Hahaha

I've moved the blog again. Come find me.

Haha

I can’t take this feeling in my heart anymore
Time for me to step and make my way through the door
If by chance I see you on this road once again
I can guaranty you that I will not pretend

Ok, so what’s new is it really the old pursued?
- Catdiesel [K-OS]

She is stealing my soul

Via Solipsism, aka This Is Not a Blog
PS: Digging that new name there

We've all heard the term "gratuitous sex." Lately, I feel like it's the only kind I've been having - and to be perfectly honest, that's the way I want it. I know that I've been heeing and hawing about leaving the safe and satisfying realm of "making love," but times they are a' changin. The past several years have been full of back-to-back serious relationships, and I've realized that I'm not about to fall in love with anyone, so I might as well stop wasting my time finding someone to make love to.

For a split second, I seriously considered celibacy. I thought about self-respect and the daunting task of putting myself out in the dating world again. I thought about my self-image and the effort to make a relationship successful. And then I realized I was putting too much thought into it. Dating doesn't have to be a stepping stone to anything serious, and sex can be fun without overcomplicating my life. Why make dating and sex such loaded issues? Why not dive into life and see what I come up with?

*
- Thank goodness you realized upon meeting me that I'm a work-in-progress. It's impossible to limit my transitions from who I am today to who I am tomorrow, and you respect that and you respect me. For that, I will always be grateful.


Well. Get out of my head, you.

Soupa-Bowl

Wow. Beautiful game. Even my eyes were glued to the screen. It helped to be caught in between hoping for the Patriots to win -- Wife had a bet on them that involved me getting a new pair of shoes -- and for the Giants, because that.. hope, and hype, and NY alliance... sucked me in since the last/first game I watched. Intense. Go giants.

And..


Racist?

Am I being overly sensitive?

*

[Addon]
It's not the game that did me in. It's the drive home that made me elated to be a New Yorker. People standing outside. Shouting out the window and everyone honking horns at each other. It brings strangers together and shit, it just feels good to cheer like an animal in the streets. Brooklyn had many friends tonight

Happy Superbowl.

Sex

let me speak candidly.

fuck if it actually
factors in past hurts and
tactlessly lasts with me...
Surely the faster we master
the act of compassion we'd answer
these questions more truthfully

Clueless to how the
emotions can rule us, we
do this to others at first opportunity
trying to spin this "love" thing into
monsters we
constantly
try to apply that shit logically

dodging the hurt that
converses nostalgically
verbal abuse makes its presence a noun
solid, it lessens the strength of obsession when
honesty festers and
messes around

"love" is an action, a view and a saying
so I can relate to why you say "expression" -- but

Love

is a fraction of our state of being
and often mistaken for fleeting when bound

maybe we're taking the wrong definition, for
Passion
devours the rest of our whole
one cannot truly exist without other so
lovers confuse the two conflicting roles

you say that the broken can always be mended but
how many women conform to their men?
how many of em distorted their morals and
suddenly found themselves shorted again?

love makes you do
stupid things just to
save
or remain
or be needed
or be validated

but writers will know when
the moment is over
and give it a name
much less complicated

Venturing Out Into the... Well, the Expected

I've had my share of gay rumors throughout my life; I was first made aware of them around 15 or so. I dismissed them with a grin, taking it as a compliment, explaining the truth. I went to an extremely liberal art high school in the city, and my best friend at the time was a declared bisexual white girl that flitted easily between cliques and groups. We were seen together everywhere, and it was just assumed that she and I were messing around.

Fueling the rumors was the assumption that Dynasty was a great big ho. My clothes were form fitting, yes. I will admit that I wasn't as concerned with style then as I am now, so all it really was was tight jeans and hugging tanktops. I had a body to show off, but here's what sealed the deal: I had -- nay, have -- a walk that could put a seasoned hooker to shame. My height complex demanded that I wore heels every day, and my swagger demanded that I wore them slow. My hips have a beat of their own, and it brought repetition to my name in their mouths. I learned to shrug it off quick, so I floated through the halls decidedly ignorant to what could have been said. Things always found their way back to me, though.

As it turns out, they were confused. Here is this Great Big Ho, look... but why isn't she talking to any of the dudes? She always hangs around other chicks, and gay people. And her best friend is that lesbian girl.

OHHHHHhhhh.

That was easily explained. I was in a long-term relationship at the time with a guy who didn't go to my school. There was a 4-year age difference, and I wasn't comfortable with mixing crowds then in general anyway. People didn't know he existed unless I spoke about him, and I deflected all advances sent my way with a respectful, "I have a boyfriend, but thank you." I'd hang out with a few of them, occasionally flirt back; perhaps boys in general were shyer at that age, because I didn't get that many offers. Then again, almost everyone I ever befriended, male and female alike, first judged me to be a huge bitch. A few have told me that they were surprised I was such a dork; I had initially intimidated them and they would never have guessed that I'd buckle into a conversation. Maybe they just weren't aggressive. It doesn't matter.

I didn't know my friend was gay until after I befriended her. Didn't change a thing.

And, what the fuck. If you go to an art school, you're bound to come across some kick ass gay people. Doesn't make a difference to me either way. The people I hung out with just happened to erect oppositely.

Not to say that I didn't speak with ANY of the fellas there... I might have had a mild affair (which I managed to keep very discreet); I wasn't loyal to my boyfriend throughout the entire 4 years of high school, no. But, I would never bring shit into the place I slept. Having affairs with people in such an immediate community is asking for trouble. You only do shit like that if you want to get caught, and I didn't. Throughout all of my high school career, I must have verbally spoken with a heaping handful of males within those walls.

On top of that, I've always had an affinity for the female form. Before I even knew how to draw like I do now, I was breaking out sketches of nudes at the age of 10. I'd simply seen something and imitated it, eventually it became my defining style. Sexuality in the female form found itself in the hipbones I shaded in, the dip I carved into the lower back, the plush of her smirk, the glint of her eyes. I was always absorbing the shape of a woman with my gaze, appreciating the diagonals and curves that bent light.

I am an ass girl. Somehow it turned into a second nature. Perhaps it was growing up around males, perhaps I secretly am gay, but now I understand the man's plight. I check out every ass that passes by me in the street, consciously or not. I dismiss them from memory if they are subpar, I drag my eyes along their path if they catch my attention. Needless to say, my boyfriends have all appreciated this trait in me. It made looking less thrilling and secretive, but now we had a new game to play. We bonded.

As far as sexual urges went, they never really became urgent. I was blessed to be constantly surrounded by a plethora of the coveted, I was a lucky bitch. We would be passing lunch in the art office, and somehow one would convince the sex-faced wild-haired double-D dominican virgin to lift up her shirt and show us her heft. I've taken PG-21 pictures, actually, with her back in the day. There have been moments where I felt the urge to press my lips against a friend's collarbones; sometimes I'd want to take an earlobe between my teeth. I've made out with a few women, and very rarely I would get a hot throb in response to a gesture, a comment, a coy look. I've never been tempted to pursue a romantic relationship with a woman, nor have I ever flashed into fantasies of one buried between my thighs or vice versa. It just didn't occur to me. Factor in that occasionally, my gutter-girl strut will slacken into an admittedly masculine stroll (it's been pointed out to me that my swagger changes sex very often), it's easy to understand why I get assumed to be a bisexual all the time.

