Dopamine Junkie's Smoldering Embers |
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Dopamine Junkie's Freak v. 3.0
maximizing more than the freak.
ruthlessly honest with myself.
rebuilding my core.
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Friday, September 28, 2001
If I had any money, I'd shop here
For Long Hair Fetishists The Posture of the Pout Also, when you google search for "pout mouth" one of my old entries comes up! I was stuck on this concept of drawing out my world in transparent layers of concentric circles, when last night on PBS my guru, Joseph Campbell was on, in his legendary conversation on the Power of Myth with Bill Moyers. If I'd had $200 extra I would have made the contribution so I could own those tapes. And within this conversation Campbell spoke on the symbolism of circles, mandalas, etc. Of Jung and Plato and the soul is a circle... And at this time, of my "moon cycle" it was so fortuitous that I watched this program. To think about the power of circles, of cycles, of the cycle of time. And so my newest project is to fashion my own personal mandala, in which I will order myself according to my values, and align that to the universal circle. It's time to eviscerate my ego, to slice open the coccoon and let the divinity, the radiance flow unimpeded into the universe. Eternity is happening now. Campbell: Find the burning point. Follow your bliss. Listen to the music of the spheres. Order yourself with the circles of the universe. Om. We not gonna let some indecision stop what we're about. - Latryx, 8 pt. Agenda. More on this later, when I have time to process and reread my Campbell. Origami Underground - Dirty Paper Folders! Why did they have to close the Roscoe'snear Lake Merritt? Why? Why? Atom Experiment Brings Teleportation a Step Closer Abandon the crowd of distractions and confusions, and rest in the boundless state without grasping or disturbance; firm in two practices: visualization and complete, at this time of meditation, one- pointed, free from activity. Fall not into the power of confused emotions. Tibetan Book of the Dead (c. 780 A.D.) Wednesday, September 26, 2001
I haven't had much opportunity to write since work has been hectic, I've been away,
life has been crazy and we are offline at home. The wedding was fraught with familial tension, but nice nonetheless. No one asked me when I was going to get married, my mother having warned most of my family members to not ask me that very volatile question. I felt young to be around my sisters, to be around the "adults". The weather was balmy and warm and I wished I had a small place of my own to drape myself around a chaise lounge, sip cool drinks and get a tan. The Menstrual Monster has me in its grip right now, so I'm not very rational. Or creative. Or sage. Or anything. I thought about not writing here anymore, why should I keep writing? I have nothing profound to say, and the smut that used to keep this site "sticky" (haha) has fallen to the wayside. Un grand soupir. Funny how L.A. still breaks my heart. The garish architecture, the strip malls and the tract houses, the maze of freeways leading to nowhere. Drive to your job, drive to the mall, drive back home, find something to do, somewhere to go, or veg on the leather sofa and watch tv. I'm not saying that the City has so much soul, but at least there is a discernable heartbeat here, a current passing through the hills and streets. They're both lonely places, each in their own way. But the City, where I was born, has more character. And when you're lonely in the City, the loneliness has more soul, more depth, aided in part by the ocean and the bridges and the swirling fog. You bundle up, take a walk, add your body to the thick of life. In L.A., you get in your car, and drive home and turn on the tv. But who am I kidding? I am as apt as the next self-loathing couch frite to hole up in my room and hide from the world. Engage. Engage! I need to engage and uplift! I am beginning a massive reassessment of the people in my life, their value, necessity, drag coefficient, etc. As my wonderful girlfriend once astutely observed, Some people can hang, but only a few can hang on. I'm one to hang on. But what if there isn't anything to hang on to? What if the substance of relationships disappears? What if all you have together, be it girl/girl or boy/boy or girl/boy, are memories of the past? Nothing current, no growth, what's the point? Times are uncertain and I am possessed of a need to draw in my peeps, into the warm embrace of friendship, to close ranks and cut the unnecessary ties. I'm sure this mood will pass, probably within the next hour or so, when the hormones ebb. Worthlessness, the mundane, being steeped in pointless busy work. Oh Dope J, how you have changed. Now you're disappointing everyone. Thursday, September 20, 2001
Headed to Southern Cali for the wedding in which I will be a reluctant bridesmaid.
