowing
choking
splattered with care
Bukkake-styles.

- dj 03.04.02

it's all about you tonight
(because most of the time it's all about me)

if we could just all cheerfully admit
that for each of us,
it's all about ourselves
we would get along much better

you wouldn't feel unappreciated
because in almost every situation
you would be constantly seeking appreciation, attention and affirmation
aggressively, but not at least not passive aggressively

the passive aggressive feels that he or she must not ask for props
but rather, awaits them to be lavished upon them
they run the risk of having a long time to wait
because for everyone else it's all about them
alas.

but no, it's all about you tonight
and everything *you* might want to know
if you're missing my heat
then so am I
and that's because there's not as much
FRICTION generating HEAT
and that's because I'm not straining against any . . . restraints

I'm free. And if ever my wish was to be beloved
then my wish has come true many times over

Last month I celebrated my birthday almost every day
with a kind thought, gift or card
some even gifted me with Time
and I did not feel the lack for someone to be
constantly at my side
to keep my body warm in the night
so awash was I in good feelings

Those were the good days of February
Not to say there weren't any bad days,
because there were, inevitably
because my sine waves are restless to oscillate
and the fermata of lovely times had to end sometime
Besides it felt weird, alien, to feel so happy.

Epiphanies:
(although that seems to connote something inspiring, uplifting and light,
and this one was of the heavy, deep-sigh kind)

- Left to my own company I am apt to brood and sigh deeply, overanalyzing
every situation and relationship in my life until I am inevitably
overcome with a sense that somewhere, DRAMA must exist.
- I need sunlight, fresh air, and a lot of constant attention to feel
good about myself. Yuck.
- I push away people who are closest to my heart, when I feel them getting
too close, because I have a semi-irrational terror of being hurt.
- I'm over Hugo, but I'm not over the relationship. The scars are still there.

>
Being shell-conscious myself, I do not love a person for their shell.
This doesn't mean I like beer gut mullet-headed trolls,
but I believe that the content is always more important, and beautiful,
complex sentience is the light that permeates skin and transforms features into beauty and character.
I think badly of myself, and I know that I cringe in fear of being hurt,
so much so that I push away love when it comes to seek me out.
It is a yucky pattern.
But once I flew so high in love, in the clouds, and I gave up my power and my pearl
to give all my strength to the man I wanted to empower,
so he would love me, so he would love me and want me, to keep me, forever.
I know I'm not the first. But love burned me up.
And from those lofty heights I hurtled to the ground where I lay in broken pieces.
I'm putting myself back together now, the love of other men and friends
helping me glue my shattered ego and self back together.
But the love I had for myself is what I need to get back.
Because until then I will still cringe, I am still handshy and so deeply,
deeply afraid of being abandoned,
of experiencing cruelty,
of being turned away from in the night.
Of feeling my own power and beauty drained from me
and never replenished by the love I sought to gain in return.

There's the pulsing, glowing, trembling hurt of me.
That causes me to be such a bitch and a prickly pear on the outside.
That's why I'm so erratic.
Because I want to be fearless and vulnerable again.
But it's hard, it's so hard. I am still on the mend.
>

But here I am, talking about me again, when it's all about you.
It's all about you tonight.
Anything you want to say or ask?
Cherry Popper was so sadly right.
I don't want to be forgotten, and I don't want to be insignificant.
But on what grounds do I have significance to anyone?
It's all about you tonight, and I feel as if I can only respond
to what stimulus is given me.
But our lives are all the same, uninteresting to others
We've all got our own agendas and self-interest.
Which is why I believe so many readers dropped off
when it seemed to them I wasn't some desperate woman
writhing in fantasy, aching for the stroke of some golden and enchanted penis.

Looking Back at this past month.
Dining Out on the hours spent in warm sweet company
I started to feel beautiful again maybe.

For one month let me be big
And the rest of the time I'll just be small.
Small as I am, matter upon dark matter
compressed and compact
a lot of stuff occupying an infintesimal grain of space

but when does the conversation turn to how it's all about you?

wherever Hugo is tonight, I hope his new co-ed dating friend
is giving him the blowjob of his life.
I hope they're having spectacular, carefree, hot nasty satisfying sessions
all tangled up and twisted and humping at each other.
I wish I could see it, actually.
I think it would turn me on.
But I am sure, deadly sure that I don't want to ever have
"sexy-sex" again.

With him, I willingly resign my sexual powers.
He never wanted them anyway.

Is there a difference between believing in oneself
and narcissicm?
To be happy, and successful (not financially)
Does not one need to learn to be at ease and at peace
with the pursuit of one's own selfish desires?
And can this belief in oneself
be not perceived with disgust or disdain
rather, self confidence?

Sorry for the ramble
But somewhere in the course of this story
I've lost my nerve
and now feel so ashamed and apologetic
but at the same time, NOT sorry.

Just trying to reconcile my guilt.
I shake my fists to the sky
"from whence came you, guilt?
what foul thing made you?"

I'll ramble on tomorrow.
I just wanted to get some flow going.
Nothing special, just me.

_end of line_

digital trail

Digital Girly: Natasha . . .
Slave Journal
Arty Pix of Nekkid Chicks
First Kisses
Gallery of Misused Quotation Marks: For us Nerds who laugh at this stuff.
Yeah, who wants pictures of former teen star Tiffany in the nude?

Give me Some Morse

.- / ... -.-. .-. .. -... -... .-.. .. -. --. / --- ..-. / -- .. -. . / .-- .... .. .-.. . / .-. .. -.. .. -. --. / - .... . / -- ..- -. .. / - .... .. ... / -- --- .-. -. .. -. --. .-.-.- / .-- .... .- - / -- .- -. / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. -. .----. - / .-- .- -. - / - --- / ..-. .. -. -.. / .- / .-- --- -- .- -. / .. -. / .... .. ... / .-. --- --- -- --..-- / --- -. / .... .. ... / -... . -.. --..-- / -... .-.. .. -. -.. ..-. --- .-.. -.. . -.. / .- -. -.. / -... --- ..- -. -.. --..-- / .... . .-.. .--. .-.. . ... ... / .- -. -.. / .- -.-. --.- ..- .. . ... -.-. . -. - ..--..

.-- .... .- - / .-- --- -- .- -. / .-- --- ..- .-.. -.. -. .----. - / .-- .- -. - / - .... . / ..-. .-. . . -.. --- -- / - --- / ... ..- -... -- .. - / - --- / .... . .-. / -... --- -.. -.-- .----. ... / .-. . ... .--. --- -. ... . ... --..-- / .-. . .-.. .. -. --.- ..- .. ... .... .. -. --. / - .... . / -.-. .... --- .. -.-. . / - --- / .-. . ... .. ... - / --- .-. / -.-- .. . .-.. -.. / - --- / - .... . / -... --- -. -.. .- --. . / - .... .- - / .-.. .. -- .. - ... / .... . .-. / ... .. --. .... - / .- -. -.. / .- ..- - --- -. --- -- -.-- ..--.. / - .. . / -- . / ..- .--. / - --- / ... . - / -- . / ..-. .-. . . .-.-.-

Non Sequiturs

from weds night
In the absence of profundity. . . .

Yesterday on my way to work I almost stepped on an earthworm that was making its way across the sidewalk.
I scooted a little to help it get the the small patch of grass.
Not much grass in the City front yards. Not many yards.
"Poor annelid," I thought, "I almost squashed you."

Yesterday on my way to work I thought about having a new kind of Collections service, kind of a spin-off on the Catholic Church.
We could call it Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy Collections service, and we could have Nuns/Priests holding telephone confessionals,
and also setting up payment plans with devout Catholics who have bad credit.

