ARCHIVE Jan-May 2004
May 24, 2005 Farewell Online Bachelors
You may notice on the navigation bar on the left of this website that
I have removed the "date me" button. After long conversations
with many close and concerned friends, and over a thousand different
guerilla cyber Don Juans, I have come to the realization that online
courtship begets only online promises. It is real time action that has
a greater chance of leading to real time relationships. I am looking
for something real. I am looking for real men of action. Men who can
operate in real time, can be seen with me in real time, in public, in
front of everyone. Somebody who doesn't give a damn what anyone else
thinks. (sigh) My true prince! Someday he shall come.
I am not looking for people who hide behind an internet connection
just because they can't make the grade in real time. For me to be out
there in real time while you sit in the safety of your home making promises,
I'm sorry. That just doesn't cut it.
Click Here to read about the
3 failures of Tranny Chasers, the worst part of dressing.
Click Here to see Five
New Pictures from this past Saturday Night
Or
Just Click here to listen to me playing "Big My Secret, from the
movie the Piano"
May 21, 2005 Where Have Ye Been
My prolonged absence has been due to a spurt of creativity in making
dance music. Specifically, the style is funky deep house music. I haven't
written, performed, or recorded an original song in over ten years (I
used to be in a band with a recording contract deal.) One full length
title in still in circulation and available online music shops, but
I would not recommend going anywhere near it!
This week officially marks the end of my search for a real-time boyfriend
online. My ex called up the other day and he said, "Perhaps
you are looking in the wrong place. Maybe they are online for a reason."
I am so totally not into cyber-anything. So you know what?
I think the fella may have a point. The promises come easily online,
and they certainly do sound enticing in that sort of "never gonna
happen anyway" way.
I guess it befuddles me because whenever I wanted something bad enough
in life, I just get in a car, on a plane, or a canoe, and immediately
go over to the destination where my bounty awaits, in that sort of "gosh,
life is way too short" way.
If I don't, then it simply means I don't want it bad enough.
And really, what kind of way is that to begin a relationship?
May 21, 2005 Evoking Borges
Watching Emily Watson play a blind photo lab technician in Red Dragon
is surely a fine oxymoron joke played on the viewer by Thomas Harris.
Her speech about evoking the visual memory of tigers and their stripes,
seen in childhood, and now, only in darkness, was gratuitously borrowed
from the life of writer Jorge-Luis Borges, who slowly lost his vision
during his lifetime, and mentioned the memory of a tiger and its stripes
in the poems The Gold of the Tigers and The Other Tiger.
Borges- surely not the first - was one of the many blind artists who
spoke of his state as being a way of life. Some people see it as a handicap,
but in its own way, blindness enhances seeing.
I thought about two of the most precious images safekept in my memory.
I have been infinitely blessed that a camera was not nearby during these
two instances. As a result, they have grown increasingly lucid with
each return.
The first occurred on a winter morning when I was awaken by the early
light of sunrise. I had forgotten to draw the curtains the night before,
and I found myself lying in bed, looking out the window at a deep orange
melancholy sky. It was the saddest and most sublime vision I have ever
seen. Tears came. I didn't know why. Maybe it was a sadness that I may
be the only person who was witnessing this hushed birth of a day. And
then came the desperate hope that maybe someone else, from his or her
bedroom was seeing this too. This feeling of impermanence- that it would
all vanish within a gasp of a moment - runs in the veins of all who
have ever created and needed to share the joy of seeing.
The second image is that of my first love: The little sister of my
piano teacher. She is the daughter of the protestant pastor in our church.
To this day, I can still recall her sweet unconditional kindness. In
a way, she spoiled me for the rest of my life, as no girl since has
been able to live up the harvest of warmth and joy that each of her
smiles brought. I discovered happiness sitting in the congregation watching
a nativity play put on by the kids in the Sunday school. She played
an angel. I was seven years old.
April 28, 2005 Ae Fond Kiss
Nothing to say. Happy new pictures I took today at the Cherry Blossom
Park in Belleville. It was a beautiful day, on the verge of raining.
I listened to Robert Burns's Ae Fond Kiss, and my favorite
band Lambchop. I don't know what I'd do without Kurt Wagner's voice.
These little things restore beauty back into my life and remind me that
the world has not cease to be wonderful while I was absent from it.
Oh well. Gotta get ready to go help set up the prom for tonight.
Cherry
Blossoms Photography Gallery Update
Three pieces from my virginal playing that is slowly improving:
I
play Greensleeves (mp3 1.3 mB)
I
play my transcription of Robert Dowland's Allemande (improved version
from last week) (mp3 1.7 mB)
I
play Ae Fond Kiss (mp3 1.2 mB)
ANNOUNCEMENT: Trans-Prom At The Center New York City This Friday
April 29 2005 8pm-Midnight: FREE
This will be the first trans* dance event held at the Center In New York
City. We've worked
with various groups within the community to reach out to trans groups
of all ages 18-up. It is a Free dance event for all transgender, gender-questioning,
gender-queer, gender-different people, their friends, partners, and allies.
It will be held on April 29 Friday, 8pm-Midnight at the Center (208 West
13th Street, NY, NY). tel. 1.212.620.7310 See you there!
In Other News... (April 25 2005)
My virginal arrived from Amsterdam. I have wrestling to get the latency
up to speed. It's finally coming around. Virginals have been often interchanged
incorrectly with the harpsichord. A Virginal comes in a small elongated
box and is usually 49-61 keys in range. It is a household item in the
16th century, where women played for pleasure, as depicted by the famous
beloved paintings of Vermeer.
I have wanted this item for many years, seeing it as a substitute for
my piano the day some fella would ask me to take my post as his loving
wife by his side. Certainly, a 9 foot grand would be a little awkward
to carry around....well, at least until things settled down.
I took a year off of work to travel, it is true. But when I was working
(Managing a technical department at a financial company), I had bemoaned
the lack of time to find a serious mate. I wanted to increase my chances,
and I thought having time would be something I could use to my advantage.
It's been fun: I have visited Rio de Janeiro, Berlin, Munich, London,
Paris, Milan, Oahu, Dallas in one year.
But as for finding a mate who is unattached and has the conviction
and drive to make things happen, that position remains unfulfilled.
So I thought I'll just go ahead and get my virginal.
Here
is my first night noddling around with it on my transcription of Robert
Dowland's Allemande (mp3 1.7 megs)
Picture Update AND Current Writings 2005 Installed
(April 11, 2005)
Here it is, my installment for Current Writings for the year 2005.
Of course, it is a work that is added to as the year goes on, but in
and of itself, it is a completed piece. I have mentioned that I have
been a transvestite since age seven. Many years have gone by where I
have rethought ideas, tried combinations, and turned a concept around
to see separate angles in varying degrees of light. I have considered
going to get my masters in gender studies, but then I remembered the
George Bernard Shaw line: Those who can do, those who can't.....
Anyhow, while some pieces are rewrites from the Thoughts from Transvestism
section, I try to develop a unit from all the recent ideas that have
popped into my head when I was chillin' on top of a subwoofer at the
danceclub.
v
And Current Writings 2005 would be here
Still here, just busy (March 31, 2005)
Pictures coming soon. I just thought I come online to put some other
snapshot up because I was so bored of looking at that other one. Someday
I will compile all the personals and profiles I've ever written. They
are like miniatures from different time periods to me. Something you
shake or turn upside down to see all the play snow swirl around and
through the words. I think I come off sounding as if I'm not taking
the whole internet dating thing all too seriously. I'm not sure how
one can. I answer emails, I am ever ready to show up if the chemistry
is right. I try to nip the beast in the bud and get out of internet
mode as quickly as I possibly can. Meeting people over the internet
is akin to aging wine. Once you pass the right time to see each other
in person, the image is gone and strangely irretrievable. But I'm determined
not to let it get to me. It's springtime, and the comedy of life is
more brilliant now than ever before. And maybe for a gasp, I shall be
green again.
Pristine Photo Gallery Update (Feb 24, 2005)
(five new ones today, five more on Sunday, promise!)
I love this picture above. It shows me all squishy and cuddly, listening
to Francoise Hardy's Dans le Monde Entier, feeling a little bit
sad, but in a lovely way. I feel it's a private picture, more so than
any shots baring more. It's really a moment reserved only for a boyfriend
to see. But wait! I don't have a boyfriend!
Oh where is my straw-chewing honey coming over in his rusty old truck
to collect me to be by his side on that bench seat and get his sweet
kiss?
go to Pristine's Photo Gallery
The Laws of Attraction (Feb 22, 2005)
I've seriously come to the conclusion that online dating is not
the way to find a mate, nor even a person to fall in love with. The
whole order (not rules) of attraction is completely reversed in internet
dating: One uses hash-algorithms to match keywords, and word choice
from one profile to another. So now, it's really the ability of one
to put his best diction forward that will ultimately determine whether
keyboards sail into the sunset or not.