Shrug. Lately, my mind has been wandering. I mean, what if? Not purely for sexual purposes, obviously, but what would dating a woman be like? Could I do it? Something changed in the past half decade, and I'm not quite sure what it is. I wouldn't say that I now have thrilling urges to dig a woman out with my undoubtable oral skills (ha!), but there seems to be an acceptance within me that says, it's time. You can explore now, when you're ready. I'm leaving the window open.

My homegirl NN is in an amazing relationship with a woman she met a few years ago. They live together, they support each other, they've met each others families and they vibe together. They have their tough moments, but they are so in love. I was over there a few weekends ago, and saw two pieces of paper taped to the mirror. It said, in script and rainbow glitter, "Paula loves you." When I turned around to ask about it, NN had seen it and her face broke out into the sweetest, youngest, proudest grin. Her voice went up into a soft, raspy croon, and she was three seconds from clasping her hands to her chest and swaying. She said that they had been fighting; then she received an envelope in the mail. When she opened it up, everything was forgotten. It came with a note which contents I will not disclose, but what stuck with me was when NN said that ten years ago, she would never have imagined herself in a relationship with a woman, so happy where she is. She was straight up until she met Paula. She said, "You never say never, cuz you never know."

I Hm'ed.

I've been hit on by many women who have intrigued me to no ends. I passed because I was juggling men at the time, and I don't have it in my capacity to add new complications to the list. Should I date a woman, I'd have to dedicate a whole bunch of my focus into it. It would be a new experience, one I would absorb and learn from as much as enjoy. But now, I kind of regret having told them no. Some of them looked so sweet.

Recently, my Future Tense revealed in her blog that since she's become single:

I'm dating a few people - a woman included - and remembering that pretty faces and kicking good games don't mean that people have the skills to get me off. The woman I'm seeing, PW, is hot - but more than that, she and I can vibe with each other on so many levels. With the men, it's all about looks and personality - but not intellect. I feel like now's the time that karma's biting me in the ass. It seems to be saying, "You had a good run with so many men who loved you, nurtured your spirit and intellect, and fucked you silly - and you denied each and every one of them any real opportunity at a serious, long-term relationship. Now you get to see what the other side's like."

Ignoring -- or perhaps drawn to -- the foreshadowed warning that passage implied, I said: I've been seriously considering including women into my dating peripheral. How is that going?

She replied:
Dating women is going well. After getting over the initial am-I-really-bisexual-or-am-I-just-following-the-trend introspective inspection, I've succumbed to the old Margaret Cho addage: "I went through this whole thing. I was like, 'Am I gay? Am I straight? And I realized, I'm just slutty. Where's my parade?"

Stay tuned.

Attraction, Vanity, and Validation

It's a shameful thing to admit, isn't it? Validation, our tendencies to chase after it, and that we all need it in one way or another.

Bars, clubs, lounges, corners,
Makeup, heels,
those jeans that lift your booty like THAT;
Every cleavage-enhancing top in your wardrobe,
every pair of fuck-me-pumps in your closet,
every clinging skirt that falls off of your ass
JUST so…

It’s okay. You can admit it now. You need it as much as we do. I’ll be your support group, shhhh, it’s okay.

We know how to make our curves scream. We know how to make your eyes draw. We work it because we are our own canvas, and we know how to make you – subconsciously or blatantly -- admire our art.

Where do you think our confidence comes from? Shit.

The majority of us don’t look in the mirror every morning, hands flat, elbows locked, forcefully chanting, “Yes Girl, You are Beautiful. Yes Girl, he is a FOOL for leaving you. Yes Girl, you are a Strong, Amazing Woman.” For weeks we can survive on merely giving our reflections silent nods of approval, turning to the side, cocking that hip, and admiring our figures to walk out that door completely aware of the fact that we are stunning. Our validation comes in steady waves, at least in a city like New York. The men are very open with their gazes and compliments here. They may step disrespectful more often than not, but they will let you know in one way or another that they appreciate your beauty and, in bolder cases, would like to obtain it. On a particularly good day, you will have every man passing by sizing you up in greeting. Any attractive New York City female will consider the glance-over a daily part of her routine.

I do not search the eyes of every man I pass for a sign of approval or a glance filled with lust, I honestly don’t. That kind of need for validation is glaringly obvious in the way a woman dresses, walks, and carries herself. I know that there is nothing but confidence usually emanating from my strut, my attire, and my air; I don't need to see my reflection on your face to confirm any of that. Half the time, I’m completely oblivious to the looks men give me, but my peripheral always catches a turning head or a visual undressing. I’m not stupid, I’m fly as hell. I put care into the way I look, so I rarely doubt my fire.

The validation I’m talking about is SO different from the one insecure girls seek. I’m not talking about the I-Need-Your-Penis-To-Harden-In-My-Presence-So-Ima-Play-Games-With-Your-Soul type of validation. The self-assured girl’s validation is different. Let me digress for like, two seconds, and then I’ll come right back to that.

Call me conceited, like I give a fuck. My type of pretty is not effortless. It’s not subtle, it’s not born into me, it’s not universal at the core. My type of pretty is in your face, and that’s because I pay attention to myself much more than you do. I do not have the type of attractive that will drive a man wild while I lounge in a sweatshirt and ponytail. I do not have the type of attractive that can pass off Capri pants and ballet flats. I do not own, nor will I ever be able to claim, Casual Cute. I make what I have work by knowing what doesn’t, and I apply it every day, everywhere I go.

”There is no such thing as an ugly woman, just a lazy one.
-Helena Rubenstein

Other women will be quick to say that I do it all for the attention of men. Perhaps, but get that it’s more of an added bonus, rather than a goal. I am an artist, and I am picky about the lines I create. (Son, do you not realize that the eye automatically groups like shapes and patterns together? If you have a round face, do you not see that round glasses or earrings will enhance that? It’s so subconscious, but buy you a pair of soft-edged rectangular frames and see the difference it makes. Invest in some visually vertical earrings. Do you not see that parallel laces -vs crossed- and a simple choker across your throat can make a striped shirt pop, because the eye travels all around you, and you maintain a balance with neck and foot?) I like to pay attention to the subtle things.

Ok, let me turn around and pick up where I left off. I had a couple of points to make in this post.

The street verification that keeps us steady is kind of like the confidence level, to a woman, of a man at a bar – we are only aware of its presence when there is a LACK of it, like white noise, and sudden walls of silence. People who are used to getting admired on a regular basis will suddenly realize that they haven’t gotten any looks one particular day, and suddenly feel out of place and inadequate. It’s the oddest thing. We don’t mean for it to happen, it just… kind of does.

And I know it’s not just women. My last ex had his days where his outfits were ON. POINT -- and he knew it. He’d go to work in a bravely shaded getup, his tie and his button-down the perfect pumpkin to his fitted pinstripe dress pants, hips narrow and shoulders all broad looking and stuff. He’d leave the house knowing he looked good that day. He admitted to walking down the street and being slightly confused when some of the women he passed didn’t blatantly run their eyes over his physique, because he had already grown accustomed to that kind of attention after a half hour of pedestrian traffic (yes, us city girls are eye-rapists too). The withdrawal of it shifts things into an indescribable emptiness, which The Girls and I have established as a dip in self-esteem, more often than not occurring under the radar.