Last night I was supposed to go to dinner with an old friend who wanted to take me out for my bday.
He had to work unexpectedly so he cancelled. I went to Osento by myself and soaked in the hot tub and had a
short 30 min massage to work out the massive tension knot in my right wing.
There were many women there all nekkid and steaming, and some of the bodies reminded me of the Venus of Willendorf

There are a lot of different body types out there, I thought.
And in the nude, they're all beautiful.
It's just when they're covered up in ill fitting clothing that they become obscured.
I think women should all be dressed in loose flowing tunics and such.
Those compliment every kind of body.

Gnarly Bender

Short report on its way of the past few weeks of birthday celebration.
Must collect thoughts and corral remaining brain cells to form coherent word chain.
The pictures and thoughts in my mind are sullied and confined by our language.

If you want to know who/where I am now, I have posted a photo of my current state
on the front page of the Geocities site.

Back soon.

The Drama Wanted Me.

On the night of my twenty-seventh birthday
02.13.02


he and I were sposed to go out tonight
but instead we got into a fight
because the dsl service guy was taking longer than expected
and he felt that his plans were being disrespected
and then i told him maybe he should leave and then he left
and I'm sitting alone, furious and bereft

Of course I tried to be placating
but to do this on MY BIRTHDAY was infuriating
that I should have to be ingratiating
Because we'd be late for his reservation for 2
I couldn't leave and didn't know what to do

With each passing minute he fumed
I kept my cool, or at least pretended
but I was really starting to get offended

He wanted me to tell the DSL guy to get moving
but I'd done this already, without being rude
I'm not going to be a bitch to some unsuspecting Dude

I tried to be reasonable with effort bionic
but quickly I descended into histrionics
"don't touch me!" "maybe you'd better go"
A maelstrom pulling me into its flow

We pushed and we pulled and we both held our pouts
but he seemed to forget what this was all about
Just being TOGETHER on my bday should have been the aim
But alas, we were both being lame

I bawled for awhile then I called his cell
Not to apologize, more like, to yell.
"I hope you're happy that you ruined my birthday."
And we argued afresh in a tautological way.

His signal dropped and it was a good excuse
to stop talking I guess, because what was the use

So I bawled again for a little while
then my housemate came home and cajoled me to smile
I went online and saw my sister's screenname
and Young P's too (we were all on AIM)
I knew they were talking and she said yes
and she said she'd told him he must come back to redress
my birthday grievance, no matter the topic
of the argument, which was totally myopic

In a fit of despair I wanted to take a pill
and sleep away the rest of this night, but Housemate said I will
take you out for sushi, and we'll salvage this night
I can't bear to see you in such sorry sight

There I again broke my I'm not going to drink vow
and drank lots of hot sake, and the sushi was - WOW!
walked out of the restaurant happier but regretful,
disappointed, resigned, but at least less fretful.

These past few days I've been awash in love and attention from my peeps
But I can't turn away when drama entreats
I should know better now that I'm older
That I shouldn't allow things to sit and smoulder

Drama's the reason I'm kind of hibernating
from active relationships, romantically dating
My emotional wiring is still kind of a mess
And I'm dealing with all the things I've heretofore repressed
And I don't want the stress.
And I don't want the stress.
I don't want to regress.

Today I'm not sad and I'm not mad anymore.
I'm over the night but a teeny bit sore.
I just want to restore
or perhaps erase
that memory efface

but that's kind of hard now that I'm writing
and propagating the tale
in a passive way of fighting.

So I'll stop.
And just shut up/

here come those birthday times!

While I started out this month feeling low and infintesimal as I usually do
when my bday approaches, I'm over it.
I recognize the symptoms at the onset and with every passing year,
I deal with them more maturely.
That is, less self-centered-ly.

Last Friday I went to the Mint and we stayed for about 7 hours
and I sang 5 songs. I don't drink at all anymore but I allowed myself
to get wasted on this night - I needed some liquid courage.

More celebration, a month of hugs and love and attention and free dinners.
The month of February gives me enough love and energy to get me through
these nasty winter months, the occasional bouts of loneliness, the self-loathing.

Everyone is my Valentime this year, and I'm spending V-day with my girlfriends.

A nice boy from work bought me this book
It was very nice of him!

I am thankful all the time for the love and friends I have in my life.
Sometimes I am hurt by them, as I have been every now and then this year.
But I'm sensitive, even though I don't show it.
Because I try to keep my cool.

But this year I feel the loving and the growing and the letting go.
And for the first time I can honestly say, Nothing is wrong.
I made some hard choices in the past year, breaking away from patterns
which I only discovered with time and maturity and experience.
But I am happy with myself. I don't hate myself as much.
Probably because I am being smarter about taking care of my heart,
my body and my happiness.

A lot of that has to do with the old friends who are always "true"
and the new friends who have encouraged, supported and made time
to spend with me.

The gift of someone's time, exclusively spent with me, is gift enough,
and I thank those loved ones who are far away but who have remembered me still,
and those of you who have taken the time out of your busy lives to spend
some time, whether it's party times, karaoke times or private 1:1 times.

And those of you with whom I mingle in the ether, I feel the smile of you
coming into to my port, wrapping around my sentience like a warm,
satisfying embrace.

Thank you for a wonderful, tumultuous year.

Re:Birth

In these modern times the commingling of choice packets in the ether
is oft the most intimate kind of making love.

As if a packet’s destination was not simply to the client’s desktop,
but directly to the client’s main hard drive, and to the desktop of my mind,
taking up all my RAM.

Those people who are experienced in multi tasking
can Alt+Tab between their active lovers, ether, text, or flesh based,
efficiently managing their various relationships with appropriate
attention.

one year ago
i birthed an infant girl
who grew at an amazingly accelerated pace
from my own womb and flesh
from my own seed i fertilized the egg

like so many other children
she was born to try to save an unhappy marriage
she was born to give hope and bring life
to an otherwise uninspired young woman

this I did for me
and I did it so that once again I could feel
the power of procreation,
of creation.
of my own creation.

she had no father but my Animus
who was man enough for the job
yet she played and grew and flailed and thrived
took a few tentative steps, sometimes falling before she learned to run

you watched her like a foster father without guilt
admiring her nubile form and budding breasts
breasts that were far too plump for a girl her age
inciting forbidden feelings

when you make love in the ether
you might be making love to a virtual girl
but it's delicious nonetheless.

taking shape in the ether formed from the glut of my repressed desire
and your projections
an amorphous glowing mass of energy
plugged directly into your open port.

A free flowing conduit of something you can’t see or touch
but the palpable energy satisfies nonetheless
the connection that never misses

My baby my baby, and now she is growing up
and taking hold of my body
Merging with my consciousness

Is there any more need to reach down into your pants
to seek out the root, coax the viscous fluid ?

There’s a cock in your pants, and any paid whore can make it spurt.
But the cock in your brain desires a different stroking
and it doesn’t yearn for a mouth or a cunt or even my small hand.
I think
and you might ache for the heat of the brand of my thought searing
through layers of grey matter filled with so much noxious irrelevance
I think
I think
The thoughts that make you cum like a continuous leakage, tantric-like
delicate-like, to a heightened point of sensitivity
cool air blowing onto your pulsing lobes

Licking the juice from your brain.

links that amused me

I watched the anime film Metropolis.
Cum together
Or just hug.
Celeb Goth MakeOvers
In my mind, sometimes I look like her.
Predate Pep Talk
Meanwhile in Nowhere
It was on a night like this that my computer became ill

Sunday was the Death. Monday is the Birth

02.04.02

This morning I felt too scattered to go to work, too heavy in the head.
And so I awoke, called in sick and slept some more.
Woke up, drank some water and threw on some clothes
over my sleeping clothes, clothes I wore all day yesterday,
grabbed one of the new books I am reading –
more Joseph Campbell, grabbed some stale bread from the pantry
which I save for the ducks, and headed out for Golden Gate Park.

The day is beautiful today, the air so clear and crisp.
Whatever the consequences, I made the right choice
in not going to work today.