What used to be raw animal magnetism, has now been reduced to education,
accessibility to a computer, and mouseclicks. People who meet online
are going to have kids who only know how to meet people online. It's
a frightening proposition, only because there is a law of cyber-selection
at work here.
I like raw animal magnetism. I like attraction in the flesh. Sexiness
doesn't quite come through across a modem. Sexiness and allure is how
one moves, the way they moan, and a sweet whisper in the dark, the warmth
of someone's body. Nothing the internet can offer.
On to my thoughts on Internet
Dating and Cyber-Selection
Hold Your Horses Update (Feb 19, 2005)
That's right. Hold your horses. :-) C'mon, after last week's set of
pictures, you are writing for more? Do you guys ever give up? I'm just
glad I do minimal retouching and photoshopping. I've heard so many stories
about people who go air-brush happy on themselves, and when you meet
them, Heide Klum is actually Don Rickles. I think that's one of the
very first things I check with people who know me online and then meet
me in person: "Do I look like my pictures on my website?" And so far,
the answer has been yes. So take it from this girl. If you are planning
to meet people through the internet, less is more.
Anyway, it's novelist Carson McCullers's birthday. And every year on
this day, I just sit back, read some of Carson's short stories, look
through old pictures of her, and listen to Bach piano pieces on the
stereo. (McCullers intended to be a concert pianist) So in observance
of that, I will delay posting pictures for another day.
Photo Update (Feb 12, 2005)
Do I even need to say anything? I think not. End of story. Going clubbing.
New Pictures of Me
Working on A New Song (Feb 11, 2005)
Here is me snapping a quick spontaneous picture of me waddling around
the room working on a new song on the drum machine. It will be the first
song to feature my singing in like...seven years. So you guys can actually
hear my voice? Well, better catch some rest if I'm going to work on
mastering tomorrow. Will post the mp3 of the song here in a few days.
That's as big a smile as you're gonna get. You wanna see more, well,
somebody's gotta pucker up and give up a Valentine's kiss!
The Erosion of Mystery and the Personal WebPage (Feb 09, 2005)
With the proliferation of online blogs, personal websites, circulating
profiles in all the online personals meeting places, one of the things
people don't discuss is the loss of mystery. Blogs lay bare our daily
thoughts, personal pages are chock full of pictures of the individual
in question, online personals break one's personality down to bullet
lists and neat categories.
Has anyone considered how this substitute - once regarded as "virtual
reality" - has taken all the mystery out of a person? Well I have, and
that's why I have been refraining from updating. I don't flatter myself
in thinking I am an endless bounty of enigmatic traits. I think one
of the fancies of dating a person is a sense of discovery, the allure
of mystery. "What does this person do when she is away from me, or when
we are apart?" A high percentage of romanticism is in filling in the
blank spaces and making something materialize...where there is nothing
to begin with. That's why throngs of people fall in love with fashion
models. Lovestruck admirers put words on the immobile lips of airbrushed
women.
I'm pretty confident that I've not misrepresented myself here...with
the exception that I smile in real life more than I do on my website.
Still, I've always complained that I give away too much, that I a tad
toio verbose and let the cat out of the bag. I diminished my own sense
of mystery.
But don't worry, this means....more pictures and less words. So yay
for guys who don't read and just go straight to the gallery! ;-)
Helping A Friend Move (while taking requests) (Jan 26, 2005)
So I'm off to Baltimore tomorrow to help a friend move. I'll be back
shortly, as I have five more picts I need to post from last week of
the black cardigan short skirt outfit that admiring darlings have been
writing in. I'm looking at lingerie shots from the past five years.
Certainly there's enough for five to be posted. A few people who have
followed my website was asking what happened to those? Will, I thought
I - y'know - clean up a little? Besides where's the fun when you leave
nothing to the imagination right?
Of course, I could forego posting the lingerie shots for something
a little different. Perhaps, um...action shots with another person?
Well, I have set up a special guestbook. So if you guys wanna go over
there and suggest what outfits you would love to see me in, I'll certainly
consider it. For privacy and legal issues, please Note that I do not
use email addresses for any purposes other than to find a cute boy to
practice kissing with. Kidding! I hate spam and junk email as much as
anyone else.
take me to the guestbook
and let me make a request
Finally got my digital camera! (Jan 22, 2005)
Oh the pictures can't stop piling on! I am quickly losing track of
what I have and what I need to put up here. I was originally ready to
purchase my "Kodak Brownie" but after doing all the reasearch for the
article "How
To Buy A Camera For Self-Portraiture", I learned so much myself
that I settled for something from one of my recommendations. I guess
I'll just have to wait patiently like every other girl for the Mamiya
ZD to come out.
Anyhoo, five pictures for this week can be found at the Photo
Gallery.
As I mentioned last week, I was trying to get some recordings of me
banging on the piano. I have been at it all week. At one point, I actually
accidentally left the recorder on while I was noodling. I was quite
happy with the results, even though it is a non-song. I have included
it below, along with my practice run of Bach's Goldberg Variation 13.
I am not happy with this reading, although the slow, chaste tempo suits
my temperament, there were noticeably awkward moments. So I am going
to try again. But in the mean time, just so you have an idea of how
all ten of my thumbs sound at once, I shall include it here on mp3:
Pristine
noodling away at the piano without realizing the recorder is on
(1.6 mB, mp3)
Pristine
wrestling with the piano on J.S. Bach's Goldberg Variation 13
(1.6 mB, mp3)
Go To Photo Gallery
______________
My New Favorite Picture On This Site, Yayy!!! (Jan 17, 2005)
I am currently working on some recordings of my piano fumblings
to put on this site, seeing as it's way too cold to be going out. As
promised, here are five more shots from last Friday that I did not have
enough time to post because I was rushing out the door. Looking at them
now, I'd have to say this picture above is probably my current favorite
shot on my website. It has that really sweet and adorable "Kiss Me Gently"
look about it, that I don't think I'm able to get out of most of my
other pictures. I guess this is that shot that all my friends have been
telling me I should get and put up on my site, if I wanted to find that
nice cute fella who's gonna bring me pretty flowers and have a shine
for me.
Go To Photo Gallery
______________
Is there ever enough time in the world?! (Jan 15, 2005)
Oh my god, I've been running late all week. Dinner meets, meets for
committees, photographing sessions, dates, friend get-togethers, when
will it ever end?!!! Anyhow, at least I have a helping hand with my
pictures for this week (Thanks James!). I actually took another set
in a different outfit with all pretty pink ribbons and teeny cardigan
top, which is very cute. I'll put those up in a few days, depending
on how long it takes me to recover from tonight!
Anyway, here is the first set I took for this week. Enjoy, and I'll
meet you all back here in...uhm...a few days. In the meantime, I'm running
late for the club again! Thank heavens for fashionably late.
Oh!
______________
Vending Machine Personalities and the Personal Profile (Jan 10,
2005)
Helping a friend tiptoe through the dating mines, I've discovered an
awful lot about what's out there.
I don't know. To me, like...making a list of demands to strangers online
seems pretty pointless. You know, the whole personals thing seems so
dull and serious. Almost like businessmen networking at a corporate
luncheon. Everyone's got their vending machine personality set up. Whatever
happened to fun? Whatever happen to joy? Whatever happened to spontaneity?
By the way many profiles are written, you can almost see the bitterness,
the stood-up dates, the betrayals, the gameplaying, the lied-to anger,
if you can somehow manage to read between the wrinkles .
And really, I ask: Why?! Why go nuts? There's no perfect date or perfect
guy out there. Everyone wants committed honest hotties who make a bazillion
a year and doesn't have a W-I-F-E. Why waste words and state the obvious?
I say live a little, don't get all serious, and maybe something just
may spark.
On to my vastly-condensed dating profile
Yayy!