Back on Monday night. Have a wonderful weekend, crickets and tumbleweed. Hopefully DSL will be back up at my house when I get home! Wednesday, September 19, 2001
Alain de Botton wrote something I read once - was it On Love? What do you know about the Church of the Subgenius? Thanatopsis, William Cullen Bryant. 1794–1878 Simple Thantopsis Ginger is Good for you I woke up this morning and on the walk to my bus stop I thought to myself that what causes discontent is myth that happiness is possible every day. The weather was gray again. It was cold to stand in line. I do not feel particularly healthy or unhealthy. I do not feel sad or mad. I feel no particular turmoil or excitement or drama. I have worries but they are small relative to world events, so I do my best to dissociate from them. sleeping later, waking later, eating less and thinking more It's a peculiar sort of stillness that I don't think is anywhere near Zen. Back to my own little mental dojo to seek the wisdom of the masters. I don't believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive. - Joseph Campbell The central point of the world is where stillness and movement are together. Movement is time, but stillness is eternity. Realizing how this moment in your life is actually a moment of eternity, and experiencing the eternal aspect of what you're doing in the temporal experience - this is the mythological experience. -Joseph Campbell, The Power of Myth So this strange melancholy is a reflective point, these moments where I am fully absorbing all stimulus, quietly synthesizing and seething and bubbling inside with pops of enlightenment. This I believe. Until then, I will seek out the small pleasures of the world, the heady scent of gardenias, saba (mackerel) teri don or sashimi, chocolate, and the release of unabashed tears. Erotic pleasures, the cure for the thanatopsis, a road trip later this week with the Pyromaniac in the dark of night. Sex is the antidote to death, the affirmer of life. Tuesday, September 18, 2001
I've been conspicuously devoid of frivolous or erotic thoughts
since last week, understandably so. But not altogether devoid of thought - not me, never. I will gather all the scattered fragments tonight and prepare some soup for tomorrow. If there is anyone left to listen. Anyone care to share their thoughts with me? Stimulus:response, you know. Thursday, September 13, 2001
Life in downtown San Francisco seems so normal that it hurts.
Seems like people here are either mad, sad, or detached. Me? I'm sad. Profoundly sad. I had a breakdown at lunch. I hadn't really been able to cry. Just been in a daze. "You didn't lose anyone, why should you be sad?" This doesn't have to be just a personal tragedy for me to be affected. I feel this in my own blood, this sadness, this evil, this cry of pain. For all the childrens who lost their mamas and papas and sisters and brothers. For all the childrens in Afghanistan who may ot may not know that they may or may not be nuked in retaliation. For all the innocent and helpless pawns. I have lost no one of my own and yet my heart is full of tears. Business as usual seems so callous. Business as usual for all the insensitive proletarians. Mustn't let the great economy be halted by tragedy. It's true. I know we have to "buck up" and be strong for everyone who isn't dead. To show support and solidarity. But I can't help the need to mourn. I can't help the need to grieve out loud. I can't help the feelings of confusion and disillusionment. I know that goodness exists in this world. Here in my City so Small the tourists gape and stand in line for cable cars, snap pictures of the Golden Gate bridge. Locals talk on their cell phones, lace up their running shoes, make plans to meet for drinks. I'm sorry if I can't laugh or smile. Or that I've lost patience with mean people and self-absorbed issues. I've lost patience even with myself you see? Because right now, while we go on with "business as usual" lifeless bodies lie beneath the rubble. Or perhaps they lie motionless waiting for a rescue that will come too late, and in these moments, last gasps of life and tears and delirious whispers, memories are fluttering, faint heartbeats. Perhaps they whisper softly words of love and regret, no one to hear them. And I am thinking of that, of them right now. I wish I were psychic. Or had telepathic powers. Or somehow, something. And all this talk of loss of innocence. I do not believe we were ever innocent. This is not an uneducated country. We have freedom of speech, of press and multiple inputs of information and stimulus each day. There seem to be few credible excuses for being uninformed that our comfy lifestyles come at a cost to others. I am also guilty. I had never paid attention to the name Osama bin Laden until Tuesday. This is a loss of ignorance, and there isn't anything tragic about that. I feel like today America faces the same question I myself have faced in so many relationships. How do we exercise empathy and understanding and diplomacy towards these desperate people, but stand up for ourselves at the same time? America is an overly compassionate and generous nation. Sometimes, as a result, we are vulnerable and we get hurt. I feel the mask has fallen away. It's true that our realities have shifted. For many Americans, reality is something we see on Reality TV. And we gladly absorb that, because it's not happening to us, but we watch it unfold, shows like Big Brother and Survivor, etc. We're affected, we have preferences, alliances, etc. That's our shared "reality." And then Tuesday "reality tv" is not scripted, nor are the participants paid volunteers. All I want to do is reach out to my loved ones. Love is the only comfort I feel right now. So I'm sorry. Sorry that I've been morbidly sending along pictures and links to pictures of the tragedy. Sorry I feel sad instead of mad or detached. Sorry sorry sorry that any of this had to happen at all.
I was a victim of the Nostradamus Hoax and I'm sorry I ever spread it to anyone else.
See the debunking here. Wednesday, September 12, 2001
Mood today is somber and pensive.
