The Incubus has resurfaced...

And I haven't the strength nor the resistance to fight him...

Ain't that a bitch!

How I do....

I've been feeling odd lately. Although I've come home to myself, I have to get settled into the new digs. All the thoughts, schemes and capers I've come up with to help me along with this moving of thought in process, have not worked, and left me with more boxes of brain clutter I have to unpack. I decided to have a talk with some people, and I've decided I'm going to train in Akido, again. I used to train, but I left it alone for a bit, because my Sensei wanted to be more than a Sensei. Which left me more undisciplined than before. I need to find my Chi and get back to my discipline.

While I was talking, someone mentioned praying and God. Although, I do acknowledge a higher entity abounding somewhere, I just don't think going to church, catching fits and speaking in gibberish is going to help me. I found something that basically spoke what I felt...


"you know people talk about 'putting things in gods hands,' which often means 'I'm going to be too lazy to try to make an impact in my own life.' or loosely translates to 'I'm trying to test god to see if he/she/it will come through.' shit like that always made me sick. its like this, i was never one to blame some faceless devil when i did some shit i knew i shouldn't, and im not one to call on some mystery god by default whenever im in trouble, only to abandon my newfound spirituality when shit gets better, like 79% of people in existence. i got too many control issues for that. either its my fault or its not. pick a side, and stick to it. god has nothing to do with your failure...you have to do with your failure." ---www.xt04.com/infamous


Say word...

My blessings are always abundant. I'm never hungry, needy or destitute. But, does it make me an atheist because I haven't a need to scream out a name to help me through? I don't think so. I think I'll meditate. Clear out the clutter that has been confusing my spiritual house. I think that will make me feel 100%.

You don't look like the average geek...

I've heard people say this at my job, and I think it's the most derogatory statement anyone has ever expressed to me. Since my image doesn't reflect the stereotypical geek represented in media, it does not make me less of a tech. So I like to shower everyday, and I have a very functioning life away from my machine. I still love Macs, The Matrix, and Star Wars. I still spend countless hours playing Phantasy Star Online, and love it. "You look cooler than the average geek!" This was supposed to make me laugh. It didn't. I feel these mammals at my job take advantage of my technical abilities, only because I don't rip them a new one for lack of following simple directions. There have been times when, I've walked into the building, and instead of sending me an email or a voicemail, they're stopping me for some asinine problem. I've been in my office, mouth full of food, and people still have the nerve to come in and tell me about some technical issue. I mean, damn, can I eat first?!?!? I can't lie, my friends here get very special treatment. Call me! We'll do lunch, and I'll get you some cool speakers we only save for the big-wigs. Some of the mammals noticed that, and go out of their way to be extra nice, for a cool keyboard or some shiny peripheral they don't know how to use anyway.

Man, fuck that...

I tried to blame it on my PMS, which can get vicious and violent. It's more than that. I try to talk about it, and people look at me as if I have three heads. So I'm writing. I'm hoping I can wake up tomorrow, and I'll feel better. Right now, if someone comes into my office, I'm throwing a monitor.

No email, no voicemail, no service...

Enough said.

Never mention purple, again...

I had a Prince lovefest, Friday night. It was the first time, in a long time where I let myself go, and just enjoyed me. I like to have moments alone where I can contemplate, talk to myself, and just laugh at my total lack of seriousness. Let's just say, purple panties broadcasted over Instant Messenger does not a conversation make.

Go ahead, laugh, I know you know what I'm talking about, RyderBoi55...

Searching to find the one...

In my quest to find Mr. Right, Wonderful, and Employed, I found the Steward. In these meetings, I tend to be honest and very real. Nothing is held back. Sometimes I find men think this trait I call a quality very intimidating. I don't know why. Society dictates women should be demure, feminine, and docile. Those words don't dwell in my vernacular. I don't know how to be rescued, because I'm emancipating myself. No dame in danger here. I like being in control. I like calling the shots. I like having my say without anyone to question my motives. Is that the reason why I wander the world alone? Could this be the reason why my friends rather me be their sister than their lover? The whole girlie attitude is my enemy in my mind right now. I'm strong, competent and ambitious. Are these attributes only deserved by distinguished men with cigars hanging from a bottom lip, exuding ultra bravado? Nah, let's just call my conduct, braggadocia....

Come fly the friendly skies...

The Steward is nice. He's a breath of fresh air in the middle of smog. Can I say that? He's a country boy, with country charm. He's a welcome distraction from my melodramatic soap opera, right now. Let's just see how this goes.

Hello, it's me...

This weekend has been one of great moments. I've gotten a chance to revisit my roots, and plant new ones. I've been loved by my family. I've been lusted after for 10 minutes, and I've been dubbed the Pimpstresse of the night. Whatever that means. After the Programmer replaced my comfort zone with utter disdain, I thought I'd never recover. A friend mentioned my current mind state as one from the Magnificent Seven. I'm clutching for flies I'll never catch. I don't like flies. In my quiet moments of love, I've found me again. It was almost like my picture was on a milk carton. I've lost myself in this debacle I called healing. It's good to have me home again. I've missed me.