______________
How To Take A Self Portrait
How To Buy A Digital Camera for Self Portraits (Jan 9, 2005)
I have often been asked -online and in person - for advice on taking
self-portraits. I was quite amazed at how often my other article How
To Buy A Dress In Public got quoted, so I decided to write two articles
that will benefit not just the transgender / transvestite community,
but the general online community and population as well. In lieu of
getting this week's pictures taken, I worked on finishing these two
pieces. I hope they do well by you. Check back Sunday evening for pictures
and I will see what I can muster up. In the meantime, enjoy:
How To Shoot A Self-Portrait
How To Shoot
A Buy A Digital Camera for Self Portraiture
______________
The Dating Game (Jan 4, 2005)
For weeks, I have been helping a long time friend find a partner on
eharmony and match.com. Help means reviewing his profile, scanning pictures,
and looking at girls with him. The more profiles I see, the more I become
aware of the poverty of language, the distrust, and skeptism in our
culture. I know I have once said that a personal ad sounds not unlike
a bank hold-up demand list. Whatever happened to passion, devotion,
conviction? How about just "raving mad about you?" Nowadays, it's more
like a cold bullet list: 1)Money 2) A House 3)My kids 4)Coffee. It seems
so many people are just making do with whatever is available or in the
area. I would never ever shortchange the idea of love, or anyone with
a mundane "you'll do."
I'd like to think that the troubles Psyche and Cupid, Romeo and Juliet,
and Rhett went through to pave this golden road for us has been worthwhile.
Since I am in the market for a man myself, friends have convinced me
to make a profile of my own. It turned out
that my list succeeded only in scaring gentleman callers away. "Listing
Jorges-Luis Borges as your hero, combined with your facial expressions
in many of your photos would leave many men intimidated," was one of
the comments. Of course, I'm nothing like that in real life. If anything,
I tend to be cheery, happy, and sweet most, if not all the time.
Next, my ever helpful sister advised that I should re-invent myself
and project a soft, vulnerable, needy side that can appeal to the chivalry
of men to come to my rescue. I can't do that. I love my life, I love
life itself. I'm excited to be alive, to touch, taste, learn, see, feel
the world around me. Why should I hide the intensity of my quest, my
overflowing cup? Admittedly I may have a strong surface. But that surface
is strong only because it's been protecting and keeping something deep
inside soft and tender.
Whoever has enough confidence, courage, and an actual desire to embark
on that journey to discover this soft and tender core will be the
one.
ARCHIVE 2004
Happy New Year! (Jan 1, 2005)
10 Personal Highlights from 2004
1. Getting a knife pulled on me by
muggers at the base of Sugarloaf, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil during Carnaval
week.
2. Arguing with my ex on the streets of Kreuzberg Berlin, and accidentally
making an illuminating discovery about what I really want in a relationship.
3. Dancing with an androgynous Queen at Le Queen on the Champs d'Elysees
in Paris above 500 semi-naked gay boys to Shapeshifters Lola's Theme.
4. Dancing with Pakistani drag queens and Egyptian gay men at London's
Heaven Under the Arches on Wednesday night's Fruity.
5. Quitting my job.
6. Seeing Texas
7. Getting rid of every unutilized item in my possession as a fund
drive for my new camera.
8. Finally taking my mom to Hawai'i and the volcanos on the Big Island,
something she wanted to see all her life.
9. Getting started on my "to read" book list.
10. Setting up this website after 7 years of bouncing all over geocities!
;-)
______________
Happy Holidays My Darlings! (December 28, 2004)
Well my sweethearts, I hope you are all having a lovely holiday! I
know I have been a wee bit truant on updating my little page. I'm not
one to haggle over terminologies and institutional affiliations, so
I'll just say Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone, in the
joyous spirit of love, peace, and hope.
I've gotten rid of every unused creative tool around the house in my
cliffhanger fund drive for a camera. You may have noticed that the flash
page is temporarily gone. I have converted everything to a regular webpage
in order to accomodate google ads and amazon links. I'm quite close
to getting my digital kodak brownie for the new year. I just need to
connect that last financial bridge, and voila! You will be the first
to see its results here! Mid-January 2005 is my forecast date if I can
somehow find something else around the house to unload.
In the meantime, I'm presently thinking of going over to Asia, but
I haven't found any sources which will provide to immunize, transport,
and house volunteers to go there for relief work within the tsunami
disaster area. Anyone who has some leads, please feel free to email
me. I shall continue looking around on this end.
I wish everyone the best and I shall see you all back here next year!
A dry chaste kiss from me. :-*
______________
Sweet Pristine (December 17, 2004)
One of the things I hear most often from people- upon meeting me for
the first time after having followed my website- is: "oh you're so much
nicer than the way we thought you'd be." I have tried desperately to
catch that "sweetness" on the camera for the last month. Without much
success. I suppose it's because I have what many call a non-smiling
face.
Now that's fine and all. The only time I run into a problem is when
people expect me to be a topping dominatrix, which I am the farthest
thing from.
A long-time online friend finally stepped in and advised. He told me
that my on-camera sweetness seems to increase the closer I get to my
stuff animals. I started looking back at my picture library, and you
know what? He may have a point:
So I decided to climb into bed where many of my plushy family doze,
and snap a few pictures. And guess what? The
sweetness came out!
Yayyy happiness!
______________
Photo Gallery Archive Page, Finally (December 4, 2004)
Well, here it is. As promised: The
Archive Photo Gallery, by Year 1997-2004
______________
Almost There (December 2, 2004)
Just a quickie update. Halfway there in my fund drive. Next Tuesday
is the final lot of unneeded things being unloaded. Looking through
my archives, I have noticed that I tend to take more pictures in the
months June, October, November, and December. So really, this is my
final month to be prolific. My photographic work has begun to take on
a less trans-oriented style, meaning full body shots. I personally don't
understand why trans websites tend to insist on full body shots. That
in itself may hint at what people are looking for. After all, if the
eyes are supposed to be the windows to one's soul and all...
Maybe the suitors just want to have a look at your legs to see where
you've been.
______________
Clean Hands (November 20, 2004)
Everything is going quite well. From the years of being involved in
the music-recording business, I have a few pieces of equipment that
I am getting rid of at ebay. It's a pittance, but I'll trade space for
unused objects anyday! There's a lot of work going on here. I am setting
up Amazon banners and links to try to pull in some additional income
for Pristine's new camera funds. When you click on the Amazon links
from within this site and buy something, the itsy bitsy piecemeal percentage
I make will go to contributing to my slow and steady way towards that
new camera. Ultimately, it will benefit you the moment I do get it,
no?
I know, I know....the website looks a little more cluttered and less
clean, but listen: I've been getting many proposals from trans and tg
websites to host my pictures. You know? Like, take my clothes off? Well,
I'm happy to say that after being online for over six years, there's
still no naked pictures of me in cyberspace! (Alright, that doesn't
include that one that you can get at Tower Records). But the point is,
I've got enough resources to make my way towards my goal..and, it's
winter after all. Now, I don't pass judgement on the gals who are on
those websites. It's all good to me, and they do look attractive in
ways I'll never be able to realize. I suppose I just fancy my track
record.
So my sweet reader, bear with me and my little Amazon links (which
are link by context to what is on the current page). Here is the good
news and tradeoff: Archives of all my old photos and new ones will eventually
be made available outside of the flash site! There's ongoing
renovations taking place here. Every day you check in, there will be
changes. This html site is the testing ground. So more things will be
changing there first, before it makes its way to the flash site. In
the meantime, there's three new pictures in the photo update. The skirt
you see above is an item I picked up while in Milan, Italy over the
summer. Don't you think it's positively adorable? I think so. ;-)
______________
Mid-week update?! Yes! Sign my Guestbook!(November 16, 2004)
Has the world turned upside down? Has Hostess Chocodiles been brought
back to the east coast? Has the election been rigged by Diebold? Sadly
no to all. But we're working on all three. In the meantime, the good
folks at lowfathost (I'm such a sucker for brand names) has installed
a guestbook feature on their webhosting. How positively posh! So now,
you can go and leave all your witty remarks by
clicking here.
And just like old times, don't forget to tell me the favorite outfit
of yours that you see me in at this site, so we can bring you more of
what you want to see!
Thanks!
______________
My Inner Kerouac (November 13, 2004)
I know I promised 8x10 shots. The exposure was under to the extent that I had to adjust
it through the scan. I do like the effect it gives though. I have not
been able to do more shots because I have been busy helping organize
an event at the 13th street Center in NYC. Now that that is over with,
I can get back to the business of getting rid of the rest of my possessions,
and putting the spoils towards a digital camera.
Something happened when I was looking over the deck of the ship in
Molokini. Watching the dolphin family swim alongside our boat, I had
this epiphany that katsu'd the bell of my inner Kerouac: "How do we
live with less? How can the soul be unburdened with possessions, and
things we don't use nor need?"
Sure, mammals in the animal kingdom may have several hundred thousand
years' headstart on human beings in the evolutionary picture. But if
we fancy ourselves at the top of the food chain, I've got to imagine
we are able to survive without most of the things marketing has told
us we need.
Still, while my inner Kerouac may soar, I'm keeping all my pretty little
girl things and nobody comes near my stuff animals. (clutches them
protectively as they hide in the folds of my pleated skirt).