For weeks we can survive on nothing but aforementioned street verification and pride. However – and every single woman has experienced this at various points of their lives – one insecure day will ruin the whole thing. A fat day, a blemish day, an acne day, a bad hair day. Getting dumped, even if it’s by someone you didn’t like. Losing your job. Getting rejected. Something will tip the scale, and the secret remedy to this heavy blanket of inadequacy is a nice, hard shot of validation. If they don’t receive it early, it will expand and grow into something much worse, much more desperate… frankly, it will turn into A Rut.

We mostly see using validation to cure insecurity woes as a disdainful, immature thing to do – but I’m not talking about acts that fuel adages like “The best way to get over someone old is to get under someone new.” No, that rarely works, at least not for the woman. We are the receivers, we end up feeling whorish and raped at the end of the day should we follow that path in some angry burst of determination. You don’t need to seal the deal with the deed in order to get what you need from the situation. You just have to be reminded that, kicks heels, yes you still got it.

All people need, in the end, is to be coveted. Admired. Wanted. Anonymously.

My girl called me a few weeks ago, and pouted into the phone. “Dynasty, I feel ugly today.” She already knows that I’m not one to lift my voice a few octaves and insist that she is beautiful, she is gorgeous, there are so many men in the world that would die to touch her, women who would kill to be her. I don’t need to tell her any of that shit, because it’s something that she should already know. She is hot as fuck. I don’t give false and unnecessary compliments, nor do I tolerate people fishing for them -- but I knew that wasn’t it, she wouldn't have called me for that. I crooned into the phone, “Let’s go get validated”; she laughed, but we never followed up. Little by little, she started feeling worse and worse about herself. All it would have taken was a smooth walk past a strip of idling dancers at a club, most likely on our way to the exit door, or the bar, or the bathroom. It’s almost guaranteed that as a female (much more as an attractive female) you’ll get welcomed hungrily by their eyes, their words, and in few unavoidable cases, their hands. It might not solve worlds of problems, but it would make you feel good about yourself without having to really give any of yourself away.

Even if it’s not that deep, just think about how groups of friends – both male and female -- get together to take a member of the fam out to a club or bar or other social scene post-breakup. Not only is it to ease the wounded back into the game, if successful it’s a way to ease him/her out of the insecurity that usually follows after getting dumped.

Women will spend hours on their hair, indulge in shopping sprees, change their outfits 6 times at least in order to achieve the most flattering figure, all so that they can go out that weekend, and turn down the men they’ve been accepting drinks from all night. It’s kind of fucked up, isn’t it – but I must say, it’s a hell of a remedy.

Another subtle form of validation is one I unfortunately find myself participating in regularly – retail therapy. Ohhh, nothing feels better than looking in that fitting room mirror triumphantly, contemplating a new piece to add to your wardrobe, because damn that shirt makes your waist look fly. Damn, that waist makes this ass look fly. Damn, those stripes lead you right to the good parts. Metal-backed stilettos and eye-catching scarves and deep v-neck sweaters that hug your breasts like air. The makeup industry – MAC, Sephora, entire stores dedicated to “enhancing” your beauty, aka “tapping into your deepest insecurities”… they’re there to make us feel better when we need them. There’s no other reason a woman could get coerced into purchasing a $40 tube of lip-gloss. If you saw her lips the way she saw them when she tried it on… whoo, you’d drop money for it too. Bet she would have thought twice about it though, if she was having a great self esteem day.

Especially in the wintertime, I find a lot of my girls stuck in these Ruts. I myself often slip in and out of self-esteem levels because this is when I get real lazy and stop being creative with my outfits. Black sweater, dark denim skinny jeans, faded brown wraparound boots and on a bad hair day, the everpresent brown houndstooth hat. My outfits vary based on accessories and hairstyles. None of it matters anyway, because the public only sees your coat and your shoes LOL.

This is also the same time I start getting extremely tired of my gear, and -- *rubs belly -- I always allow a decent amount of softness this season because my sweaters can cover it up. However, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m too vain to be this “shapeless.” I will admit to pulling out the off-the-shoulder tops and stiletto suede knee-highs to strut into a lounge with my bodyguard boys in tow. I dance with my eyes closed, and I dance well; it’s a comfort knowing that my fam will protect me if anyone gets too touchy, so I allow myself to really release. I get the attention I desire from afar, and a number will make its way into my pocket a time or two. Even if I don’t follow through, I know that I’ll be grinning at my reflection again, at least for the next few weeks. On those days, I might try something new with my style.

I’m not ashamed to admit any of this. It’s just what we do. Why make it a sin?

The Softer Side of Dynasty

When I was back at (name withheld, gee this is hard).net, I was a lot... angrier. My writing voice was sterner, surer, belittling, sarcastic and confident -- nay, arrogant. I had a large, anonymous fanbase. It was intense.

My blog now is extremely different. My best friend used to check on (name withheld).net compulsively, as did many of my readers. I used to update 5 or 6 times a day -- long, mind-raping ramblings with intense introspect and musings on society. I think they felt more confident coming to my page obsessively knowing that I did not have a counter, ticker, tracker, whatever the fuck. They were able to drink in my words and still maintain a quiet, voyeuristic role in my life.

I slapped and dragged my mental orgasms all along the wall. I was a textibitionist. My attitude is what made it so thrilling.

It's kind of fucked up that all of that is gone. This last year was an intense humbling experience for me, and I'm not sure I can pull that arrogance back into my life like that. I miss it, excruciatingly so. And I know I'm not alone.

Even the fact that I'm no longer the "Master of my domain," demurely hosted by such a well-known, generic blog site... (withheld).net was MY moniker, MY government, MY reality... it speaks upon where I am in life today. What was on that page defined my world. Now, I struggle to find words to define my life. It's difficult.

I don't feel too huge of a loss. Granted, my writing was undeniably better when it had that inflated confidence pushing out the bravest, wildest of my imaginations. Something happened where I was forced to grow up and accept my position in life, and a part of me will always be glad I did. Maybe it's all for a reason.

I'm sorry if you find yourself disappointed when you come across this site, most likely found through some venn diagram collision of worlds, if you recognize me in all this and feel like I've "fallen off." I haven't. I've rearranged.

My readers now, the hunger they profess now, are here for different reasons. A year ago, I expressed the witty, take-no-prisoners, sarcastic "Strong Young Female" side of themselves they wanted to be. Now, I touch upon the conlicted, vulnerable, progessing parts of themselves they're not sure how to express.

I'm down with that. To fight the unbeatable foe, to bear with unbearable sorrow, to run where the brave dare not go -- don quixote up in this motherfucker -- but, in all reality, I'm an otherwise elusive container of human that is extremely in touch with her emotions, but never willing to confront, absorb or accept them. Suppression is so second nature with me, that this blog is a huge. Deal. I think that only those who are on the same boat as I am -- struggling, afraid, but aware of the unavoidable growth -- will relate to these words or even bother to sit through a rambling.

The brain fart I had recently, where the poetry sputtered out -- that fucked me up. I stopped thinking in strings after that, and came to exist in fragments. Everything to me is becoming a poem, and I haven't felt like that since my elating workshops at college a year ago. I miss art. I miss painting, I miss writing things that require sharp eyes and subtle deciphering; I miss writing things that insist upon your attention and demand you agree with me because I tricked you into it with sarcasm, and I want to learn how to fit the way my hips move into someone else's choreography. I want to be touched again, and this isn't cutting it for me.