There are diver ducks and mallards and sea gulls.
I found the divers and the mallards would approach my feet.
And whenever the bully sea gulls approached,
I threw rocks at them and yelled NOT YOU!

Thankfully, I was alone, save for the older Asians
who walk the park each day after their Tai Chi,
their hands clasped behind their backs.

When some of the bread was done,
I walked towards my neighbors, the bison.
They were chillin’ in the sun and I came up with a little rhyme

Bison like to sit in the sun
I walk through the park cause I don’t like to run.

My head has been so full of things that I need to do
“Higher Level thinking”
And I am reading so many books
more and more ingredients for my soup

Until I just felt too cluttered with it all
Overwhelmed although what I am reading
is intended to be in support of developing
rituals, structure, efficient workflow processes
of knowledge management

So I sought out the ducks and the bison and the green of the park
and I found a spot where I could read.
And I closed my eyes and counted my breaths
until all I could hear was the sounds of birdlife
All different kinds.

The foghorns that heretofore have been a constant annoyance
I realized were gently prompting me
to the sound of Om.

Oh the signs have been everywhere, in the moon and the stars.
I have been too engrossed in my own little dramas
and I could not see them.

An old Apache storyteller reminds us: “The plants, rocks, fire, water, all are alive.
They watch us and see our needs. They see when we have nothing to protect us,
and it is then that they reveal themselves and speak to us.”

Go out into Nature, I say to Self. Nature wants to, and will, heal your weary spirit.

Upon the awakening of my individual self, I made Love the center of my world.
And then Sex. And I invested all my energies to the courting and maintenance of these
things, which led me away from my private blisses.

Oh but can you feel it? The month of February, celebrating my first birth
and every new birth thereafter. Remember me last year?
And how I have shed my skin, my old self, have traveled in the darkness,
before your eyes?

Inside me I hear a voice: Behold, I am rising into the light, and the phoenix
flames are consuming all that is not nourishing to ourselves.


Message from the Connoisseur:

February is the month of (DJ)
(DJ) is my friend
My friend is precious and lovely

Precious is her spirit our friendship
Our friendship through the year has grown.

I like (DJ)
She can be bold
She is beautiful
She is caring, impulsive, radiant
I like that she is funny, loyal, creative, and astoundingly thoughtful.
This is the month of (DJ)
The month of my friend.

Now it begins...
;)


My dearest friends, thank you for this journey, for hearing my echoes in this darkness.

Tonight, I go with my girlfriend to Osento, to sink into the hot waters, to sweat out the toxins,
and to re-emerge reborn.

02.03.02

Opportunities to find deeper powers within ourselves
come when life seems most challenging.

The most notable thing so far in 2002 is the absence of conflict in my life.

I think that for the first time in my life I have nothing and no one that I can claim is oppressing or repressing or suppressing me.
I have no fight or cause by which to define myself.

Nothing is “wrong”.
Nothing is wrong.

Something is moving within me, delicately and carefully
trying to extract all my extended limbs, wherever entwined.

So far, this year, for the first time since perhaps I was 21,
I have slept more nights alone than with someone.
More nights alone.

Taking up the whole space in the bed, sleeping in a nest
where I am encased on all sides by pillows.
No space where monsters can get in.

Last night I had many dreams
One in which I was hanging out in a bed with Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears,
listening to their problems.
Another in which I could scale a tall brick building
where I was hiding out from a gang of criminals
I was a criminal too, but not in their gang.
I operated alone.
Another dream, and a lover from the ancient past
was somehow in my life again, we were driving to
Santa Cruz. I sat in the car, stretching,
wondering when he would make his move.
In the past I always counted on him
to lead me down a road to dirty temptations.
(He was a beast in the sack, the one who always
said ‘Are you gonna nut/ I’m gonna nut’ – just gross)


A tearful morning
and I watched the ants on my windowsill
through a wash of tears
He said goodbye, but I couldn’t look at him

Acknowledge change and you invite it in
Rather, it invites itself, animates in the air with which the word is expelled,
giving it shape and form.

Nothing is wrong, I say.
Then why am I crying again?

I am one of the many women, of the many men,
who flow from one relationship to another, never leaving one until I have safely linked to another person,
with whom I can immediately create a new reality which makes the last one less crucial to my daily life.

That is to say, I have a link to a future, allowing me to loosen my grasp on the past.

I want to flow like water.

Again in this new crossroads, where I have nothing left to fight but myself, and I do not know the next right move to make,
I turn to Joseph Campbell, the Oracle, to offer guidance on this journey.

I have found that you have only to take that one step towards the gods and they will then take ten steps toward you.
That step, the heroic first step of the journey, is out of, or over the edge of, your boundaries,
and it often must be taken before you know that you will be supported.
The hero’s journey has been compared to a birth: it starts with being warm and snug in a safe place;
then comes a signal, growing more insistent, that it is time to leave.
To stay beyond your time is to putrefy.
Without the blood and tearing and pain, there is no new life.

The journey has already begun. It began years ago, it began a year go, and it begins again, now.
It never ends. But sometimes, I let myself tarry along the way.

For me love is the life force, the priority.
This is why I have always allowed myself to be derailed
by the passions and the dramas that accompany Love.

Any ambition I’d had as a girl I would have gladly sacrificed to “make a relationship work”.

Thanks, Mama. What a role model you were.

Not so anymore.

Mind Like Water, Mind Like Water. Flow Flow Flow.

Time to climb into the confessional.

Jane Jane Jane Jane

Jane Jane Jane Jane.
I love her so much I'm going to see her twice - on 4/19 and 4/21.
Never been to the Plush Room before but it's a small venue I hear
which will make this show all the more dangerously intimate
for an obsessive fan like me.

Goodies, Lots of Dopamine Junkie Goodness.

Alright, for the few and the faithful, those of you I know by name, those of you who are but friendly Crickets and Tumbleweed,
I'm spilling over with content tonight and I'm gonna get it despite these lame wrist braces which I now need to wear
because I'm officially in the early stages of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.

January 2002 is almost over, and it's already a busy year.

News :

I have upgraded to Blogger Pro to ensure the existence of Dopamine Junkie, if only for one year.
I had to take advantage of the introductory offer.

I am currently trying to save money for the following items:

1) Desktop PC, to house all my content as I am currently paranoid about having all my shit
out there in email accounts and web based storage and in scattered free or pay hosting sites.
I need to get everything of mine, onto one machine, that I own.

Savings Goal: ~$500 minimum
Current balance: ~$100

I hope to be able to scrape together this cash by March, but then again,
I don't know if I should plan on blowing that kind of cash monies
before tax time. What if I'll need it?

2) Massage Therapy

Maybe this might be paid for with my worker's comp claim. Must check into that.

3) New Workout/Tennis/Gym/Sneakers - what does one call those anymore?
Trainers/Cross trainers?

Mebbe. This is low on the totem pole as I still have a serviceable pair
and I'm not at all into the fashion sneakers.

4) New CD player/stereo thing

On the lookout at Costco or elsewhere for some deals.
I specifically am looking for something compact, that plays cd-r and cd-rw CDs, has a cassette deck
since I still own cassettes, for under $100.

5) Mic for my Mini Disc player

The cheapest one I saw was about $50. I want this so I can start recording some of my writings.
I was wondering today how I could get into the audio books reading market.
I'm still wondering.

6) Easel

For painting, because I'm painting a lot now.

Ego-surfing

Google search for Dopaminejunkie
Google search for Dopamine Junkie
Google image search for Dopamine Junkie

Alright, here's where I'll need a show of hands - who would join a Yahoo group so that they can get email notifications of updates to these blogs?
Or maybe, if Spyonit.com hasn't gone out of business, I could put one of those links back on here.
Bueller? If I only hear my own echo in the darkness, I'll assume that it's not worth setting up.
After all, there are but 7 of you out there? More? Less? I can only tell by who emails me.