______________
Sandbags Overboard (November 6, 2004)
I've come to the realization that pound-for-pound, dollar-for-dollar,
my cute little digital camera is the thing I've used the most in the
past four years. So being that it is long outdated, it's time for me
to get a cute little new digital camera. Because I am currently not
working, I've been gathering many things around the house that I do
not use, and getting rid of them.
I have come to this realization that there are many toys and trinkets,
collector's curiosities, and souvenirs that we keep for comfort but
do not need. So out they all go, and what little returns I make from
them will contribute towards a new camera. After all, I am fond of saying
that I never understood the cost of expensive wristwatches. To me, the
best watches do not report time accurately, they freeze it.
I am only beginning to realize that I have been wrong all along. The
only piece of equipment that is capable of freezing time, is a camera.
Next week, samples from my 8x10 view Camera. Stay tuned.
______________
Sorry guys, I'm back from Hawai'i (October 15 2004)
Sorry for the delay guys and dolls! I am still in the midst of recuperating
from the jet lag of going from Berlin to NYC and then to Hawaii within
a week. As a result, I am wide awake from midnight to 6 AM, and crash
when the sunlight comes up. Does anyone know the cure for this? I personally
think it's a nice warm body of a man who will cuddle me the way I cuddle
my stuff babies to sleep. I've always loved having someone protectively
against my back when I'm trying to doze off.
Anyway, I'm considering placing wild snapshots taken throughout the
cycle of the day, a la Nobuyoshi Araki, Terry Richardson, and Kenji
Toma. After all, digital photography needs to come into it's own where
traditional photography falls short. And if there's one thing I know
that digital can do, it's its ability to out-spontaneous that 30 minute
cycle it takes to set up an 8x10 shot.
ARCHIVE 2001
EVERYONE FACE DOWN ON THE FLOOR! HANDS OUT WHERE I CAN SEE 'EM!
NOBODY MAKE ANY SUDDEN MOVES!
THIS..IS..A..PERSONAL AD!!" (July 2001)
I have been helping a dear friend go through online personal ads in
his search for a lover. I can't believe many of the ones he is coming
across. These are not personal ads, these are ransom notes! "You
MUST be this exact color, you MUST be this size, you MUST be this height,
etc." Then inversely, "No fats, fems, migrant workers, people with cholesterol
counts over 160," and of course the ever present, "No guys who wear
twinkies during sex need apply"
I am led to believe, of course, that those with more attractive looks
make proportionately greater demands, simply because we, as a society
have given them that right. To my friend, I suggested a new approach
to reading personal ads: from the bottom up. Not suprisingly, the ones
who were reasonable, seeking meaningful relationships, and had some
substance in theirs ads had either no picture, or looked like everyday
people. The ads that sounded like ransom notes, have a laundry list
of demands, and whose writers had an annoying tendency to substitute
$ when typing the word "S," all have photos of cookie-cutter hunks with
six pack abs and varied pursuits in life such as "gym, music, movies,
shoppping."
I often wonder what becomes of the beautiful people when their
looks finally disappear. I have posed this question to many of these
aesthetically elite members among us mundane people. Their general sentiment
is usually, "I'm going to live it up and get everything out of my looks
while I can."
Every queen has her day at the throne, just as every empire will inevitably
crumble. I do not wish any ill on these individuals who make demands
through their looks, since it is we, as a society who acknowledge their
currency and entertain their foolishness gladly. I think beautiful people
should at least prepare for old age by developing a foundation for emotional
and mental survival. However, it's next to impossible to convince them
to do so when there's an entire civilization pounding down their doors
ever ready to do all the work for them.
The Loner's Guide To People (June 2001)
"I believe words must be conquered, lived, and the apparent publicity
they receive from the dictionary is a falsehood. Nobody should
dare to write "outskirts" without having spent hours pacing their high
sidewalks; without having desired and suffered as if they were a lover...." < -Jorge Luis Borges
When I was a child at the kindergarten grade, there was a classmate
who was extremely effeminate. He had a small body, which he moved with
utmost delicacy. He had a lyrical voice which he softly sang to himself
during recess time: It was my first glorious exposure to music as a
child. As the resident bullseye for all the "normal" boys and girls,
he inveighed the sort of brutality that adults are often shielded from
when they are present among children. As as result, he led a terribly
lonely life, and that, was how I rushed to his side to become a childhood
friend. How was I to know that I was befriending an image of what I
was to become later on in my youth?
When I was in my late teens, I used to see the fashion designer Isaac
Mizrahi walking alone in Chelsea. We'd see him, and one of my friends
would point at this lone figure wandering down the boulevard with a
dreamy look in his eyes like some sort of street bum in rumpled dress
pants and white shirt. My friends would say, "there goes Mizrahi, he
has no clue where he is." At the time, it seemed like he was searching
for a muse. Still it was amazing to see someone who brought us all this
bright joyous beautiful couture dresses and yet appear so alone in the
vast kinetic Manahatta of Whitman's pen. How was I to know that the
loner I saw before me was who I was to become in my adult years?
Throughout my youth I've had a fascination with loners. Jerzy Kosinski
wrote that "to read a novel is to practice for real life." In knowing
these figures, among dozens of other loners, I was, in effect, preparing
for the solitary life. It wasn't so much romanticising loneliness as
it was being intrigued with the survival mechanisms of a loner. I was
fascinated with the autonomy of a loner's mind and heart and how he
kept both alive and bouyant. Don't get me wrong, being around a group
of laughing friends or going somewhere with a mate is often a cheerful
and lovely thing. However, being alone is a universal state, and those
who don't prepare for loneliness often find themselves stockpiling around
them, human sandbags in the name of friendship.
I suppose I had many clear and early indicators that foretold my current
state in solitude. Among the crossdressers -who were mostly straight-
I was openly gay. And among the gays, I wore too many dresses to be
an appealing effeminate gay boy. On the other hand, I was a transvestite
who refused to wear a wig, which eliminated me from that group, and
I didn't want to have an operation since I was already happy with the
house plumbing. It may also have something to do with being too tall,
spending long hours practicing at the piano, and now age. I was going
about it all right.
Someone warned me that there is a heavy price to be paid for being
different and being yourself. They added that the currency is usually
in loneliness.
I said: "What a bargain."
In Praise of Imperfection (May 2001)
I found this picture at the bottom of a dusty old drawer the other
evening. It was a test shot that my lover took of me a few years back.
At the time we had thought beautiful the soft, early evening half-light
coming through the shutters. My first reaction to this unearthed picture
was this: what would people say if they ever found a spotty imperfect
snapshot of an imperfect person like this one, left behind in some antique
furniture? "Who was this person?" I imagine they'd have to ask. "What
was his story?"
I tried to retouch the white dust specks out of the scanned picture.
I used sharpening filters and adjusted the exposure gradient until it
was the way the large-format masters would have wanted it. After almost
an hour and nearing completion, I stopped to have a look at what I had
done: it looked flawless.
I cancelled all the changes from "undo step 1" onwards.
I have never been one to seek surface perfection in the world around
me. When I heard Glenn Gould's craggy tempo rubato at the closing of
the Gigue of Bach's English Suite No. 1 in A Major, I was absolutely
enchanted. The notes seemed to me as if they were tracing the familiar
asymmetrical lines of a lover's imperfect face. The off-balance pirouette
was enough to send my body into an ecstatic knot of happiness. It felt
very much like the first time I looked into the face of the girl in
my class that everyone bullied, emotionally-tortured, and made fun of.
I have heard critically acclaimed renditions of the same piece by world-renowned
concert pianists, with note perfect, tempo perfect, and volume perfect
execution. The combination of these elements, like a supermodel's silhouette,
the life of any of the 50 most beautiful celebrities, or the
guest list at a nouveau-riche society soiree, left me completely drained
of any inspiration.
It is here that I praise surface imperfection, and it's ability to
hide, just beneath it's riddle of aesthetics, some of the most memorable
natural wonders in our lifetime. The imperfections of living are like
the imperfections of a song in the hands of a skilled musician. Let
us live our lives with the craft of troubadours.
A Return To Introversion (June 2, 2001)
Who is to say? It may have been the overzealous dive into the Carson
McCullers bibliography in the past weeks. It may have been all the memories
of youthful, obsessive practicing brought on by all those Ken Burns
footage of Trane, Bean, Miles, the Prez, and Lady Day in a 2 piece shell
sweater that hurled me back into my once well-known introversion.
This has been a trying winter, not in severity but more or less because
we had been spoiled by several years of mild winters. After seemingly
endless months of homebound weekends, and despite repeated screenings
of Audrey Hepburn movies, cabin fever is inching it's way into this
household.