Lil Wayne Stuck Around

Until I begrudgingly accepted him into my life. He's on every remix ever... EVER... and I can't help it. I've allowed myself to nod my head to him.

Ugh. I'm so ashamed.

Mary J Blige f. Lil Wayne, Precise & Swizz Beats - Just Fine (rmx)

I'm amazed.
This beat, to her voice, is hot.
Wait until Wayne comes in towards the end -- it's... *cringes*... hot.

I'm sorry. But wow.

TheDynasty

Miss January - The Procussions (ft Talib Kweli)

True love got the power to change any circumstance
I knew we were far from the same, but still I took a chance
Wish I could have looked in advance to your advances
Knowing I’m the book that you read to your advantage
I understand it’s not like we planned it with the worst intentions
Taken for granted, I was stranded in your first impressions
I know it hurts to question, what will be a curse or blessin’
I guess it’s worth confessin’, maybe then we’ll learn our lesson.
Searching for your attention, hoping you were doing the same
Pursuing the fame, knowing that only you were entertained
Using me, and I was new to the pain
Cause Rejection, I hadn’t met him, though I knew him by name
True I grew from the pain, in the days where I’d pay anything
Standing there like John Cusack from Say Anything
Planning on for you to call back but it never rings...
There were so many things,
there were so many signs
And now I’m chasing wings
knowing it’s a waste of time
Until my God reminds me of what I truly need,
I take a look behind
just before your beauty leaves
To get a glimpse of you, hoping that you see me too
And now we staring at two people that we never knew
And probably never know,
hoping I’ll forever grow
into the one who finally gained the strength to let you go
You changed my ides
of what true love is
I wipe my eyes clear
and rise above this

RamblingThought:Fighter

i confess
all my stress
is derived from my own mess,
less from the life that provides
right in excess.
blessings
fall left and right,
still i fight them
storin
those lessons
impressed
by the sight

and its like
i could right them
wrongs when I'm writin
songs
rather, poems,
knowin
the fallen
would call em the

letters of the strong

and they threadin into one
very long
memoir
of the soul and

time tends to show better
slow, but the flow
tends to roll
off the tongue,
like
smoke

like
emotions
without
self control:
declarations
of love
prematurely
exposed
and disposed
with no closure.

nations could know her
strength and composure...

posed with the eyes closed;

...most wouldn't buy her
they'd prob'ly try her;
might try to tie her
up, maybe down, maybe find
they desire

yup, they'll admire
yup, they'll aspire to
change
how she feels,
how she lives,
how she'd die
or
tame
how she flies or
name
what she likes
but they'll find
that their lives
and her mind
can't conspire

shame always finds her
blame plays its game
when the girl that remains
kinda prays for the fire;
Same day she'd
change
and decide to transpire
learn from the way
and with pride,
settle higher

yup, she's a fighter
but
she's a liar
lighting her path
with the wrath of a tiger

all thats a front.
she's a wounded outsider
lost counting losses that cross
every side. assumed
to be kinder,
rumored she's kinda
loose with her noose
and her youth makes her wilder
Whoo! they say can her
outfits get tighter?
She's such a bitch
She's a ho

(She's a "writer")

Truth
could be blurred.
A proof could be heard,
and truthfully verbal
confusion is ruthless.

Wordless?
Observe this:

You could be
visually
judging me
frequently,
I have been literally
raped with indecency.
So, it's a burden to
need to bear openly
such private things
to "anonymous"
people. See
recently I'm on some
"Honesty Equal" shit,
Treat everyone like they're
awesome and peoples. It
gets kind of messy when
I spit some deeper shit,
gets used against me and
now I'm a
cheaper
chick

Some kind of keeper of
secrets I seem to be
When I so freely
release my immunities.
Any good artist at
reaping will know that the weakest
are those
who bare everything needlessly.

Here is the deepest
of all my confessions:

these internal schemes are
my deepest obsessions.

The lessons I've learned
from the lashings
I've turned into
blessings with simply a
twist of my words
let me leisurely--
blissfully--
read through my life
like I've earned every
seed, every ounce of my pride --

Worse is that
this is the best I can seem to be.
Be it that I'm really young,
it competes with the
need to believe in the
teachings of history,
how it repeats
in the schemes
of my destiny.

(This is just ramblings
I penned after cannibus
found its way down my
attention and damn it's the
best thing I've written since
that bitch demanded this
animalistic
amazement to banishment!)

GOD!

HOW can people hate the Roots?

HOW?

Like, HOW?

Profanity.

Late Night Ramblings

Me: Hey, give me a good blogger nickname for my ex, the only thing I can come up with is "Cheetah Thighs."

SGF: lol, no I can't. If I did, it would be based on what you told me about him. All I remember is, "Dick Belongs In Porn."

LOL! Son, I hope the universe is giving you a big, fat high five right now.

A few things. I've had brief bursts of revelations in the past couple of hours.

1) I've got some repenting to do.

I just had dinner with my good friend Pretty, I don't know if you remember me mentioning him a while back. We used to date, and we had a brief falling out; now we're great friends and naturally avoiding the relationship thing. Luckily, at least on my end, our love for each other is stronger than ever.

We were catching up on thangs tonight after work. Over deliciously disgusting cheese steaks and later, a cup of mocha @ Starbucks, we rambled on about our lives and insulted each other, grinning like fools. He was telling me that he woke up in the middle of the night completely elated that the girl he's seeing now snores just as loudly as he does. We're at a point in our friendship where we can speak candidly about the relationship we had, and we laughed over the time I snapped at him for snoring so loudly that I had trouble sleeping. I'd angrily threatened to kick him out of bed for depriving me of sleep in my own damn house. Normally, I'd have suppressed my frustration and let his beautiful ass sleep, because I liked him that much. Just so happened that one night I couldn't take it anymore, and I got extremely cranky and reckless with my words. I let out the fists of fury and he never forgot.

Do you know what he told me? =(

He said that he used to stay up for hours to make sure I fell asleep before he did, so that he wouldn't wake me up with his snoring. He lost so many hours of sleep because .. fuck, because he was a really, really good guy. I felt horrible.

Fuckin A, Tribe did that for me too. Once.

A couple of days ago, I was pondering upon my recent frustrations with Tribe and his inability to open up, or his tendencies to retreat during moments of stress, and how it conflicted heavily with the affection I wanted to show him. I thought about all the things I wanted to contront him about, when something gave me great pause.

Cheetah Thighs, if you read me at all, youre going to stab your screen so hard in an I TOLD YOU SO moment. Get your finger ready. Karma's sucking your dick right now.

Everything I wanted to tell Tribe, my ex very blatantly told me before/while we were breaking up. Everything. I sat there, stunned, and my heart started melting uncontrollably. I texted Wife, who speaks to him on occasion, and asked her to relay to Porn Star Dick that I truly appreciated his patience, and that I cannot believe he tolerated this for 5 whole months. Every day, nonetheless. I deal with Tribe like, once a week, if that much. CT/PSD worked on me every day without wavering in his dedication and affection, and he didn't withdraw or give up until the very end.

Every day. Do you have any idea how hard that is? I learned that I am extremely difficult to accept without some kind of love being somewhere in the picture fueling that determined tolerance. Mad respect. I'm terribly, terribly sorry.