It's late and I have work tomorrow, but I need to get this out of my brain
since I'll be needing my brain uncluttered for work related beeswax.

Something I want, but can't even ask for, not even bid on. I am lame because I can never ask for what I want.

Your Text Fetish

Chocolate Stigmata:
Will continue to be the home of the Dopamine Junkie and her anima, and Infintesimalme.
Aware, engaged, in the past, present and future tense.

Objectification of Dope J:
Dormant for Now. I think this fantasy of mine got played out.

And for the newest incarnation of the Dopamine Junkie:
Introducing, the Little One.

the Little One is a Domina, specializing in cerebral domination, forced feminization, corporal punishment (of course),
foot worship, bondage and other forms of bdsm therapy. She loves cheesecake, J-pop, and whipping her slaves to music by
Prince, Moloko, Bond and Pachinko in Your Head.
She's coming to life, to life, to LIFE, in my head, in my hands.

I am still working on her blog site.
I have pages upon pages to post.
But, only a little at a time.

Check back here in a few days for the link.
Or perhaps you can already guess the URL.
I'm not as cryptic as I once was.

Other media: Charcoal on Paper

So for Christmas I was given a lot of new
art supplies, so I've been using them, painting and sketching
and cartooning and such.

Here are a few beginner sketches I did tonight, trying out some charcoals. I'm awful at shading, by the way.
I went through a few stacks of old porn to find inspiration for things to draw. I'm pretty one-dimensional,
so if it all looks kind of flat, well, that's because it is.

Sketches not worthy of a junior high art class.

Well that's the update for now. I *have* to get to bed not.
Il faut absolumment que je me couche tout de suite,
parce que je dois me reveiller tres tot au matin.
Helas!

To sleep with wrist wraps. I'll feel like a boxer in my dreams.
Oh! Last thing. Speaking of dreams, here's another one of mine to file in the
"Dude, your dreams are wack Series":

Attack of the Dodo Birds, dream thread, Sat. 1.26.02

it was in our old house in northridge
and I was in the big room across from my old room
and my friend dk was there
we was watching tv, loungin
and I looked outside the window, and there are bars on the window
and outside there were these two strange animals on the front lawn

one was a ghostly and skinny white gorilla looking creature
with a furry white face and beard
I looked at it and it peered through the bars of the window at me,
then scampered away into a tree

the other was a large bird, about 6 feet tall,
with a long neck and a white feathered body
a giant dodo bird

the giant dodo bird had a huge powerful beak, as hard as a hammer
and he came closer to the window looking at us

I opened the door to my room to tell my family
Look Look I screamed outside there is a big white bird on our lawn
they gather to look through the den window.
then the bird flies up on to the roof
we run outside through the garage door
and go to the front yard

it is there we see another bird in the tree
we get the hose and turn it on, pinching it a little so when we release it
the pressure makes it shoot out further at full blast
we can’t see up on our roof, because it is flat but we hear the heavy bird scamper away

a neighbor shows up with a bullhorn in hand
she saw the birds too from her house
we aim for the bird in the tree

but when the water hits it, it turns into a white flag
and another bird shows up somewhere else.
the neighbor screams, look there are a lot of them!
and on the roof we see all these beaks and white feathered bodies
heavy as an ostrich but with big beaks
everyone get inside the van I scream
and everyone gets inside the van
Close the garage door!

The hose is no use, when the water hits a bird it turns into a white flag
and the birds are multiplying


a big green van with Animal Control written on it pulls up
Someone must have called it
The neighbor with the bullhorn is yelling at the birds to no avail
so I take the bullhorn from her and start making screeching bird sounds
but these birds don’t respond
I must be making the wrong kind of bird call
I try again with a different call, that sounds like a crow

Caw! Caw! I yell, into the bullhorn.
Still no response.

Animal Control man says, I got a call about some dodos.
Dodos are extinct, he says.
Oh yeah, I say, then explain all these dodos on my house!

He nods, they *are* dodos, he says.
He backs up his green van and then opens the back doors of his van.
He too has loudspeakers on his van
and he searches the radio for a song to broadcast

The dodos are peering over the edge of the roof curious
they’re getting more and more unruly squawking and flapping their wings

I thought they were flightless but that’s their joke on us I guess
because they flew from the branches of the pine trees to the roof in a flurry of feathers

Animal Control man finds the song: and it starts to play.

I listen for a moment, as everyone else does, to the first few measures
the squawking stops abrupty and as if hypnotized the dodos start to fly into the back of his van as the music continues:

One night in Bangkok makes a hard man crumble. . .
I can feel the devil running next to me.

_end of dream thread_

How you like them apples?

Good Night.

Apocryphal writings such as these lose their steam when the need to
hide no longer exists. And perhaps all that sexual energy that animated
the Dopamine Junkie, no longer repressed, is rather, deflated.

Or perhaps its just my oscillating sine wave, flatlining again.

In any case, I've been trying to work on a new project, writing that
might actually see the light of day, but I get stuck, I start to feel
the inner voice that tries to shut me down, every time, whispering
words of discouragement and self-loathing.

Smacking the Idealist in the face.
And I fall down.

Do I stay down? Sometimes, for longer periods than I should.
Maybe it's good for my hands at least, because they're so tired
and broken. I've filed for Worker's Comp this week, because of my hands.

My grey matter just doesn't froth the way it used to.
The words don't flow as easily.
The juice, the juice, I'm all juiced out!

I'm stumbling, bumbling and crumbling.
I guess that suffix has something to do with falling.

But this is the first Yucky feeling of 2002.
And hereby I resolve to not stay down.
But to fight the old patterns, to fight that voice
that always brings me down, to fight against
the acceptance of mediocrity.

Note to Self: Only this one lifetime to strive!!

Lift girl, Lift, Lift it up! (As she searches for 8 pt. Agenda mp3)

We not gonna let an opportunity get left out!
We not gonna let some indecision stop what we about!
We not gonna show no mercy, overflowing the drought!

Luckily, Luckily, in my life I am rich in Love, and support
and friendship. And I have to say that many times, the text based
friendships of Dope J have given me the buoyancy I needed
when I felt like I was drowning.

From a Friend, DK, who hates it when I'm down on myself

DJ: I'm not doing so well.
DJ: and it ain't no love thing, neither.
DJ: it's a me thing.
DJ: i don't think too highly of myself right now
DJ: and it makes me feel unimportant to people who are becoming successful.
DK: Did you know that I look up to you?
DJ: uh oh
DJ: are you gonna tell me something about wind beneath my wings?
DK: NO
DK: But I respect your mind and power
DJ: what good is a mind and power if it just sits here like a lump?
DK: I respect that you are creative and that you can hold down a kick ass job
DJ: Why wasn't I born with more determination?
DJ: Why can't I shake all the doubts and discouragement
my parents put into about using my talents as a career?
DK: Cause you aren't willing to take a chance
DJ: I have a thin skin, DK.
DJ: That's why I couldn't stick it out in the 'business', and that's the truth.
DK: You have a thick skin C. I have seen you get through some pretty deep shit
DJ: I believed people when they told me that there
were too many other people who were skinnier, prettier and better than me.
DK: k...
DJ: so I've wasted my voice and all the other stuff, stuff that made me happy, things I liked to do and share.
DJ: singing, dancing, acting.
DK: Well that's your fault for listening and letting them win.
You aren't getting any younger but you still have the time to do it
DJ: All down the shitter.
DK: You can get back
DJ: I've already crossed over.
DK: Fuck off
DK: No you haven't
DK: There will always be somethng out there to conquer
DK: So do you
DK: Maybe not in the fashion that you envisioned but there are many way to make it in this industry
DJ: well I may have a huge invisible dick, but strangely, there are no balls attached.
DK: Well, then go get some
DK: I won't let you pity yourself
DJ: i know, and you shouldn't
DJ: I'm pretty good at it on my own.
DK: Especially because there are many ways to change your position
DK: It just takes you to jump
DK: make the leap and try it again
DJ: here's my newest goddess:
DJ: www.monheitfans.com
DK: Why couldn't you save as much money as you can so that you can support yourself for a year and work at it to get back in that year
DJ: she's 24, beautiful, well trained and she has the most incredible voice
DK: NIce but we are talking about you right now
DK: And what she needs to find her happiness
DK: Cause she hasn't been living for her
DK: So now more than ever, she needs to
DJ: I know.
DJ: Fuck I'm trying, DK, I've been going through these past 2 years fucking fighting against this corner I've painted myself into
DK: She needs to listen to her inner voice and do what ever the hell she wants and tell her parents to kiss her ass
DK: Well, find a new canvas and start fresh
DK: Baby. There have been so many times in my life where I have wanted to quit
DK: But I'll be damned if I don't wake and want to fight
DK: Youget it
DK: It's a struggle and you have it in you to fight back
DJ: i'm too used to just giving up, following my mother's example.
DK: Fuck that
DK: You are not her
DJ: i know, i try to fight it.
DK: I have to run but I KNOW that you have what it takes to fight babe.