I would have never lasted in Churchill. No matter how many folks Glenn
Gould interviewed about the Idea of North, I know I'd most definitely
be doomed in that sort of climate.
And yet, with all the old habits of introversion setting in, the days
of the Artist as a Young Man has returned with a vengeful splendour:
I have stopped going to the gym. I have entirely stopped worrying about
my physical appearances and the dietary obsession ever since I reached
my goal set at the beginning of last year. Evenings now are spent quietly
reading, reading, practicing the piano, reading, and then playing some
more. Then the staring into the ceiling in the dark at 3 in the morning.
The constant rotation of MJQ, Chet Baker, George Shearing, Miles in
the Prestige years, Casals, Orlando Gibbons, and Bach enter and leave
the CD trays.
Along with the Southern Gothic sense brought on by McCullers, there
is this feeling of dread that there isn't enough time left to read and
play everything. So I will end right here and dutifully return to the
piano. I think about Carson often throughout the month, about how she
wanted to become a concert pianist when she came to New York City to
attend Julliard. The longing for the piano throughout her short stories
AND The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. I think about John Coltrane falling
asleep with the tenor saxophone in his mouth from practicing too much.
I think about Claudio Arrau on his birthday today (Feb 6). And I think
about all the wonderful sounds coming out of Charlie Haden's bass. And
I think about Audrey Hepburn singing Moon River by the fire escape and
how gently and tenderly the string section entered the song behind her
voice.
Successful Living (May 2001)
At school, I had a friend named Deborah who was pursuing a career as
a dramatic stage actress. Although she was the same age as I, our long
talks led each of us individually to develop firm beliefs which we still
hold true to to this day. By no means were these beliefs revelatory
in the grand scheme of human existence: I'm sure many people have uttered
similar proclamations in centuries past. However, the memory of my good
friend had harvested these thoughts into a daily practice of expressive
living.
What then, is expressive living? To me, it is a constant state
of awareness of your five senses. To be able to express and react honestly
to your five senses is part of expressive living. Now, reacting honestly
is no small task. Mind you, we live under the constant pressure of the
masses as well as the standards mainstream media has set up for us.
Media dictates how we should react to images of supposed beauty and
sounds of supposed refinement, to name but a few. Notice the emphasis
on sight and sound. On television alone we have already dulled our three
oft neglected senses of taste, touch, and smell. The internet has even
a narrower bandwidth of what life's full sensual spectrum has to offer
us.
Our cultivation level for our senses is severely restricted when we
accept the little tidbits of stimulus known as mainstream culture. For
one, we are led to believe that the only source of happiness, the only
motivation for living, and the only drive for success is a thing known
as relationships. In a coarse way, I suppose one could casually refer
to it in many other terms. On the other hand, when we try our bourgeois
hands at so-called refined culture, it is usually within the
confines of what television ads and magazines define as such: The fine
wines, the art museums, the culinary cuisine, the expensive, classy
sedan with a horrific rendition of a Mozart string quintet in the backdrop
underneath a shabbily prefabricated British accent.
The essence of successful living is getting to the core of your emotions,
stripping away the artificial values society has placed upon every symbol
that spans from the downtrodden to the prestigious. The core is your
innocence. Every touch is a new sensation, every smell is duly noted
whether they have been preconditionally tagged as "pleasant" or "unpleasant."
Every sound and every noise is a musical composition. Every taste is
taken to mean a sensory birth, not an elitist tool created by money.
Every happiness is a joyous celebration, every sadness a somber procession
of life's disrepair. If one can touch that, one touches the essence
of the artist. It is not necessary to be involved in the arts to live
your life as an expression. Being in touch with oneself and being true
to oneself is an artform all in itself. A close friend recently told
me that he values every state of his being: hangovers, illness,
buoyancy, elation, anger, laughter.
Being gay, being a transvestite, being a minority is a hazardous and
chaotic combination indeed. We have to get past straight people, we
have to roll our eyeballs up at married men who want temporary gratification,
and we have to endure the superficial adulation of rice queens. On top
of the aforementioned perks, people like us get looked down upon even
by groups that have traditionally been shunned by the alternative culture.
I ask myself how I would feel if the tables were turned and people like
us were suddenly revered by the many identifiable and accepted groups
out there.
I would feel no different than I feel now.
Depending on others for your happiness is the shortest path to discontent.
The opinion of your peers concerning your choices in life are allegorical
to the values society artificially places on symbols. Once you discard
those opinions and get to the root of who you are, you are free. A symbol
without values and meanings will cease to be a symbol: It just is.
When you remove other people's opinion of who you are, all that is left
is you.
The gates can't forever keep our human anger to be true.
top of the page
ARCHIVE 2000
Home Alone (Dec 5, 2000)
Yes yes, were I trendy and had I played by all the rules,
I would have been out with the "it" crowd and the beautiful people going
places to be seen. But that's old, I'm old. And there's something to
be said about lazing in bed and listening to quiet music with a nice
Martha Stewart mug of hardcore ghetto screw-cap thundertrain wine (oh,
don't pretend you don't know what the ingredients are! :-)
Here is the list of beloved songs that this old maid spent an evening
with:
1. Misguided Angel- Cowboy Junkies
There's something about this song that so touches my little small-town
heart. I've always had crushes on simple, old-fashioned men with their
weathered hands, beat-up cars, short-sleeve shirts, and their sweet,
country gentleman manners. I guess it may be that my dad was a small-town
hick who came into the big city and stole my mom's heart from between
the mansion pillars. Someday, on an evening the storm didn't come, I'm
gonna get kissed out there among the cornfields.
2. To Step Aside- Pet Shop Boys
Ever since my lover of 4 years, Dennis moved away to the other side
of the world to work, this piece has been a personal torch song, providing
some comfort and identity in these dry times. Disco has never sounded
this melancholy and bittersweet. PSB bring it to an artform in this
absolute masterpiece. This song is a time-stamp of where I am at this
particular moment in my life. It also has everything I hold dear: brazillian
hand-claps, religious imagery, triplet dance rhythms, italian movie
string-section, and children laughing.
3. I've Been In Love Before- Cutting Crew
I must confess that this is one song where I am heavily influenced
by the music video. It was back in the eighties when this piece reared
it's ecstatic vision. I remember this video to contain some of the most
glorious allusions to transvestism as well as dreamy displays of femininity.
All the things I think about and feel when I dress, all captured in
3 1/2 minutes.
4. Quella Bella E Biancha Mano- Antonio Caprioli
I recently attended a recital at Grace Church, NYC for Christmas readings
of William Byrd's Tudorian music. Sitting in the stone church listening
with one's full attention, eyes closed, and head lowered was my meditation
on chastity and olden day virtues. This madrigal song of quiet longing
plays my heart like a modest lute in winter time.
5. I Want To Be Wanted- Brenda Lee
In the past I must have been invariably linked to the 50s. While I
don't believe in transmigration of souls, I do find it peculiar that
images, movies, and music from the early 50s sound so vaguely familiar.
It must be just my imagination. The way Brenda Lee sings some of the
lines in this song is so fragile, I feel it fluttering deep inside me
at times. This is a sweet song that I first heard in an early Kathryn
Bigelow movie "the Loveless." It's about the loneliness of a motorcycle
gang blowing through a small Georgia town. It's the same loneliness
of an old-fashioned transvestite moving through the rude 21st century.
Wedded To Music (Ded 5, 2000)
Judging by the blue color temperature of the morning light, winter
has once again descended upon your writer's part of the country. Hydrometers
have the final say in the house climate as humidifiers, scattered about,
attempt to keep a constant relative humidity of 40-42%. The J.S.Bach
pieces drift one after another through the noisy machine filled air,
as note perfection is the essence.
Here is a portrait of myself with the tail-end of my little music box
that I have inherited from Peanuts' Schroeder ever since the late Charles
Schultz retired his gang. She needs a lot of TLC having what, been munched
on by the kite-eating tree, tossed down man-holes, and met Lucy's pounding
fists and bunting kicks of jealousy.
I have assured her former owner that she's in good hands. With strict
climate control, 4-5 tunings annually, and a gentle dosage of Baroque
/ Tudorian repertoire, some may say this is the ideal location for a
piano to be put out to pasture on.
urrent sheet music on the music desk: Bach Partita 5 Allemande BWV
829
Debut Digital Camera Photo (October 28, 2000)
When I was a child, I listened to my father rail against the media-manufactured
peer pressure to have one's existence defined solely by romantic relationships.