Dealing with Tribe suddenly put my own actions into a harsh perspective, and I took a reeling step back. I was definitely meant to meet PSD (Don't worry, that is only a temporary nickname until I find one more fitting. Unless, of course, you don't mind). I'm learning to exercise the patience he showed me, and I'm understanding Tribe better because I have to dig into myself to find him (which, oddly enough, is the hardest thing to do. I'm blind when it comes to my wrongdoings, even in retrospect it takes a while for the full truth to reveal).

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. All the fucking men in my life, I thank you from the bottom of my fucking heart. I am SUCH a cunt. Wow. The love I have for all of you is endless.

2) Yeah, that. Love.

I had to give Cheetah Thighs a nickname for this post because he's coming up a lot in conversation. I'll refer to him as PSD because A) it's less emasculating and B) it's more flattering.

SGF and I rarely get to speak to each other. That's my homegirl, half a world away. She's, er.. 8 hours behind me on the clock? So we only catch each other online during NYC's quietest hours; luckily I have an erratic sleep pattern (it's 3:20 am as I type) so we catch each other every few weeks or so. We were talking about love and what it meant to be in it; I mentioned a conversation PSD and I had a while ago.

He made a statement I completely agreed with, at least at the time. He said, "I've loved a lot of women before, but I've never known what it was like to be in love." That might sound like a really odd statement to make, but not for people like him, like us. We are in tune with our emotions enough to recognize and acknowledge what isn't. On top of that, both of us are writers. There is a word for every feeling, every level of emotion, every shift in intensity, every reason of attraction. If we don't know it, we will find one. People like him and yes, I admit, even myself, are romantics at heart, and we both -- at least, I -- have an understanding that when you are in love, you will know.

For people like SGF, and I, and perhaps even PSD -- we are naturally inclined to give. I often confused endless giving with loving, and I was able to dedicate myself to love without ever really understanding what it was supposed to feel like, to truly want to give it without the tiniest ounce of force or obligation. I didn't understand the true driving motivation behind the emotion, I only knew the actions and the loyalty. After I came to the realization of what I was doing, I withdrew completely and sort of.. gave nothing, if it wasn't love. That withdrawal was the demise of my relationship with PSD -- I cannot regret that, for I did not feel that love with him, either -- and it seems that the reality of it will be the demise of my relationship with Tribe, reversed. Because of this experience, when I have to let go, I will be ready.

I'm telling you, yo. Pay attention to everyone you encounter. Everything happens for a reason. Always be thankful, and always try to learn as much as possible.

I love how I failed at not talking about my dating life. Well, enjoy one of the rare glimpses into my heart. They will be few and far between.

Thank you, so much. PSD, Pretty, JB, even Providence, all of you made an impact on my growth and I have you to thank in the future, when I become the person I want to be. I can only hope I was able to do the same.

I'm sorry for everything I've done to yall. Even if it was something I couldn't change at the time, I really do feel horrible. Damn.

And thank you, for those who forgave me. I hope the rest of the world will see the kindness in your hearts.

Love,
theDynasty.

RamblingThought:Frustration

you do
to my heart what you
do to my
words
i
start
then I stumble
then halt
and reverse
unsure
of the structure to
place on my verse
and without
certainty
i retreat
to the worst

we converse
on the surface,
avoiding
emotions
the art of
suppression
would take over first,
messin up
on my step
at the start
of confessions --

(Was its not meant to happen?)

--thus i doubt
and return...

Changing course
of direction
maybe forcing
affection
from your actions
compassion
is masked and reserved
but you keep
tugging me
back into your universe
with a kind fucking word
or a Sweet
undeserved

thus I doubt
and return
changing courses
and morals
and mourning
remorses
of course its
rebirth
yo of course
shit is different
this instance
im missing
the distance
i once was
insisting
in force

we were better
when farther
apart from
each other
no other
contender
could beat
like you could,
every time
id indulge in
a "Real Life
Relationship"
patience
would wane
and i'd wade
to your hood

well its
Something

In The Way

You Move

Attracts Me Like
No Other
Lover

Something
In The way

You Move
Me,

I Dont Want To
Leave You Now

You Know
I Believe
In How

i hear
certain songs and
i steal all their words
cuz you stole
every ounce
every noun
every verb
I'm concerned
cuz I don't
see a future
in working
and hurtin
but Somethin
keeps saying
it's worth it

I don't know
what love is
but passion
is lurking
beneath
every surface
it's heightened
by conflict
I see you
and need to
just touch you
Adjust you
confront you
adjust to
your girth and
your person

it's different
with you
and I dont quite
know how;

its funny
how you'll never
read this,
and how

I'd never
feel comfortable
telling
you now

so
my Musiq
will ask
all
these
Questions
out loud:

Im
Asking
You,

Will Our Love Grow?

You Don't Know
Oh, You Don't Know...

Stick Around
And It May Show,

Cuz You Don't Know.
Oh, Oh Ohhh

Quickie: This Just In, and Football (Female Angle)

I've got 10 minutes before my first meeting of the day, so let me get a little bit of my Monday Bitters (nevermind that it's a Tuesday, I had yesterday off) out of the way.

1) Britney Spears told a homeless man that asked her for money, "You're better off being homeless than being me."

I guess that statement was supposed to strike pity into the hearts of all us hungry civilians, latched on to her spiraling antics like parasites huh? Oh, this poor rich white girl is out of control, what with so much attention and all, like omigash her life is so hard!

*Blink*

I'm sorry, bitch, did you just say that he was "better off being homeless?"

*Squints*

Better off, bitch?
Your life is worse, than that of a homeless man, bitch?
Really? Really?

At least you got drugs, bitch.
Imagine being addicted to drugs, and not being able to AFFORD ANY bitch.
Better off my ass, bitch.
Give me that money.
She really said that.
Damn.
I would have pissed on her fucking tongue for saying that shit to me.
Damn.

2) So I watched the Giants/Packers game on Sunday. I'm not a big football head, mainly because I don't understand everything about it. I'm learning, but my interest can only stretch so far. Blue line, yellow line, fumble, complete. Downs... scrimmage...
thighs...
huddles...
big... bulging muscles...
male agression...
thighs...

What?

I was told that football was something you cannot truly get into until you've played it before, and I can understand that. I don't mind keeping my eyes glued to that screen though, because all those asses in shiny spandex pants keep me entertained for DAYS. DAYYSS. Yum.

With that said, my last boyfriend allowed me the opportunity to sharpen the Art of Watching The Game with a man/your man (and he was the first to take the time to explain to me what the basics meant), so I rushed to make it to the spot before 6:30 and settle in for some discreet appreciative eye-raping. I was actually interested in the outcome this time -- probably because of the fact that it was indeed a very important game for New York, and thankfully my company was enthusiastic with reactions, which added to the fun-ness of it all.

AND GUESS WHAT! I have opinions!

Dude, I formed opinions on a football game!

This is an interesting development. We were rooting for the Giants, of course, but as a newbie female semi-impartial viewer, I have an honest confession. I... uh.. kind of respected the Packers' game a lot. *Flinches and ducks against flying stones*

First off, let my vagina speak. The Packers are a sexy ass team. They ARE. Compared to the Giants, those boys had that testosterone shit on lock. I can't control what my clitorous responds to, and it was plastered to the path of a couple of Packers players, following them like a flower to the sun. The beef between ..burress? and Harris turned me on, and though I don't know what Harris's face looks like, those dreads and that ass and that mean streak combined had me panting after his run like a thirsty golddigger. (I'll dig inside those gold pants anyday, daddy. Jesus.)