No salacious tales or inconsequential ramblings. . .I'm sorry. Well, we're all sorry. You know how something like this happens and all your personal troubles and issues and work seem suddenly, totally ridiculous and insignificant? Yesterday I sat glued to the television and felt this overwhelming urge to join the army. I always felt like I should have been born a general, and I felt a calling to be a spy/assassin since early childhood. There's been so much talk of the lack of "intelligence" in our military/defense that I feel compelled to "use my powers for good." Perhaps it's because so much of my life has been lived in secret. All of the petty bullshit in my heart, I think, must crumble along with the debris of the WTC. Meanwhile, on the radio, I'm listening to people freaking about the Nostradamus predictions. Apparently he made a prediction that "2 metal birds" would crash into "twin statues" in the "new" city. > In the year of the new century and nine months, From the sky will come a great King of Terror... The sky will burn at forty-five degrees. Fire approaches the great new city... In the city of york there will be a great collapse, 2 twin brothers torn apart by chaos while the fortress falls the great leader will succumb third big war will begin when the big city is burning > Is his prophecy being fulfilled? Or are the culprits fulfilling the prophecy as they might have read and interpreted it? Growing up in a Christian household, I learned that every catastrophe was a sign of the "end times". But then, people in the Middle Ages probably thought it was the "end times" too. I used to be freaked out by these prophecies, and esp. reading the book of Revelations in the Bible over and over, and watching the propaganda-style freaky "This is the Tribulation! The end times!" movies that the Christian camps used to love to show us. Even President Bush is quoting Psalms on the t.v. I wonder if that annoys the Jews and the Muslims and the Buddhists, etc. Wake up I guess. Time to find some sort of spirituality. I've never let go of mine, although the structure has always been in a kind of flux. Links to other writings about yesterday's events Link to donate to the American Red Cross via Amazon Link to donate to the American Red Cross via PayPal I want to believe that people are good. That they care. That this generation won't just sit back and absorb this tragedy through the media and succumb to the "whatever" apathy. That we might, in big and small ways, take this event of terrorism and tragedy, and at least use our combined energies to love and remember and help each other -- if only to combat the negative energy with a concerted effort of positive energy. I'm more afraid than ever to fly in a plane. Thanks to that movie Final Destination and now this very real threat of terrorism. I tried to tell myself that fearing death is wack, since when your time is up, then it's up. But I'm human I suppose, and I cling to life just as fiercely as a dying person. And I don't want to lose the chance to breathe every breath. Which falls in line with my new commitment to take better care of myself, as well as my loved ones. With as few excuses as possible. I see myself reflected in some of my friends, who don't seem to care for their health much either. Who party on and on, despite poor health. The day the party ends, or the body fails, it might be too late to bounce back. Lesson to myself. And to whomever else cares. Today, I'm taking moments to meditate. And maybe sometime soon when the numbness wears off, I'll find the heart to cry for the dead. Wednesday, September 05, 2001
I feel a little bit like I'm holding my breath.
As if my world has come to a brief standstill of peace. Work is slow and steady. My home space is slowly becoming more organized. Relationships with men are falling into each their own unique place in my heart. Relationships with women fluctuate and flutter and sputter as they always have. I realized today that I hope my longing never abates. What longing? For something intangible and undefined, something that is only satisfied unexpectedly, by chance and serendipity. Medieval ecclesiastical definitions of the ages of man, from the Aberdeen Bestiary: Gradus etatis vi sunt. Infancia, puericia,\ adolescentia, iuventus, gravitas, atque se\nectus. Prima etas infantia est, pueri nas\centis ad lucem, que porrigit in vii annis.\ Secunda puericia est, id est pura et nec dum ad\ generandum apta, tendens usque ad quartum decimum an\num. Tercia adolescentia ad gignendum adulta, que porri\gitur usque viginti octo annos. Quarta iuventus firmissima\ omnium etatum finiens in quinquagesimo anno. Quinta\ etas senioris, id est gravitas que est declinatio a iuventute in\senectutem, non dum senectus set iam non iuventus, quia\ senioris etas est quam Greci presbiterum vocant, nam senex\ apud Grecos non presbiter sed geron dicitur. Que etas a quinquagesimo\ anno incipiens, septuagesimo terminatur. Sexta etas senec\tus que nullo annorum tempore finitur, sed post quinque illas\ etates quantumcumque vite est senectuti deputatur. Senium\ autem pars est ultima senectutis, dicta quod sit terminus\ sexte etatis. In his igitur sex spaciis philosophi descripserunt vi\tam humanam, in quibus mutatur et currit et ad mortis\ terminum pervenit. Translation There are six stages of life. Infancy, childhood, adolescence, youth, maturity and old age. The first age is infancy, which lasts from the time the child enters the light till it is seven. The second is childhood, that is, when the child is pure and not yet old enough to generate young; it extends to the fourteenth year. The third is adolescence, when the child is old enough to generate children; it lasts until the twenty-eighth year. The fourth is youth, the the most robust of all the ages; it ends in the fiftieth year. The fifth age is that of riper years, that is, of maturity, and represents the movement away from youth to old age; you are not yet ancient, but you are no longer young; the Greeks call someone at this age of maturity presbiteros, an elder; an old man they call geron. This age, beginning in the fiftieth year, ends in the seventieth. The sixth age is that of old age, which has no end-date; whatever of life is left after the five previous ages is classed as 'old age'. The final part of old age is senility, senium, so called because it marks the end of the sixth age, sexta etas. Ergo! I'm still an adolescent, and youth is ahead of me, and not behind me. This is exciting news! No wonder I've been dealing with teen issues lately. Looks like I have 2 years of adolescence to go, before I finally achieve "youth." This totally explains why I can't resist teen pop music! Why I still like to eat bubble gum, am financially irresponsible, and have the interior decor of a 17 year old girl. Thank goodness, something explains it. A medieval text! Sometimes when I get a little manic, I look to my hero of madness, Salvador Dali. Tuesday, September 04, 2001
I've wanted to provide vox readings for my writing for awhile now.