"Everywhere you turn," he would sneer, "people are constantly bombarded
by the idea that you have to devote every ounce of your energy into
hooking up with someone in a romantic relationship. Sitcoms, magazines,
books, movies, rock and roll and Top 10 hits - all pop culture has to
offer is one obsessive message: 'Find someone or die.'" He went on to
explain how people who invariably bought into such a message and failed
would end up suffering loneliness in the Holiday seasons, feel unloved
and unwanted on Valentine's day, etc.
My professor on historical romance writings told me one day: "You should
not make romantic relationships the center focus of your life."
The restless searching of the Renaissance soul.
The kinetic conversion of erudition into pure action.
The awareness of eternally shortening days.
These, are my romances.
ARCHIVE 1999
Mike's Doll (1999)
Mike's Doll (Plate 1)
In my teenage years, when all the guys were out listening to big-hair
heavy metal ballads, I was at home daydreaming to my Bill Evans records
and reading My Gun Is Quick by Mickey Spillane. I was the first person
on line to see I, The Jury at the cinemas. Sure, Armand Assante's updated
Hammer needed a haircut and he sure was no 50's man. I thought somewhere
I heard Mickey Spillane playing Hammer himself once upon a blue moon.
To tell you the truth, from all the book jacket pics of Spillane in
the back of the novels, I always pictured Mike Hammer looking like his
creator: Barrel-chested, pants around the chest (oh, I absolutely adore
guys who wear pants high up like some mobster thugs...it's so unfashionably
chic it drives me beserk! :-) The white shirt, the dark jacket, the
porkpie hat. The old-fashion strong-silent type that stepped out of
the twilight zone '50s. Now that's my idea of a man!
Mike's Doll (Plate 2)
I know, I know. Raymond Chandler snobs. It's inevitable I guess. I
always thought the celluloid polish of Phillip Marlowe did not have
the heart and soul of Spillane's smokey New York City. Like west coast
jazz, Chandler's landscape did not have the fury of the concrete canyons
here in Manhattan. I mean, a Stan Getz solo or a Gerry Mulligan passage
will never sting like a Coltrane run or a Johnny Griffin ballad. And
here is what I want to say about Spillane's true romanticism: Passages
in My Gun Is Quick where slow drives through the city behind a garbage
truck and "walking on the beach together making faces at the moon" are
blue collar gorgeous all round. I've actually driven down 7th avenue
at 5:00 am and when the green lights all wave us by downtown and the
sky is steel blue driving out to Brooklyn. It was a Mike Hammer moment
there.
Mike's Doll (3)
Well, I am pretty sure what Mike Hammer, or for that matter, Mickey
Spillane would say to me if they crossed paths with me on the streets.
What can I say? Somewhere out there there is a 1950's brute behind the
wheel of a jalopy, a trace of rye in his breath, and a true romantic
deep down underneath. Somewhere out there, along bluish streams of boulevard
drives, beneath the high living of the upper east side, there's a Spillane
passage weaving within a modern heart. I hear the shimmering wheels
over rain-soaked Park Avenue, the curl of coffee steam at all night
joints, the calm of an old-timer's bed as we swim across the tangled
sheets. Like Johnny Griffin's tenor solo in "When We Were One," a warm
note after another floating into the evening air. Let's drive slow along
the avenues like we are in no hurry to get anywhere. Turn that radio
on to a slow ballad. The Chanel No. 5 on me drifts through the inside
of your car. The buzz of the Scotch wearing off is nice. Let me edge
over a little closer on that bench seat under your arm. The gasps of
storefront lights briefly over your face. A private smile on your lips.
Your eyes narrowing, a little happier. Remembering.
How To Buy A Dress In Public (1999)
Size and Fit
It is very important to know the size of the dress you are looking
to buy. When you go shopping and you are able to ask for something
by size, you appear to be shopping for someone. Also, armed with the
phrase "I'm looking for this in a size 8," you have something to ask
the clerk if they offer their assistance.
The best overall approach is to purchase several pieces of used dresses
from a salvation army, oxfam, or used clothing store. They do not
have to be the color of what you would want to wear, but they should
approximately resemble the style of clothing you plan to buy. What
you are trying to do is to get familiar with what size you are. Each
style of dress is cut a little differently: A size 8 suit fits differently
than a size 8 casual sweater. You want to determine the best fitting
size for what you plan to wear. A good starting point for determining
your size is a mail order catalog, because they usually provide a
measuring chart for body sizes. From that point on, go buy some used
rags and find out your size.
This section deals primarily with shopping, in your male mode, for
dresses in a clothing store, not through mail order. Because not only
is mail order lacking in spontaneity, it increases the chance of every
tg-girl's nightmare coming true: showing up at your support group
wearing the same outfit as your tg counselor! Let's face it: There's
much more choices when you shop at a store, and we can't be wearing
the same outfits if we expect to be as fabulous as we are! :)
Approach No. 1 (ill at ease but not nervous)
You can either walk in there sweating, nervous, and stuttering, "I'm
buying these for my girlfriend (or wife)" and get laughed at by the
salesclerk while she says "Yeah Right." Or you can go in there and look
that salesclerk in the eye and say "I'm buying these for myself to wear"
with a straight face and raised eyebrows, and most of the time she will
say "Yeah Right," and laugh it off like you were the biggest joker in
the world. It's very important, especially in completely empty stores,
to walk in and initiate eye-contact with the sales people. The moment
you walk into a store that you don't belong in, trust me, they are watching
you. They may look like they are busy working. But they are not.
So you say "hi," with a big smile to satisfy their curiosity and
immediately break the silence. Asking questions will also loosen up
the atmosphere and will help dispel the myth of the creep who keeps
to himself. Approach no.1 works for middle-age to older folks. Of
course, there's a trick to looking a little bit embarrassed, feigning
a blush, and using your body language to communicate the fact that
you are feeling out of place but not nervous. Asking for assistance
will show that you are not trying to avoid them.
If you run into a friend or co-worker, and they catch you with
a 80% chiffon 20% nylon camisole in your hand, here are some things
you can say:
- "Hi Bob, wanna come help me get in touch with my feminine side?"
- "Damn 90's, I can barely keep up with these kids!"
- "Bob, is it just me or do you find your wife wearing your underwear
too?"
- "I share everything with my mum!"
- "It's three hundred more days to the superbowl, gotta find something
to do."
- or my personal favourite: (in a rough beer buddy voice and a painful
nudge in their ribs) "Hey! How about those swedish male synchronised
swimmers eh?! Gaddammit!"
After they stop laughing, you just shrug and say, "Yeah, cousin's
birthday in Vancouver, doing the whole routine y'know?" You trade nods
and say "yeah yeah yeah..." and off you go to continue your shopping
spree.
Approach No. 2 (take a rebel along)
We all have that one utterly rebellious friend- you know who I'm talking
about. :) You get together with that utterly rebellious friend and you
tell him (or her), "I'm going shopping for women's clothes." Let me
tell you, any self-respecting rebel will be so excited at a golden opportunity
to wreak havoc in public, that they won't even ask you 'who's it for?'
However, if he (or she) turns you down, you simply throw your head up
in the air and sniff, "I ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE A REBEL, BUT YOU'RE
JUST ANOTHER ONE OF THEM!" and usually they will be so utterly
overcome by a sense of shame and inadequacy, they will immediately follow
you on to your shopping caper. In the case of a female shopping companion,
all suspicions become null: It's for her. In the case of a male
companion, two suspicious gents are better than one: They might think
it's him. That's 50% load off you. If you are worried about accusations
of homosexuality, don't worry doll: Homosexuality has become so normal
in the nineties, it's banal.
Approach No. 3 (two tv's are better than one)
The third approach is simply bringing another tg friend along. Aside
from moral support, it's really lots of fun. You can become the Siskel
and Ebert of fashion at every rack, discussing and critique-ing the
"beneficial waist-enhancing qualities of the A-Line hem" at the top
of your lungs in a manly, factual voice. You could end up sounding like
two dressmakers in conversation. More importantly, I've found that when
you appear to have nothing to hide, people will immediately ease up
on their defenses. For additional dutch-courage, Alcohol helps too,
of course.
Approach No. 4 (The Transvestite Freedom Fighter Approach or
"The Kick Ass")
You walk in there and you do it. You take as long as you like. And you
shop like any other normal human being shops- no sweating, no games,
no pretending. I started using this approach when I was 15 years old.
When the sales clerk or a fellow shopper looks at you, you look directly
back at them. No hostility or defensiveness. You don't stare. You look
at them. Let me illustrate what I mean: Say you are dead thirsty and
you sit down in a public bench and start to drink a glass of water,
and someone comes by and tells you can't drink a glass of water; how
do you look at them? THAT is the look you give anyone who is glaring
at you.