Yes, the Giants have been doing great all season. Yes, it was a crazy game. They started out kickass and there were some cute moments along the way, and that last interception was awesome and stuff; how can I be so blasphemous when they've come so far? But really... would they have made it to the Superbowl if it wasn't for that third chance? Are you SURE it wasn't because of luck? *Wards off bullets* I'm not talking about the whole season, obviously, because I haven't been following it. I'm talking about this one particular game.

I mean, maybe I'm biased because I was more visually attracted to the Packers during the entire thing (kind of like the male reasoning behind Rhianna's "talent"), but I feel that GB played a more impressive game. And my rape victim Harris over there, after bullrhino-ing back and forth with Plaxico (ha, ha, he sounds like a prescription drug), fucked up his leg or something and STILL limped his sexy ass around the field. Is that not worthy of respect? Or at least a blow job? *Gets backhanded by a Giants fan* OW! I'm SORRY!

I mean, this should be an interesting turnout. Wife, although she is from NYC, admits that she is a Patriots fan. Undefeated is undefeated, after all. I promised Providence that I'd root for the Giants, and out of respect to him, the aforementioned ex that taught me what there is to know about football, and the city that nurtured me and raised me to be the wonderful asshole that I am today, I will root for them during the Superbowl. Wife's not going to speak to me for a few days, but I've done worse. It's all love.

Wow, I watched football.

Whether or not you agree with anything I had to say, I'm just surprised I have an opinion at all. *Grin*

My female readers (which is probably, er, all of them), I apologize for that odd ass moment. You blocked out half this post, and I can dig that. I'll have something on validation and confidence that you can relate to next time, I promise.

Also, I just don't feel comfortable blogging about my dating life anymore. I tried, but it's not time yet. Sorry :)

Besides, it's more or less come to a halt. The frustrations and elations just.. aren't small enough to admit to such a general, impersonal audience. I'll do what I do best in times of intense confusion -- write it out -- but there is no confusion yet, not here. It's down to one and I'm focusing on that for the time being. If that doesn't work out, I'll just get back on the horse; until then it's none of your biznassss.

Love,
TheDynasty

The Backpedal

The time has come for me to start yearning to renege on all my resolutions. Will power is the wierdest (and hardest) thing.

I'm feeling the nicotene cravings stirring in my chest again. It usually happens during delicious cups of coffee or in between long sips of alcoholic bitch drinks. Luckily, my body (more than my mind) is adamant about staying clean. I get nauseous maybe four pulls in, and I usually end up throwing out the cigarette early whenever I buckle and bum one off a smiling stranger. (It's too easy to get by without buying packs for yourself when you are an attractive female in a big city. Catch eyes with a smoker and slow down. They usually come to a stop before you do.)

I'm lucky, because it's not like I'm struggling to put mind over matter in this situation. I'm not trying to force my body into listening to my head, I'm still merely following what my insides tell me. It's funny, kind of. Wife told me the other day that it's odd how in-tune I am with my body's messages (ironic, in seeing how badly I've spoiled it until now). I'd "treated myself" and consumed a farm in one sitting (half a turkey burger, half a beef burger, with bacon on the side) after following a dip in craving (didn't cut out meat, per se, just began looking at the other options). Yo, I couldn't finish my plate. By that point in the meal, my heart had grown so heavy and thick; I'd also strayed from my soda hiatus and ordered a can to wash down the grease. The results were immediate, and I grimaced while putting a hand over my chest. "I have to stop," I said. And I did.

Even in quitting, I'm passive. I merely observe and react to what I'm told by my body. lol.

On the other side of the spectrum, in which I am having to force my physical to abide by the mental -- How's my celibacy coming along? Feh. Since the official declaration date (Jan 1st), I've done my fair share of reconsidering. Everyone told me that it was a stupid idea. I'm inclined to agree, but at least I'm practicing restraint. We'll see where that goes.

Ever since my father found my bag of dicks (ha!), I've been without any, er... aid. All for the better; the walls of our tiny ass railroad apartment don't leave much room for the animal sounds that would usually rip from my little Asian throat (arf, arf) anyway. Moving back home did help a lot, it makes placing rules on myself easier. And on the plus side, my libido is still sleepy. It's gotten used to being ignored.

I think the term "gluttony" should be expanded past food and drink. I adore how it sounds, it is a really fitting word for a lot of situations.

I'm blessed to have the friends I do. It gives me a better understanding of what love is, I'm quite unfamiliar to it. That kind of love helps make the distinction between infatuation and those evasive flutterings that leave you (me) uncomfortably giddy after certain moments pass. I ran into Wife in the bathroom at work this morning, before I got a chance to visit her at her desk. We walked right into each others arms, embraced and pouted with genuine feeling. ("Baby, I don't care that everyone thinks we're gay!") I got that flush of warmth when she pressed her forehead to my neck, and I dropped my cheek onto her hair. Though we've been hanging out a lot lately, we've been more around each other than with each other; she murmured "Wife!" before we hugged for a long time. I sincerely miss her and think about her quite often. I'm glad she loves me and misses me too.

I miss the times I spent alone with Tribe, as well, here I am admitting a soft spot. We've been doing 'group sessions' with his homies and though they've been very entertaining, I'm quite overstimulated. Maybe I'm just overstimulated in general. I've been craving for early bedtimes on my own giant mattress. Quiet. I'm inclined to cease speaking for a couple of days. I need to readjust.

January is stretching out to be a bit of a long month. December passed with the quickness, but I guess reconstruction is always slow.

Love,
theDynasty

Grumpy. Ranting.

They couldn't finish the root canal because my gum is too infected. They poked around, medicated me, then told me to come back next week. I'm in a lot of pain. Fuck everbody. Thank God they were generous with the anasthesia. Spelling. I tried to hold in my mewing as much as possible, but whenever I let one go, they'd stab a new needle in. The love in my heart for them is overwhelming.

I got some medicine put in last week, so I'm not allowed to eat on the left side of my mouth. I been eating on the right side, which hurt like hell because of this one fucktard tooth. Now, I can't eat on the right side, either. Basically, I just can't eat.

Soft foods for a week.

What the fuck does that even mean? What can I eat besides yogurt and mashed potatoes? Where do the animals fit into this mix? I'm scared!

The strain of flu that I just got over is incredible. I passed it on to like, 8 people in 2 days. I am amazing.

However, because I've been hanging out with those same people, I'm wondering if its possible to catch it back.

I realized, while the dentist was tsk'ing over my open mouth and asking me if I was hungry (I wasn't), that my automatic reaction to pain is tensing up and salivating a lot. I don't know why the salivation happens, but I suddenly recalled all the times I had to get shots, or picked at a particularly tender pimple, or got a tattoo, a piercing, etc. At the end of those ordeals, I always had a mouthful of clear, frothless drool to spit out. Good, this prepares me for those surprise bukkake attacks. In times of fear, I will always be well lubricated.