Another formless friend

FF: what answers do you have?
DJ: Not many, but in no particular order.
*To follow no one but my own heart.
*To consider advice, but not necessarily heed everything that is offered.
*To be gentle with myself because no one else can nurture and protect the Self, like the self.
*To forgive myself and everyone around me, if I can, because we are all mutually arising and
self-interested and not altogether altruistic creatures.
*To let go of loads which are too heavy too bear.
*To cherish and protect Love because it is a gift.

The tears have dried and I'm a frozen robot again.
Tonight, I will sleep so I can induce a dream of flight.
Because I need to fly.

I made a nest on the other side. I did it, one year ago.
With words and images I lined the nest on the other side.
Until I was ready to cross over.

Out of the darkness, into the light.
Animated with words.

The Word becomes Flesh.
And a small unhappy girl becomes the Dopamine Junkie.

Hello Cricket, Hello Tumbleweed.

Oh there's a big Soup cooking. Tis the biggest soup I have ever cooked.
And there's so much more of my brain matter that needs to simmer,
needs to be added, folded in.

I'll be creating a new blog to display the work in progress.
But not just yet.

In the meantime, I feel bad for neglecting this Chocolate Stigmata, but I'm obsessed now
with the characters I am creating.

You'll meet them soon. And yes, one of them is a new and yet different Objectification of myself.
She'll do everything I could never really do.

The days have been flying by, Time is eating up 2002 already.
And I'm trying to remain as serene as possible throughout these cold days and nights.

My will to Power is throbbing and hot, and I'm slightly afraid of it still.

I'll be back soon.

your dopaminejunkie.

"True stability results when presumed order and
presumed disorder are balanced. A truly stable
system expects the unexpected, is prepared to be
disrupted, waits to be transformed."
– Tom Robbins

I dig it, Tom.

Current endeavour is writing of story which hopefully be transformed to digi film?
Yes. First draft is due by March 8th.

Writing every day.

The Birthday of this blog, and the Dopamine Junkie, is coming up soon, right?
Well, it's DJ's birthday in January, and Infintesimalme's bday the day before Valentine's.
Although I highly doubt any cares, here's my wishlist anyway. If only for your curiousity.

Since I haven't any brainflow as of late, I have transcribed a few napkin and
notepad scribblings to provide a chronicle of my useless musings over the past weeks.

I hide my face in my hands in shame.

Tuesday night and I am watching the Diary of Britney Spears on teevee.

I don’t think she’s a very good singer, and I’m unsure of her upcoming

display of dramatic talents, but I tell you the truth: I love Britney Spears.

If only for her seemingly tireless work ethic, which I think is so sexy.

New Projects in the Works, in the oft-ridiculed memoir genre:

The last 9 Decembers.

It is what it sounds like, a recollection of the last 9 Decembers
featuring Christmas and New Years Eve.
I realized however, that I don’t remember a few
Decembers so well so I’ll have to do some investigation into my own memory.

Shoes of My Life


An pictorial archive and recollection of the shoes of my life. I think every
woman should do a remembrance ceremony for their beloved shoes.

[ Britney is the bomb. She’s just so **real**. And you know, you’d never see
Christina Aguilera play basketball for charity. ]

DJ on DJ:
She writes because she needs to get it out, and because Britney Spears is a role model of how sheer work ethic, determination, killer abs and moderate talent can be dressed and primed to shine like the stars!

Her brilliant smile is a beautiful and slightly mad inspiration.


Meditation shouldn't be an effort, should it?

Blank screen. Clean Page. Tabula Rasa.

A clear mind, still and calm as a reflecting pond.

Endless, eternal, infinite patterns

Zen rock gardens, stars of the winter night sky.

Empty of desires, in a state of readiness.

Pristine vessel, for the moment, having conquered

the desire for Self and its gratification

and all needs for all things

(except dopamine and broadband)

In the suspense of mere existence

Balanced, locked into the harmony of my ch’I

as it flows in and out of the world

Until the flutter of an urge, shadow of a want

echoing a need outside of what I have within me

Food, flesh, fantasy?

And the want sends me astray

Sends me into a state of uneasiness

A state of wanting

And all at once I am now unfulfilled

Out of control

Vulnerable

The Gita tells me so

The Bible tells me so

The Buddha tells me so

Abandon desire, abandon suffering

Why wasn’t I taught this in the first place?

Because as an infant I knew the simple truth I know now:

cravings, urges, desires are an intrinsic function

and unless we believe that our bodies enslave our spirits

we cannot starve the body of its needs

and expect to gain reward for the sacrifice

It is the want that is distracting.


Surprise Links

Surprise
Watch this movie

Fodder

Journeying from a womb of darkness into the light and exposed air.

Learning to walk. Learning to speak.

We learn to speak that which can be told, and keep silent those things, which we know,

without anyone telling us, must be kept secret.

The thing that is on my mind, on everyone’s mind, is Desire.

Desire flowing as freely as water. As gentle, as torrential, as buoyant.

Perhaps there is something inside me that rejects happiness, that wishes to

remain unfulfilled, not because I believe that I don’t deserve happiness,

but because to be fulfilled is to be complacent,

and being complacent ends the journey,

makes me soft and dull and beached like a whale.


Words make me nauseous

Nietzsche says, you’re not alone:

The categorical imperative "You should and you must write" has woken me up. I tried to write well, and suddenly the pen froze in my hand. I couldn't do it. . .

As of late every time I try to write I look back at my words and think,

what crap, I can’t let others see this banal self centered musing.

So I try to bring my focus elsewhere,

to something larger in scope, more profound in meaning.

That's everywhere. I get lost.

Alas. When you try too hard to write, when you have

the blank pages and the pen in hand, no words come.

Artist waking up to the blank canvas

every morning, I wait for the words to come to me.

Waiting.

What are you thinking?

This question puts me on the defensive if it’s asked

of me, by anyone.

I don’t know how to answer.

It’s nothing of significance, what I’m thinking.

Just the usual maelstrom.

Which leads me to the topic which has most

occupied my brain – order.

Order and Ritual brought by the new year, I’m looking for

a template, I’ve sketched out a curriculum for myself,

as one of the things I’m committing to this year is education –

since grad school is out of the question for at least the next 2 years,

I’m looking to build a curriculum of my own – music, art, literature,

technology, design, philosophy, etc.


* * * * *

Pokemon, I choose you.

* * * * *

Being in Love wraps you up like an egg roll

Or a joint.

The synergy, sporadic, but addictive –

from within it we can easily lose our perspective.