It's as if you are saying: "I am who I am and I wear women's
clothes. This is what I do and this is my harmless need as a human
being. I am going to look at these dresses and then I am going to
buy them and after that I am going to put them on in order to live
and continue being who I am." THAT is the look you give them.
ARCHIVE 1998
Snippets from "About Me" artticle (1998)
Strangers are afraid, friends and family are concerned about
my ever-growing vocabulary of sexual perversions. Some have even
gallantly offered psychiatric help. What is "perversion" anyway? I
am interested in expression and reckless sexual creativity with willing
adults. That sounds sane to me. There's nothing more promising
and delicious than two grown people actively searching for new ways
of discovering the body and satiating its needs. I don't believe
in those "better sex" books. Never let anyone tell you what to do
with your genitals.
I was taking a subway train ride from Brooklyn to Manhattan with
a Gay-and-Lesbian president from Queens one evening. I was dressed
in a mini-pleated skirt, a baby-T, a silk handkerchief tied around
my neck, a tiny wool sweater, garter belt, stockings, heels, etc. An
old man walked over from the other end of the subway and plopped himself
down on a seat across from us. He had a dumb grin on his face as
he stared at my legs, body, face, etc. People would normally call
this guy a "dirty old man." I saw in him a great promise in our
evolving generations of mankind. I would have loved to cuddle in
bed with this modern man hiding behind a delapidated shell. I would
have loved to distribute kisses and caresses of warmth to this wonderful
man who thought of smiling- NOT violence- in the presence of a transvestite.
When I am a wrinkled old fart someday and riding a subway, I'd like
to be able to mosey my way up to a seat across from some transvestite
and smile beautiful life with my lips.
A few of my biker buddies (who've grown up with me) at one time or
another, have sheepishly asked me whether I wore women's clothes. "OF
COURSE!" I replied thuderously as if there was ever the slightest
doubt, as if anything else would be totally irrevocably demented and
utterly abnormal. Indivuidually, they then said to me in private:
"Normally, if it was anyone else doing this, I would have freaked
out and kicked his ass, but coming from you, I'm like- 'hey, its F.P.W..
I know you. I expect that from you.'" Well let's forget about
the latter part of that comment :) But my response to them was
this: "hey! all the transvestites, transexuals, and crossdressers:
they're me.
You know us. We're part of the human race." Well, just let me say
that I'm working on them, and I'm working on opening up some people's
minds. Sure I won't get to all of them. But someday, like Anton
Chekov wrote:
Some nights when I have trouble sleeping,
I think about the vast forests and the
great hills and endless oceans
that the lord has given us,
and we who walk
among them
ought to be giants.
top of the page
ARCHIVE 1997
The Original Transvestite Freedom Fighter Page (1997)
Opening pop-up window Disclaimer Warning Message:
A BOLD WELCOME TO A TRANSVESTITE HOME PAGE
There is a trace of nudity on this website but there is no offensive
material here.
I REFUSE to apologize for the behavior and subject of crossdressing
or crossdressers as being offensive. Crossdressing is a form of self-expression
and it is a lifestyle. I do not believe that everyone under 18 years
old are such mental midgets that their values as a humane being, or
their creative minds will be corroded or poisoned by a rational, thinking
man in a dress. Placing warning pages on transgendered webpages only
further promotes the public's immature notion that crossdressing and
transgendered lifestyles are offensive, repulsive, and should therefore
remain hidden in shame.
Has a woman ever apologized to you for wearing a pair of pants?
Has anyone ever apologized to you or was even remotely embarrassed
for choosing to live a white-collar "brown-nosing" corporate lifestyle?
OPENING PAGE
They say technology will be the death of society. I put my lips against
the golden yoke of our modern superhighway and I can feel the tremble
of a lonely soul drowning between the crests of cities and the recesses
of small towns. I spurn this beating pulse at 56,000bps across two
oceans and kiss our bitter living into the silk of wine.
This is a beginning. -f. loving
These fast concrete speedways pull us through great cities where
the white noise of living glide over tracks of magnetic codes. I had
the same haunting feeling in my hands that evening as downtown Seattle
flashed before my eyes, the endless lit squares of office windows,
streaming across the surface of my windshield, each containing an
entire lifetime away from loved ones, away from bodies of desire,
only to disappear the next moment into memory.
Armed with the key to bridge great divides between the sensual throb
of techno-club kids' sweaty compact waists and the circular rhythm
of your local pizza man's hands as he spins your meal, we can ride
forever. We're gonna trip this dope joint through walls set up by
our change-fearing forefathers, through one-intersection towns while
children sleep in the hush of pillows and dreams of flights, through
the repeating motions of guidance counselor hands in careless search
for that one identity, that one aim in our youth we were supposed
to follow through to our grave. Between their rehashed progammed scripts
promising a world of endless mortgages, 9-5 assisted suicides, and
two weekends in the Bahamas; we spring like wild weeds from just one
moment of unguarded counseling. Yeah, Mr. Counselor. We're going to
ride over your one identity. We're going to make your one aim in life
obsolete like next year's new computer.
We're burning like modern day viruses, falling apart and reassembling
into some new creature, shedding skins faster than a runway diva before
a Milan pre-season show. This is the speed of our 21st century: To
reach the stars, you gotta be able to shine in the gutter.
GIVE IT TO ME BABY
I was walking down 7th Avenue Ybor Square in Tampa Florida one Friday
evening and the street was charged with a relentless Mardi Gras sweat.
Girls were checking guys out, guys were checking guys out, and you
know the rest. Here was baby-t central and I was stepping to the pounding
beat of some pleasuredome ecstasy, where the air was whiskey and the
club kids vogue like sedated mannequins between laser light hearts.
I was staring at everyone's exposed tummy, the sexual organ of the
nineties. I was thinking about how boyfriends will come in the middle
of the night with their pumped-up speed ride and steal those virginal
white midrifts away into a dying cavity of sunday sports tv and pregnant
smoking dissatisfaction. I was thinking about hands moving in the
dark of sensual corners like bursting acid dreams before they fade
along the half-life of dying stars within suburban bedrooms.
Then, suddenly, in the humid mist of teen carefree sweet, amidst
the catcalls of club kids wearing establishment-length flare pants
and Joneses-regulated Tommy Hilfiger threads, here comes a young queen
with his bleached hair and too-red lips, trembling with anxiety as
he looked at me with doubt for what he was doing, looking at me as
if my judgement meant something. As if anyone's judgement meant anything.
Fearing for who he was. (The key words here is "who" and not "what.")
Hey sweethearts! Does it matter what anyone thinks? We're here. We're
alive. And that's all you need to know to shake your pretty behind
into the twenty-first century! I felt like walking up to him and holding
his soft face in the palm of my hands and whispering quietly "baby,
I know who you are. Let me give you all the love and tender care that
you deserve."
REALITY CHECK: FAILED. That's alright.
Who are these moral cue card authors who make up these guidelines
that forced people underground to tremble in a sense of doubt and
inferiority? Is there actually some nerds going around telling people
its wrong to do what they like to do or be who they are? And why are
we listening to them? I look around me and see caravans loaded with
people, a dog, and 2.5 kids. Why doesn't anyone tell them its wrong
to work that 9-5 shift, to get that new utility van with 36 installments,
and to neglect themselves a grand night at the strip joint just so
their kids can have the latest Calvin Klein lunchbox? I guess it's
because they have a respectable future to look forward to, that one
golden decade where they'll be driving a car the size of the titanic
down the highway at 20 mph to Atlantic City to blow their retirement
checks at the slots. Don't get me wrong: Everyone has their own security
blanket. Artists and preachers have been telling you that you are
living a facade with false promises and material wants. Did anyone
ever tell them about the false promises of immortality by paints and
oils and a book written by some bored poet? Did anyone tell them that
a work of art is not always within museum walls? A work of art is
not always confined within the four corners of a canvas. Did anyone
tell them that transcendence, being in touch with one's inner-self,
expression through one's specialized medium is as dull and rote as
ordering two crates of paper clips for your corporate office stockroom?
I'm telling them now. I've been working with music longer than any
musician would like to count: I know about my facade that is comprised
of my notes, scales, rhythm and rhymes. I, have nothing as well. I'm
not here to be a false prophet. These words are nothing but html codes,
and beneath them, its just a house of hexadecimal jams. You and I:
We're only a collection of atoms that happen to be going in the same
direction. My only message is this: "Keep on partaying, keep on changing
and keep on being who you are inside, 'cause honey, I'm right behind
you all the way."
No one has the monopoly on truth. We are all living a soft, fluid,
plastic existence.