When dentist and.. head... dentist (..? er, her boss) were poking around at the tender spots that didn't respond to anasthesia (this happened to me a lot in my past, perhaps my body just rejects shit), the female one pet my shoulder and said, "honey, you need to relax." I laughed weakly and said, "I can't." She made a sad noise and while she was explaining to me that the numbness won't take unless I stop clenching, I looked up at the speckled ceiling and reminded myself that I have to return to those yoga classes. Or some fucking method of meditation. I'd repeated the same thing to my ex one time in bed, that I simply couldn't relax. Last night -- and many, many nights before that -- I couldn't fall asleep because I couldn't "sink in" to any comfortable position. I had to force myself to take the tension out from my shoulders, and then it just felt awkward. How unfortunate I am.

*Pops gum*.. my life is so hard!

I'm done ranting. I'm going to take this weakass painkiller and curl into a corner of my bed and cry. I've regained feeling in my lip.

I'm done going out for a while.

Lies. I made so many plans in advance that I'd feel horrible backing out of them.

OH MY GOD WHEN WILL THE WORLD STOP THROBBING

The Dynasties - summarized around a toothache

My social butterfly activities were cut short by colds this week, and I'm muttering under my breath but accepting the fact that I just don't have it in me to break nights like I used to (Yeah, you like how I implied that I had a social life before this, right?). Instead of just saying "I'm getting old" and laughing it off as a joke, let me firmly remind myself that I'm extremely unfit. *Cough.* I keep staring at the tub of vitamins on my workdesk and forgetting to take them (except now, *swigs water*). I have to get over my phobia of pills, especially of giant putrid pills that can turn your urine day-Glo. Apparently the green means it's working. Delicious.

I've officially quit smoking. I wanted to wait until I was absolutely sure before I declared it. I haven't had the urge to smoke in ages, so I'm comfortable with calling it truth now. I've buckled here and there, but my few pulls were retaliated with nausea so I'm way turned off (although I'm still curious as to why drinking alcohol makes the throat grow fonder). I don't miss it, though the smell of it still brings back soft, yummy memories. Let's hope this decision continues on through the summer, I can't remember the last time I've relaxed in the sun without a cigarette planted in my hand. It's been damn near a decade since I've started, and old habits die hard dontcha kno.

I will finally talk to Tribe. I don't know what I'm going to say, I just know that there are a lot of things that need to be said. I should start from the beginning, Lord give me strength. I'm still finding it very hard to open up to people I care about.

This might be a chapter closing. If it is, you might not hear about him ever again. I still go into autopilot when it comes to matters of heartache, and it will bury itself in order to cool down.

I hope Providence doesn't prove to be as passive as he is coming off as. I do not want to take complete reign in any relationship. However, this will be a good opportunity to learn how to take ANY lead. He did say he was extremely patient. And my, so handsome. I still enjoy spending time with him. His respectfulness throws me off guard still. I keep translating it as worry.

Ever since I went to the dentist, my teeth have been giving me problems. I have the only raging toothache right now; it's turning the right side of my vision dull and I cannot focus on a damn thing. I have so much work to be done on my mouth, my fault for letting it get to that point. Dag.

I just got over the flu, my second ailment this month. Damn, I get sick a LOT. My immune system is a piece of shit. I need to start exercising. Of course, I don't get the ball rolling until it is already way too far downhill. I aggravate myself too.

Thank God for health insurance. *Kisses cards all over*.. it's been so long since I had you. Welcome back into my life. I won't take you for granted ever again, I promise. My, your coat looks shiny. Blue is a good color on you. You take such good care of me. I truly do not know what I have until it's gone. I'm so glad you're here, and I will love you and use you until the day you leave again.

My chest just went numb. What the fuck does that mean? Can chests fall asleep? *Stretches and rubs breastbone*

I should go back to work. So much to be done. But I'm so tired.

Love.

Ramblingthought:Win

it's confusing
the way you lose
the truth in choosing
which ground to root in,
disputin'
the moment a sound come out
the mouths of those who doubt
the proof in Movement
shootin' down with verbal bullets
those excuses he come up with
Man's successes, at their best
accept the credit
of the masses

yes, investing is the message
that the wealthy's steady sending...
yet the shit is met with protest
(onto testy ground I tread and...)
certain lessons do pertain
to those who live in lower classes
this regardless of the shade or
how you're made in certain spectrums...

maybe those who pitch their prose are
not denying generations
or that slavery exists,
cause yes,
its still a pressing issue...
but the land
is rich
with loopholes --
don't
let Man
use them
against you.

i may not have eaten from the
seeds of history they fed you....
but my roots were carried too
survived the droughts, though not official
nevermind I grew up poor
had less than your
parents could give you...
you tell me my salary's
bestowed upon my yellow people...

you say opportunity
does grow because I'm put above you
maybe I say differently
simply because of what we been through
You don't see our families
put kids through universities
by saving, making hourly
wages in fucking factories..
on every other corner
yes, the mainstream streets of nyc
there's a gated window
tired eyes over sewing machines
fathers working seven days
and fourteen hours just to make
half of what their neighbors make
in half a day
with half the weight
upon their shoulders, give or take
the pride and hope they barter with
and now its up to us damn kids
to live the dreams they started with

they tell us too that we have to
fight hard every step of the way
but they tell us the secret way
by shielding us from EVERY pain
and wielding education as our
biggest weapon we obtain
the knowledge of the corporate
stay deaf to what the streets could say

you see,
america believes
that since it took
the liberty
of "giving" us the joys
of being called
the "good minority"
we face
racism
in those streets, and its
portrayed so openly

i guess that's all okay though
cause of all that "opportunity"..

no,
we won't make C.E.O but
they do guarantee I.T...
so we accept that "thankfully"
and take it, take it silently
we run our races quiety
we run these miles on our knees
there is no fear, there's no respect
i guess
it's all about those checks
(I guess
my people still forget
that we can shout as loud as them)
it's not our time to rise right now,
I guess
(I'm waiting,
still no sound)
but i feel you can make it out
with unified awareness NOW

It takes a lot of sacrifice
to win a battle biased right
adjusting some priorities,
this goes out to
minorities
minorities
(not black, not brown)
its poverty
that keeps us down
and yes, it's harder for our kind
(ALL of our kinds)
to come around...
we have to "prove" our worth to em
work twice as hard to circle them
must put aside our differences
and histories to move ahead

and once you stand in front of them
or next to them
on top of them
THEN you break the chains of race.
it's so easy to stop us when

they standing up there listenin
to streets so deep beneath them and
some people find it comforting
to know those streets
still welcome them

INVEST in everything you can
and BEAT them in their own damn plan
there's better ways
to make the
paper
all
about
the benjamins
right now, it's bout
america
america
land that i love
economy relies on you
so take it three notches above
Man's successes, at their best accept
the credit of the masses
last in line could pass the fascists
take your time
to gain your assets

The (Male) Dynasty, Part I

Where the hell did that 80/20 thing come from? My memory, as usual, escapes me. From what I recall, it had to do with cheating... but let me take it out of context for a minute.

I know there's no such thing as a perfect man, and I'm not deluding myself into thinking that such mythical creatures exist. But damn, what if that missing 20% is a really, really important 20? Like, communication? Or reliability? What if it's something that the other can't really change about themselves, and what if it's something I can't change within me to compromise and accept? And what if that 80% is like, f'n uncompareable?