A choice for one day is not a choice for forever.

A choice one day, something freely given

without demand, eventually becomes a responsibility

eventually becomes a compromise

****

This is the choice for today.

To be by his side.

Every morning, I make a choice.

Easily, freely – with the recognition of impermanence

liberated to enjoy each day as a new series of moments

But this is not all I am – a person as reflected by someone else,

or in response to someone else’s desire.

As I have lived for so many years.

As if I am not allowed to exist, unless someone wants me.

As if my existence were verified and justified, this small

space I inhabit filled with purpose because of someone else's

need.

* * * *

Overheard walking down the street with
the Connoisseur, a teenage boy and young children are singing

Clean up Clean Up

Everybody Everywhere

Clean up Clean up

Everybody do their share

* * * *

With every passing year that does not seem to yield
a permanent partnership it is inevitable that I join
the ranks of the sad 20/30 somethings that wonder
in unison:

Am I one of those people who is meant to be alone?

Then I think that I am not alone, I never have been,
I have never lacked for companionship and the way
I imagined my life so many years ago, as never having
a husband but rather a fortunate series of long term
relationships with people I am very close to and intimate
with for year - 3 year long spans - that's the way it has turned out.
So perhaps it's true that we can influence our own destinies.
Maybe a little. Or maybe it's just self-fulfilling prophecy

Except for Hugo, I guess I have always been one foot out the door
in relationships. Standing in the doorway. Straddling the threshold
one foot in, one foot out.

Dancing to the music of impermanence.

* * * *

ALLS I KNOWS IS THAT my jazz obsession, Jane Monheit, is coming to San Francisco in April to sing at the Plush Room at the York Hotel (4/16/02 through 4/21/02) and I HAVE TO BE THERE.

I slipped quietly and gracefully and languidly into this new year,
without the raging, without the drama, without the anguish
and depression that is the usual emotional holiday garb.

Off work for a little more than 2 weeks, I took some time for
myself and relaxation, actually indulging in the slothfulness
and lethargy of an actual "Christmas break", never waking before 10 a.m.,
just like I was in school again.

The simple inactivity and aimlessness revived
a youthfulness inside me that has been squashed of late,
by the need to be always multi-tasking, productive,
positive, serious, efficient.

But to wake and stretch like a cat in the sun at 11 a.m.
to smile at the world and a chirping bird. . .
to pad out to the kitchen in pajamas with feet
(blue and grey, full body pajama suit bought
at Target's Boys Sleepwear section - more perverse
than any skimpy lingerie)
to put the kettle on, raid the fridge for breakfast pizza,
watch daytime tv and paint my nails -
Eternity! Simplicity! Divine!

The time spent with the family for Christmas was conspicuously
drama-free, which led my sisters and I to wonder
if this was really Christmas, because although there was a tree
and presents and all of my mother's holiday decor,
no one seemed to have the desire or energy or catalyst
to continue the family tradition of tears, anger, bitterness
or fighting during the holidays.

I left Southern California earlier than I had thought,
because I couldn't borrow my sister's car as I'd planned,
and no longer relished the idea of being bounced around from
friend to friend, telling the same catch up stories over and over.
Not because I don't care to catch up.
Just because I didn't think it was so crucial to spend
2 hours with people I don't get to see but once a year. . .
partly because I've made a commitment to try to
re-establish 1:1 relationships this year, more than ever.

I had long talks with my mother, with each of my 4 younger sisters,
as well as younger cousins who are also in need of guidance and unconditional
love and support.

The parentals in our family have all "crossed over" as I call it,
to that part of age where you can't reach them on that "young" level -
it's not a childish thing, or a hip thing, rather it's that part of the brain
that still can accept and understand, or try to understand, new processes
and information and be flexible, etc. The parentals can't relate to the teens anymore.
The parentals are caught up in their own lives, and have only certain things to
give to the kids. Emotional guidance is not one of them.

So I've taken on the teen/youth family counselor role for 4 sisters,
and at least 4 younger cousins. . . As a sometimes "scandalous" family member,
I think most people in the family feel they can talk to me without
fear of being judged. Even my mom. Even my aunts and uncles.

If only they could all be honest with one another.
Me too, I'm not entirely honest, because sometimes truth hurts, right?
And it hurts only when you can't fathom it.
I guess that's what I mean by crossing over.
It's when you can't "fathom" anymore that everyone
is an individual carrying different scars and confidences,
and whose actions are motivated by different consideration
sets than your own.

New Years Eve I spent in the company of friends
at my old house (where the old housemates still live)
in Santa Cruz. It was very chill and I met a few new peeps
but was there for the vibe. We all ended up passing out before 3 a.m.
so it wasn't a rager by any means.

We did get up early to walk the dogs by Its Beach, by the
surfer museum, at the Lighthouse field.
There was a light rain and it was already high tide
so we couldn't go down to the beach because the waves
were crashing.
Spent some time at one of my favorite places in the universe,
Kiva Retreat House, which has been beautifully renovated
since I started going there 7 or 8 years ago.

The Young Pyromaniac was with me throughout the holiday season.
My family adores him. But before my alarms go off, I've decided
to not allow the sharing of these profound moments to tip off that
panic cycle of "is this getting too serious?"

No and no. I enjoy the buoyancy, the resiliency, the sweetness.
I enjoy not feeling as if I need to play up to or in to a role.
The rapport will sustain for as long as we enjoy being together.

I need time to spend alone, still, or at least, in stillness, in reflection.
I want to plan out my projects for this year, set goals, take inventory, etc.
I am quietly excited for this new year, which is a blank book waiting to be filled.
We had Chinese take out on NYE, and my fortune read:

You create your own stage. The audience is waiting.

GASP! Could this be true ?!

More to come.
Revving the engine,

the dopamine junkie

Going home to the fambly for one week. Will spend NYE in Santa Cruz. I will be incommunicado
for the most part until I return to the City So Small. Warm wishes to my crickets and tumbleweed,
if there are any of you out there. Happy Holidays.

If you haven't noticed I am totally bored of the Objectification/MUNI story.
I have another idea in the works.

Today is the day after the rain, after the storm. It's been an eventful time, an eventful year.
I'll be leaving tomorrow for Southern Cali. and gone for a week or so.
If I have a little time and privacy I will try to write. But maybe not.

I've been blocked lately, unable or uninspired to write.
Not for a lack of noteworthy events.
Just tired in my brain.

But here, I tried, last night, just for the exercise and anyone who cares.
Happy Holidays. I still have much to do today.

Steamroller writing. 2.14 a.m.

There has been so much going on as of late I haven’t had the energy to document it all.
But I must continue to chronicle these events and feelings because if I do not capture these moments in text,
I fear their urgency will fade from memory and the passage of time.

I have been reviewing the original CL postings, the MYIF site, voraciouskitty.
I’m embarrassed and appalled at the quality of the writing, the shallowness.
But I will try to be forgiving of myself, with the understanding that those initial writings were only the
tentative and shy foray into the shallow end of the pool. I needed the practice to learn how to swim in the deeper end.

Speaking of practice, the Connoisseur and I passed a dojo and looked in the window at the martial arts students
sparring with each other. A large banner at the very back of the dojo read in bold capitals: “You need more practice.”

Don’t we all? Me, I need more practice learning how to communicate using words, words in talking.
I can craft my missives and communiqués with precision and care, but when it comes to face to face talking
and “sharing feelings” I feel I am retarded. Confrontation is something I fear only because I become inflamed
to the point that I lose reason in the heat of exchange. Because I fear reactions, and the reactions that those reactions will inspire in me.