I need to figure out how I can do it the way Jish does. Anyone can help me? So you can hear my voice? Moving to my own domain and finding a host must be put off until: a) my laptop gets resurrected b) our dsl connection gets resurrected c) I have enough money again to set it all up. Everytime I have a little money saved, something happens to wipe it all out and I'm back to zero. Oh well, I guess that's what savings are for. But I've been trying to save to "get ahead" all year, and something's always come up. So I put off those things I want a little longer - that trip to New York, a new pair of boots, hosting services for my own site, a digital video camera, more music, a haircut, a facial, a brazilian wax. Readings from Julia Alvarez, author of In the Time of the Butterflies: The great mystics, the Sufis, believe that you should teach only by means of a story. If the story is a great story, the student can enter it at any level and draw sustenance and wisdom from it. As the student grows, the story grows with him. But if you tell the student directly some lesson or truth, he will forget it. This is not unlike that wise old saying that you should give a man hook and line and teach him to fish instead of giving him the fish outright. So here is my story, the ongoing saga. I'm learning by the telling of it. And maybe someone else is too. More Gnostic wisdom from St. Thomas: If you bring forth what is inside you, what is inside will save you. if you do not bring forth what is inside you, what is inside will destroy you. What's inside me can save me and I believe it. Up until now I've avoided being totally honest with others and myself to protect us all. I probably learned that from my mother. And here I am, a victim of her memes. The Pyromaniac brought up some Tao the other day, about how the rock doesn't wear away the water, but the water wears away the rock, you know? Another lesson about patience, the expansiveness of the heart, and the grace of Loving. I must remain fluid to keep young. I must not lose any flexibility. I must not become too attached or too fixed to earthly possessions. I must find a way to be soft and forgiving and tender, yet stand up for myself at the same time. I must find away to express this to others, as well as myself. Friday's thoughts Beware you men who are callous and stoic. Regretful too late. By the time epiphany dawns, she is either dead or gone, or her feelings are dead or gone. I want to teach a man how to love me, teach him how I've always wished to be loved. Dreams this strong would never seem contrived to me, because I had to ask for it. Rather, I would only be humbly grateful and relieved that my turn had come. While watching a Chinese grandpa hand in hand with his small granddaughter walking around the park, I realized that somedays I too, wish to be a tiny girl walking hand in hand with a big man. Just happy to be together. I wonder if it will ever be sated and finished, this young girl, so obviously in arrested development, finished with her need to be loved by a man who will not hurt her. So she needn't be confusing love with hurt anymore. Allowing her to be free to love and trust, without fear; to love as she was not able to then, and as she has not been able heretofore, not fully, with any man. Alternately I would like a man to tell me how he wishes to be loved. So that I might glean from his wishes, and yet surprise him with things he never knew he wanted. The Dark Angel, that force within me that was first born in 1998, when my heart was first broken, she speaks after a long silence in a dark whisper: (if we are adored, it is because our love is unique. our effect is profound, and the dark gaze is deep. we emanate that sense of knowingness, of sentience, of the force within us which is aware of our own effect and power, so sweetly mysterious when juxtaposed with the slight young girl, the damaged asian kitty lolita forever. Magnetic because only sometimes in the eyes and the small red mouth quirking is betrayed the profound understanding of this meta-existence, this inhabiting of higher beings in this dark and tiny shell.) Wait - does this sound like Scientology to you? Did some previous brainwashing awaken from dormancy? Should I rent Battlefield Earth? Call John Travolta? What's my Thetan name?
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