I've dated/seen a few who have offered that 20. Good on paper, and great --successful, adoring, attractive, doting, plain old wonderful -- boyfriends... er... for somebody else. There's something missing there that I don't have the energy to fake, and these dudes are gonna make some women out there really, REALLY happy.

Is it ever worth chasing after that 20? Even if it is a very, very important 20?

The Providence Dynasty, Part II

Raises brows -- well. I'm impressed.

It was tres PG 13, but I'm glad. We spent most of our time asking questions over drinks (I had a lychee martini for the first time, very interesting flavor) and studying each other during bathroom breaks. He's still quite respectful. Very adorable. From what my hands ran over while we were dancing, his body is onnnnn point. Good job, has artistic aspirations for his future, very attentive and confident, not cocky. We argued hip hop on the ride to the spot, he threatened to pull over and push me out the car for not being a die-hard Jay Z fan. I invited him to school me, though I didn't guarantee a change in stance; we agreed to hold a music session in the future. Somehow, I also agreed to salsa lessons and taking a bite of snow crab the next time he makes them (I don't like seafood.) Similar views on kids and marriage, not that either of us are thinking that far. He's a mild sneakerhead, we both used to love Mos Def (he met him in person... crack is a terrible, terrible thing), and when our conversation briefly dipped into the sexual, he responded to my questions with a carefree, "You'll have to find out in June." (Smile.) We ended the night with a soft cheek kiss and a grin.

Well, there's the breakdown.

Do I like him?

I don't know yet. I'm definitely intrigued. This is the first time I've enjoyed myself so much without any kind of infatuation marking thoughts or actions with urgency. No red flags to ignore, no flickers of intrusion; hell I was struggling to curb my otherwise unreigned profanity when I realized that he rarely uses curse words, at least in the presence of women. I was too busy enjoying myself to be insecure about the way I looked, spoke, laughed. On the other hand, I wasn't too concerned about his opinion of me either, because I just.. forgot to worry about it. The feeling was hovering somewhere between Crushing and Platonic. I dig his fashion and the fact that he has no qualms about drinking martinis then admitting when he's a little twisted off of them, in public. Makes me tilt my head in adoration and shit. I didn't know what to do when he opened the car door for me. He's taking my standards up a few more notches. It's mad cute.

Stay tuned, I guess..
Grin.

Musing,
TheDynasty

The Providence Dynasty

Hmm. I'm going on a date with this dude I am interested in, but don't know enough to like yet. Keep in mind, I've always just sort of stumbled into loverships with men I befriended and ended up wildly attracted to, so this is a new for me. Providence is extremely appealing, but there is no blushing haze of romance or lust altering my perception of him. Matter fact, I don't yet have any definite perception of him to alter. He is very handsome. He is damn respectful. And judging from his myspace (you know we had to do that though, LOL!), he is quite a coveted commodity. I'm looking forward to it, but I'm not nervous or excited. I'll just see where this goes, and keep you updated, maybe.

What happened to Tribe? Oh, I've still got an ear cocked in his direction. I did say I was going to be patient, didn't I? I never said I was going to be prude while at it. Come on, now, I'm too pretty for that shit. I happened to come across an offer that pulled me back long enough to listen.

Besides, I've come close to exhausting myself with this new "showing affection" business I've been doing my best to stick to. Now I see why it's considered so obnoxious to others when I think my "subtle" signs would spring the hugest of echoes and be enough to reciprocate genuine displays of emotion. Well shit.

Anyway, I'm not worried about this one anymore. He can step up his game, and until he does, I will continue to define mine. If he doesn't, his loss.

I forgot how good I feel in a nice pair of heels.

I am not a writer.

I am a thinker, that knows how to write.

I started keeping a journal in the 6th grade. I started scribbling out "Poetry With Potential" in the 7th. Apparently, the creative part of your brain that generates poetry is located in the same sector as the part of your brain that generates your dreams. I went through some odd mental kaleidoscope in junior high school, and I had no way of sifting a damn thing into perspective. I also had no one that I felt would be able to relate. Not understanding the connection between the two, I wrote my ass off.

I had this envelope I swiped off my teacher's table in the 5th grade. It was a nice dark manilla that was unused and crisp; the little metal tabs were still flat and untouched. The glue stripe was shiny, smooth, and for some reason I thought it would taste like rubber bands. It was small, probably for our report cards. I slipped it in between my books happy that it had not yet been marred by my teacher's awful handwriting -- my name in the upper right hand corner, the cursive too tall and too flat at the same time. It lay forgotten in my desk drawer until one day, I felt like cleaning. I found it in the pocket of a divider. Suddenly, my fingers starting itching from the inside, and I grabbed the nearest 5 Star and wrote a story about how I had lost a friend because she had started stealing from me to support her drug habit. It was "inspired" from one of those after-school Don't Do Drugs commercials they played in between cartoons.

I knew it wasn't good, and I knew it wasn't realistic. I had no friends with drug habits yet, so I didn't know how believable the story could be. My whole concept of drugs was a twisted white cigarette in the palm of a mean (and generous, what the hell, did strangers really do that?) looking kid on channel 11. I knew that a pair of star-shaped acid green sunglasses would provide no financial benefit for an addict in need of a fix. Yet, I carefully tore the sheet from its perforated edges, folded it in half, and marveled at how perfectly my fabrications fit inside of this dark, unused, unusual little envelope.

I cannot write fiction. I know that doesn't necessarily qualify me as a "bad writer," of course every talent has its specific fields of weakness. However, I cannot apply what comes so easily to me when scribing observations on emotions and society into a neat and linear storyline. I can't take these words out of the metaphysical -- shit, if that's even the right word -- and drape them onto a character's reality like clothing. I've tried, many many times, and every single story I've started ended up abandoned, forgotten, or just... bad. When I sit in front of a keyboard with the intentions of sticking to a theme, not a single seed will sprout. Hm.

My writing now tends to... elaborate on reality, at its falsest. Did that make sense? But the thing is, loves, it's not the WRITING that elaborates on reality, it's my mind. My fingers just record it all. I have the oddest memory. Any friend of mine can attest to that. Want to hear a little secret? Only about 3/5ths of that manilla envelope story is true. But none of it, not a single part of it, was a lie.

I threw away those stories when I got older. I revisited that first one I wrote with eyes that have actually seen what drugs actually do, and I grimaced. I shuffled through the ones I wrote after that. I kept the ones about my life that were more like diary entries rather than fictional encounters, but eventually I slipped them all into the trash and decided to dedicate myself back to fine arts. Then, blogging happened. *Grin*

I sat down a couple of minutes before starting this post excited to begin a writing project I was actually interested in. It was supposed to be a piece from the perspective of the pussy, and you KNOW I would have died to give the vagina a loud, clear voice. But I typed out one line. And I stared at the screen. Control A, delete, tap tap tap. Another line, which sounded better than the first. Blink, squint, control A, delete. I was going to light a post-quit cigarette (but I didn't! Woot). It was in the middle of the deletion dance that I realized that it's always been this hard for me. Now I can find ways to tie that into my life and other reoccuring patterns, and how I get disheartened easily and eventually quit everything I start, but I'll leave that up to another day. I'm not going to overthink for a minute.

I don't know where this post was going. Oh whatever. I had a lot of fun writing it. LOL

Happy New Year,
Love
The Dynasty