Welcome back, Lionesse...

Just one of those days...

I feel like I'm in a classroom, naked, surrounded by old boyfriends, crushes and one night stands, and I'm being asked to write the answer to a math problem on a blackboard.

32 + 32?

I'm horrified at this scene, because, I don't know the answer.

How wicked is that?

I don't even remember what color socks I have on.

Sometimes it snows in April...

I've been debating on updating lately. I've tried to formulate sentences to describe what I've gone through in the last few days, and then tried to write, but my heart wouldn't let me babble the words.

It's been a quite interesting week. Things have settled down. The incubus has not been haunting my dreams and inducing my nightmares lately. He's been dormant. I have this underlying feeling that he will surface, and adhere his parasitic aura to me. I'm not worried about that. My armor is strong and unyielding, this day.

What I'm worried about is...

The Dreamwalker.

I met a dreamwalker. It seems he opened a window and climbed into my life, so quietly while I slept. In the past few days of acquainting with the dreamwalker, I've divulged inner secrets that no one knows of me. Of course, I didn't offer any of this information, as I am a very clandestine woman, but, he exudes an ambiance that radiates complete calm. I can settle into myself, and not agonize about what I've done to make myself a slave unbeknownst to my masters.

The dreamwalker makes me feel alive, and wanted. He listens with utmost concern. In the short time that I've concerted with the dreamwalker, I've found he loves with his soul. He's opened his arms, and allowed me to be who I am. He's allowed his mind to be my playground where I swing on happy memories of his. He's also let me play inside his fantasies, wherein I wish I was the object of his lust.

I'm not afraid to taste your love...

Love. It's a very loaded and empty word to me, at this time. While I love talking to him, and sharing with him, I don't love him. Yet. I like him very much. He tickles my humor with twinges of truth and sanity. But he also feeds my insanity of wanting true love. Could he be the one? I search for this abstract lover in every relationship I encounter. This lover of mine, understands and cherishes me. Takes patience with me, and disciplines me when I'm incorrigible. He, nurtures my decaying love spirit as a rare bloom, in his care.

Can you hear me?

I don't plan on projecting any of this onto my dreamwalker. He is my confidante and muse. My accomplice, and my boy next door I lust in secret. He is the best friend you would tell all of your intimates to, but wish you were the woman he's carnal for. I can handle our relationship as friends. I can hang out with him, while I audition others for the starring role of the sitcom that is my life. I can write my sonnets to imaginary flames, with undertones of him being the alpha/omega of my microcosm. The chocolate to my peanut butter.

Welcome to my delirium...

Last night...

I wanted to update this blog with a lonely entry. I tried to write what I was feeling, and it was getting pretty grim. I was feeling sorry for myself, which is something I try not to do, but with the past month's events, I was certain I was headed for some sort of breakdown.

Just then, my best friend called. She had been feeling the same way too. Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow, especially when you trust wholeheartedly.

We decided then, to go out, and have a good time. Usually our good times consist of heading out to NYC and soaking in the sites. We don't necessarily qualify as tourists, since we were native New Yorkers for years. We just had to get back to our roots. We had a fun time. I haven't felt that good in a long time, and I really think I needed it. I didn't think about the incubus, although, the roar of a motorcycle fleet did have me doing double-takes for a minute. But, when the roar was drowned out the nightly noises of the NYC streets, I was okay again. I even boy watched. Boys are so cute when they're just out on the town, hangin' with their friends, watching the girls go by. My best friend even got a henna tattoo.

Pictures will follow...

We went up to the stand, and we saw this Polish, or some type of Celtic descent woman, doing henna tattoos for $5. This older, Jewish lady, obviously a tourist, wanted a henna heart on her boobage. We looked on trying to decide if we wanted one. I opted out. Only because the only tattoo I wanted was the astrological symbol of the Capricorn. The sign the incubus is born under. It was a pretty symbol, but I don't think I wanted to henna myself with the symbol of the incubus. Too fanatic like. So, we're talking to the lady and her son. Her son actually said, "Yeah, you should get one, my mom's getting one, and she has plenty of canvas to work on!!" Yeah, man, he was talking about Mother's boobage! You can't make that type of shit up! My best friend decided on the henna she was going to get. It was on her lower back, and it came out uber-pretty! Yeah, I'm talking about you, Wiles. It was a good night. Nah, it was a great night.

I think we all were going through some sort of breakdown, because I had a friend I needed to console. She called me while we were in the city, and she almost broke my heart, she sounded so hurt. I decided, if I can't console my heart, I can soothe someone else's. It's funny, I always take care of ones I care about, but I never take my own advice. Like, I can dish it, but I can't take it. It's weird. All my life, I've helped other people with a kind word, a shoulder, or just some laughter. But I needed some of that for myself. And that's what last night represented. A new birth for me. A clean slate.

I made my peace with a lot of people, and I also stated my case. If you want to be surrounded by the love I exude, come in, the water's fine. If not, whatever.

Clear heart, clear mind, clear conscience...


Now, I need to find the Artist...