My sister and I were talking on the phone – her boyfriend is the man she will marry,
of this she is sure, of this the family is sure. She is four years younger than I, her boyfriend is one year older than I am.
We discussed our mutual frustrations when encountering a man with patience, a man who cannot be provoked to reactions of anger.
We are frustrated because we do not know what to do with a patient man.
Our animus, influenced by a violent, angry and domineering father who enjoyed making callous and racist jokes,
and smilingly proclaiming his household a dictatorship. Within relationships, our conflict-resolving skills are weak because
our training has been in dealing with a man who is provoked easily to anger, to which we respond with resentment or a contending anger.

Those who conquer must fight. – Fortune Cookie opened by a friend.

The young Pyromaniac is running out of patience with me. As our rapport as lovers and friends deepens,
and our relationship teeters on the definitions of boyfriend/girlfriend, (assigned definitions we both resist)
my last defense mechanisms are kicking in, some beyond my immediate control.

These self-preservation mechanisms are designed to confound, to test, to protect myself, to push away those whom I
fear will abandon me if I allow myself to become too dependent.

One foot out the door, or as Kate Hudson’s character,
Penny Lane, in the Almost Famous movie says,
"I always tell the girls not to take it seriously
If you don’t take anything seriously, you don’t get hurt
If you don’t get hurt, you’ll always have fun.”

Accept the impermanence, or the transitive nature of everything, right?
Do not form lasting attachments?

I’m afraid I’m a girl who forms lifelong friendships and lasting attachments to objects, the moon,
and to those who my heart has given love.

I’m a pack rat in this life, saving notes and scribbles and scraps and old term papers and Christmas cards
I received when I was 15. I still have notes boys sent to me when I was in junior high.

And therefore, because of my cognizance of my affinity for lifelong attachments,
I am careful, cautious, suspicious of new ties to my heartstrings.
And this Young P, despite our noble efforts at resisting classification and role assignments,
he is ever closer to my affection, to my heart.
This is frightening me on a deep level – because I am not clean of my last LTR attachment.
But I suppose it is rare to be able to wash oneself clean –
it is the rare person who can really “spend time alone” for long periods of time,
in self imposed abstinence from loving and lovemaking.

In other news I have been looking at pro domina sites,
feeling a strange longing for that ceremony where my
pressure is deliberately and skillfully tended and nurtured,
where my force is contained and channeled
and then released in a catharsis.

This is not sexual to me. This is deliberate, not unlike those days of childhood where
I participated with my religious family, whose denomination du jour was the Pentecostals,
those holy rollers who channeled their belief
and submitted themselves to possession of the Holy Spirit, causing them (us) to speak in tongues,
recite Scripture I never memorized, pass out.
Not unlike pagan and Native American rituals of religious possession.
Not unlike those trips and journeys to the “other side” I’ve had under the influence of psychedelic drugs.
Not unlike that release achieved by being bound and wrapped and
constrained to acute pain and deprivation for long periods of time.

Speaking of bondage, the Connoisseur gave me for Christmas a wonderful book by
Trevor Brown (because the Connoisseur is so fucking cool), once again, exposing me to more art I
love but which I would not have found without him.


The steamroller is running out of steam!

A week has passed and I never even documented the
madness of the party we had at my house last weekend.

The house was outfitted with 3 rooms/15 djs for the evening.

How shall I synopsize the night?
Young P was there early, helping to move and arrange things and give me hugs and kisses.
He left before the party began, planning to return later on that evening.

The Connoisseur arrived to help me decorate.

The night began slowly, with friends arriving and departing
as there were many other parties in the City that night.

I had baked some space cake – chocolate cake made with pot butter and a liberal dose of ground up
psychedelic mushrooms. I was eating it all day, hanging out on clouds as I like to do when I am free of will.

I fed some to the Connoisseur, who definitely did not need a drink after that. He danced for hours that night –
in the jungle/breakbeat (?) room. He was all lit up and flying high.

I was having a fabulous time, hostessing and dancing and chatting with friends.

A reader/friend arrived with another friend in tow. He was coolin’.
I fed him some brownies and gave him a jello shot.
They kicked it in the yard where a cozy fire was burning.

The Pyro arrived around 1 a.m. and I was so elated to see him, I covered him in kisses.

Ex Boy arrived with friends, too, totally surprising me.

And I was flying high!
Until the vibekiller killed the vibe and harshed my mellow!

Young P came to find me, I was somewhere in the house and enjoying myself.

Hugo’s here, he said.

And the enjoyment for me, came to a screeching halt. I’d invited him out of courtesy and friendly goodwill,
with the gentle but fair warning that the person I was dating would be at this party.
He wrote me and told me that he would “catch me on the flipside” which I took to mean that he
wasn’t coming and that I would see him after the New Year.

Um, I guess he changed his mind. I arranged myself,
hoping I didn’t look too tore up yet, smoked a bowl and
then took off in search of him, to greet him.

I found him outside, with a date, the woman who I’d always suspected him of
cheating on me with, while we were living together.
FUCKING FABULOUS.
I decided the only thing I could do was be gracious.

I greeted him with warmth and easy familiarity, turned my attention to her
and invited them to visit all the floors of music and told them where the keg was.

I gave him one more hug, and then told them I needed to attend to other guests.

Went back upstairs to my room where a group of friends were situated.
Young P asked me if I was okay. I said yes. The crowd disperses from my room.
I felt too normal, too normal! Despite the space cake and the jello shots and the bowls.
I dug out a capsule of some ecstasy, took half the cap in hopes that it would lift me,
that I could escape from the drama.

But there is too much sentience and I cannot escape.
I’m still kind of stressing, watching Hugo and the woman
in my backyard from the window of a my room, like a total loser.

I think to myself, what can I do to keep cool? What kind I do to continue enjoying my evening,
and not allow this situation to affect me so negatively?

The night was like a teen movie.
It was not so much the cast of characters that had arrived had stressed me out,
the ex boyfriends, the ex lovers and the Lover.
It was about proving that there was enough room in my heart for them all.
Or enough room at the party.
Or in my life.
Or something like that.

And I thought to myself, if this night were a teen movie, what would I do to be triumphant?

The E was starting to kick in and the answer came to me:
I must go now to the dancefloor, where I can dance alone and inhabit the space
around me with the force of my spirit and the movement of my body.

Dance for my life.

Which I did. By myself. And it worked too.
Because everyone around me was dancing and seeming to have a good time.

Someone grabbed my elbow. I turn around and it was Hugo.
I’m still dancing. I smile at him, and glance over to see her standing by the wall.

I hate to see it when you gnash your teeth, he says, rubbing my jaw where he knows it hurts.

Yeah, I know, I say. Are you guys leaving?

Yeah, we’re gonna take off, he says.

Well, have a safe drive, I say.

Oh, we’re only going downtown, he says.

She lives in Tracy, near Stockton. He lives in SC.
I understood the implications.

Oh, good, I say. Thanks for coming.
I hug him and walk with him over to her, and put my hand on her arm, saying as sincerely as
possible as I could in my fucked up state, It was really cool that you guys came. Thank you.

Thank you, she said.

I gave him another hug.

Bye, I said. I turned back to the dance floor and started to dance again. I didn’t want to watch them leave.

Young P was wise and mature and totally supportive the whole time. He was the Chosen One, anyway,
and we both couldn’t wait for that moment when my room would be clear of people, and we could slip into my nest together.

Running out of steam. Must rest and warm my aching and freezing hands.

Last night's dream:

I am a fugitive schoolgirl
Being hunted by a merciless militia
My clothes are torn and bloodied
I am running through a large academic building
filled with beautiful and rich girls in uniforms

Killing people in my way with ferocious panic
Breaking necks and throwing knives
Sneak in to the school to find a friend who will help me
A girl who likes to cause trouble,
who has no conscience about killing
She leads me to a bathroom where we kill a girl
and I put on her clothes
My hands are covered in blood
a little of which I smear on my mouth
because I have no lipstick
She takes me to the dorm where we cut and dye my hair
I look different, and she undergoes a transformation too
just for fun
we show off our new looks to the other girls
who are too afraid of us to say anything
The militia are hunting me down, getting closer
Behind every door so we go to chapel
where my mother is, except it's my mother, but
I'm not her daughter, but she thinks I am and she combs my hair
My partner gives me a wink.

We take off after chapel and are in a small fast car
on a getaway
Now I have a crossbow (why not a gun?)
and there are people following us
up a curvy and winding road
that is going up a hill
from the valley where the school is
A matronly type woman in a white nurse's
uniform is yelling after us
that's her! she is screaming
my girlfriend is driving crazy and fast
and we make a hairpin turn
and I take aim
right for the neck of the nursey woman
The arrows fly towards her
and land in her neck and face
My girlfriend, she laughs
as we speed off up the hill .. . . and then consciousness hits me
and I am losing the thread. . .

more to come, probably tonight.

Sunshine and workers
Outside my office window
Bustling and Hustling
I feel gruff today

I put out too much from the inside of me
Until alone with my thoughts, there's nothing left
Because I didn't keep anything for myself

Maximizing the ROI
that's all we ever talk about
Measurements of success
Numbers to Numbers
Counting eyeballs and impressions

I wonder how to apply this methodology to my life.
To make each day more about living
and less about dying in the hundreds of little ways
in which my spirit feels crushed

Reaching out to reaffirm myself
Needing constant reminders from others
to tell me that I am real
Because I'm in a dreamspace all the time
and I've become a figment of my own imagination

Dissociating myself from myself
I watched part of Sybil this weekend
It always fucks me up

I have been through the process many times
Splitting myself into others
Letting them care for me, when I wasn't able to
Until I was rested and healed enough
to face the world on my own

That is the infintesimalme
the Core, the Pearl, the Center
Around this tiny grain of matter
I have cloaked myself in so many disguises
Like any survivor

The infintesimalme is far less interesting
than the manifestations
Without them I am just a human girl on planet earth
Faceless, nameless and invisible
Another passerby

How funny, I found this link
Quite randomly and yet
how he speaks to me in a language I understand

I write because I am asleep
I write because I am dreaming
I write because I need to erase myself
to discover who I really am

One year and my heart is weathered
Last year, this time, my heart was tethered
I have been on my journey through the
dark tunnels and haunted forests
of my own memory and the collective consciousness

This year is the year of letting go
Leaving the wounds open so they can heal on their own
And it hurts, it hurts, it leaves me wasted
Wondering what is it I am for, besides
this tiny existence
Little ripples is all I can make
Little splashes - is that enough?

In dreams I fly
In dreams I fight off demons
In dreams I contend with the Devil
In dreams I teach others to fly

Uplifting the mundane to the sublime
Finding beauty in unexpected places and moments
Finding intimacy and tenderness wherever it exists
Being a conduit of love.
Sharing in sorrow, rejoicing in laughter

How can I paint this?
How can I share this?
How can I make this my only goal in life?

I want to be strong and stable
I want to be inspired and an inspiration
I want to have something to give, something of value
I want to get off this hamster wheel

Oh shit, I have to do my timesheet.

Blew my wad objectifying *Her*.
It's a beautiful day outside.

I've decided to keep the Objectification and my own first person thoughts separate.
Therefore, so as not to confuse the 2, please visit Dopamine Junkie's Red Door for the full Dope J menu.

There you'll find a link to the Objectification of Dope J, where the MUNI chronicles continue. There is a new posting there now. Scroll down, as I've put that one in chronological order.

So this Chocolate Stigmata will remain the living link to Dopamine Junkie's thoughts,
as well as those of infintesimalme.

Trying to fight off the blues. This wintry feeling that makes me want to hibernate, stay warm and dry.
I wish I had some wood to chop or something.

Instead, I sit in my office reading and writing proposals . . . wistfully looking
out the windows to the bleak world outside. Wishing to be somewhere
safe and warm, reading and writing, listening to music and maybe
taking a nice long nap.

A bath would be nice.

I don't know if there's more than a handful out there.
Maybe just a few.

Hi, it's me. Or rather, us.
We're just sitting here.
Making up our Amazon wish lists
and listening to Tricky and Bjork and Lamb and Goldfrapp.

I find it interesting, a la George Sand, that I needed to
animate my Animus to objectify myself.

I don't know where Animus will take this story.
But sometimes I wouldn't mind being a boy.

The Objectification of Dope J. Part II

The weekend, and I did not see her. I spent time with my family instead.
Thoughts of her though, in my periphery. I tried to dream of her, but
when I awoke I couldn't hang on to any of my dreams.

* * * *

Monday it was raining. She wasn't there.
I felt kind of depressed.

So I tried again, to dream of her.
I couldn't though, it was as if she locked me out
of her dreamspace; I couldn't invoke her image.

* * * *

Tuesday and I walked to the bus stop trying to
deny my interest in whether she was there or not.
I forced myself to think of more serious matters -
projects at work, buying my wife a new dress for
my office Christmas party, wondering if I should
sell my car and buy a new one, or right, that other
hot Asian woman that might be on the bus, the
one she was always looking at.

Back to her, right as I crested the hill to the stop.
There she was.

Today she was in a more "grown up outfit"
and looked more serious than usual.
Humming to herself with her headphones on,
watching the kids again.
She had on the shoes I like, little platform Mary Janes.
Light blue socks with little white stripes.
Gray tailored pants that grabbed her ass
in a way that registered in my suddenly twitching cock.

- Quiet down there! I said to my crotch, trying quickly to
think of something to despoil the waking chubby.

She was looking for change in a little pink coin purse,
dumping it out into her hand, looking through pennies
and nickels.

I took action. Walked straight up to her and held out
a dollar coin.

She was startled, looked up at me, and I could
see myself, slightly ridiculous, reflected in her dark glasses.
Her face lit up into a surprised smile.

There was a brief moment of contact and I put
the coin into her palm.

- Wow, thanks! That's very sweet of you.
Her voice, a little deep, slightly cool rasp, warm timbre, not too sweet.

- No problem.
I decided to keep it simple, I knew she'd remember me from now on
as that "nice guy" who gave her bus fare. It was a standard ploy I'd used
many times before.

She turned to board the bus, and I was right behind her.
Her hair was down, long, black, silky shiny. When she turned
her head I caught a few strands, brushing across my face.
I closed my eyes for a nanosecond and caught the bus driver
giving me an odd look.

- Good morning.
I said to the driver, who only nodded.

She was arranging herself in a single seat,
pleased that she had gotten one.
I didn't want to sit too close, but wanted
her in my line of sight.

I walked towards her, intending to pass her,
when she looked up at me and flashed me
an honest smile:

- You're my hero today.
She said, and smiled again.

I shrugged it off and laughed, trying not to
betray the again, ridiculous feeling of having pleased her.
I walked past her without another word, hoping to
have made some sort of impression on her.

Now perhaps, she would wonder a little about me too.

She slept on the ride. I could tell by her head lolling on her shoulders,
the give of her body with each sway and bump of the bus.

Think about me, think about me, think who is he, think about me.
I chanted in my head, willing her, entreating her silently
with energy I felt I could send to the back of her head.

Before I could help it, an obscene fantasy of her came to life,
of her little body stripped to the waist, arms tensed and holding on
to the overhead rails, on an empty bus, except for her and the driver
and then me, simply sitting back and watching her exposed tits
(with those shoes and socks and pants, but topless with her hair
loose and wild around her shoulders and back)
bounce and vibrate with the bus going along the road.
Wait no, the road is too smooth.
Switch fantasy to cobblestone. or a rocky dirty road.
Something more bumpy so I can really watch her bounce. . .

An actual jolt of the bus broke my thoughts.
I laughed a little at myself for indulging in these daydreams.
I looked over at her, and she was still there, head propped against
the window, with her headphones on.