I guess that's why people become scientists and mathematicians. They
want to work with absolutes: They know that what they are looking
for is, in fact, an exact science. There's a sense of security in
that as well: When you add one to one, you know it becomes two. When
you add x-amount of sodium to water, you know your chemistry lab room
will go up in joyous flames. Well, when you add a pleated skirt and
heels to a guy, you know it's time to get creative with the adjectives.
CALL ME WHATCHA LIKE
Well girl, they didn't have to add much to us to make us change!
One fine day we were on our jolly way to the park to chuck some stones
at ducks amidst the clamour of houses blasting Steven Seagal movies;
weaving through fathers shouting at their toddler kids to play ball
and hit that homerun so they can walk the streets with their heads
held up high. Out of the passing garbage truck, an old September issue
of Vogue falls out into our path and BLAM!!! Instant add-water-and-stir
faggot sissy queer transvestite queenie. What lovely labels to live
by! Name-calling doesn't do anything to me, and it should mean nothing
to you. Hey, I work with words all my life, and I'll let you in on
a secret: They're empty underneath. Don't let it get to ya.
But if there's one name I can live with; I can definitely get up
from my bed every morning knowing I'm a "sissy."
They gave me a jockstrap, I said I wanted the cheerleader's skirt.
They gave me a porno magazine, I said that's alright, I'll make my
own. They said, "maybe you need a man's hobby," so I went down to
the shooting range. That didn't do any good. Then someone suggested
"you need to love a woman the right way to get some man back in you."
I'm a man and I've loved a woman deep, long, with strength and courage
in any and every way in the good ol fashion kick-ass 'papa told me
you had to work hard for a woman's love' way, so what next? Whatcha
got for me? Keep 'em comin' cause I'll knock 'em down one by one.
Here comes one: "if you run with the in-crowd. You'll be cool and
once you get accepted-"
I run by myself, I don't need to be accepted. And I am cool.
We were marching at the NYC Pride Parade and we saw a couple of Stonewall
queens taking pictures with just about everyone. So we asked them
whether we could snap a pic with them. They said "uh-uh, you guys
are referring to sex and that's not what we're about; you're just
bringing our image down. Besides we started the whole scene." There
you have it folks. The unbearably anal, dialogue-oriented, history-hogging
'90s. I said, "have you lost someone to a disease, another lover,
or just time? We all have. But you and I, we're standing here together
in the middle of 5th avenue right now. We're here."
I didn't start the human race. But I'm fighting for it.
Besides, what's wrong with sex? It's just two people doin' the good
and plenty in the name of love right?
HOT ROD SEX MACHINE
People substitute money for charm. Musicians and poets use instruments
to emulate the sonorities of the human voice. Photographers capture
the interaction of light on film. Others get into planes, bikes, and
fancy cars to get a feeling of motion. But the essence of motion is
within the human body. The human body is a wonderful thing, full of
expression and movement: extensions of our desires. Sex is the complexity
where erotic fantasy and the laws of physics collide. The missionary
position offers no challenge to our bodies. We should dream beyond
what our bodies are capable of. The body can only twist so much before
the limitations of physics take over. I want to go past that.
Your sense of rhythm is based in your body, and how you breathe,
and so is your voice. Don't confine your fantasies to the bedroom.
A walk across street could be the pinnacle of erotic expression. A
twist of your hips at a dance club is worth ten thousand sexual postings
in a Usenet Group.
Sex begins in the mind but sex in imagination can only go so far.
It's a craft that has to be tested with the body. The Web is only
a springboard for ideas. You can't soothe people by thinking compassionate
thoughts. You can't communicate sexual attraction by thinking fantasies.
Put it into reckless motion.
I find the routine of getting in the correct frame of mind, setting
the mood, and walking to the bedroom like convicts to a gallow's pole
utterly boring. The thought of being sexually charged at all times
(not necessarily "obsessed"), and the ability to dive, at a drop of
a dime, into hot torrid, mind-numbing, ground rocking out-of-control,
action-packed sex while barely unclothed is wild dynamite arousal.
THE IMPORTANCE OF NOT PASSING
We live in this modern new world that was founded on rugged individualism
and we can only aspire to be just any girl who won't cause
any heads to turn in public? We are happy, content, and even rush
home to tell the story of success when people have passed us on the
streets and have utterly failed to notice us? I've never been a junkie
for attention, but I do believe in going out for a walk and throwing
any kind of clothes on whenever you feel like it. If they want to
look, look all they want. If you want to stare, then stare away. For
me, the sexiest look is the "almost passing and not giving a damn
about it" look. We should all be free to go out for a walk in our
dresses and getups when the sun is shining and the gorgeous autumn
breeze is sifting through the streets. We should all be free to go
out and have that romantic walk in the april drizzle when everyone
else is staying at home watching movies about French lovers walking
in the rain.
I've always been attracted to the "effeminate boy in a dress" look.
I call it the half-and-half look, and I adore it. When I was a child
the most fascinating moment of a caterpillar's metamorphosis into
a butterfly was in the midst of its transitional stage. There was
great mystery, and poetry in the state of change. Once upon a time,
someone told me that if you threw a baseball in the dark and momentarily
flicked the room light on when the ball was airborne, you would not
be able to tell where the ball came from and where it was going. For
me, the "effeminate boy in a dress" look is a parable to the freedom
of our modern living. We can go anywhere we want to go. We're just
on our way there.
The imaginery girl is the central character in each and everyone
of our tv dreams. As a child, I fantasized about this tall, sweet
girl that would come into my life, with her warm and cozy tight sweaters,
and pick me up in her tender arms, and nestle me against her fragrant
hair. She is an understanding, forgiving, tender, and compassionate
human as well as a round-the-clock sex machine. She is someone I will
be proud to be seen going anywhere with in her junky old rusty car.
When I went out into the real world and found this to be the antithesis
of every girl, woman, and lady in existence, I shrugged my shoulders
and said to myself: "If you ever want to get things done right, you
have to...."
"THIT MOMENT IS LIKE NO OTHER MOMENT" (1998)
Bill T. Jones once said- in reference to the influence of Marcel
Proust on his works- that when he hit the dance stage he tries to
convey to the audience that "this moment is like no other moment."
That was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard in my lifetime,
and it touched me on many layers and struck the golden song deep in
the chambers of my heart. I remembered repeating it to myself everywhere
I went. "This moment is like no other moment." I absolutely fell in
love with the expression and vowed to live up to those words from
that day onwards.
Once I was walking just outside Fenway Park in Boston, Friday evening,
and all the teen man-children were on the loose, testosterone levels
blazing up the otherwise lifeless night sky. I bent over to pull something
out of a car seat, and my school friend Dave mockingly stuck his hand
underneath my short pleated skirt and grabbed a handful of my ass.
A taxi driver waiting in in traffic honked wildly and gave Dave the
thumbs up: "Ma' Man!!!" Then we walked along the stadium walls towards
an approaching group of school boys on their way to a bar. As they
walked by, I heard "Did you see that!?" "illlll!!!!!"
"Oh christ!" and general laughter. I turned around and watched the
madding crowd of hormone-infected lads, some shaking heads, others
suddenly conscious of their duty to be men. But like a pearl amidst
the roughness of oyster shells, one sheepish innocent face turned
quietly around and stole one longing look.
I winked at him.
Do me a favour, my web-darlings, don't ever say "MEN NEED NOT REPLY"
or "NO MALES PLEASE," because that's tantamount to a New Yorker saying
he doesn't want to talk to anyone from New Jersey. Someone once told
me that "one doesn't fall in love with a race, a gender, or a label.
One falls in love with a person." Men are as beautiful as women as
beautiful as each and everyone of us. A drag queen can be flambouyant
and dramatic, but that one kid out in South Dakota walking down the
street tonight can have the most flambouyant visions of apocalyptic
grandeur and the rosiest elegance of ornate existence. You don't live
in a single moment repeatedly. Each and everyone of us were born in
a gasp of our individual time. This person is like no other person.
SUPPORTING THOUGHTS FOR ALL MY TV/TG SWEETHEARTS
Once I worked in a clothing department store, and I was coming in
to work late one morning (as usual), and while I was parking my car,
I noticed from the corner of my eyes, a tv sitting in her pick-up
truck, trying to muster up enough courage to come into the store to
do some shopping. I walked in and stood inside, watching her for a
while. I told all my fellow coworkers, that even though I worked in
the back, if this next customer should appear to be too nervous, just
come and get me, and I'll take care of her. Well, she never came in.
I stood inside and watched her start up her truck and drive a few
more circles around the store before turning out to the highway.
This page is a a collection of articles I wrote in an attempt on
my part to soothe all of those who are experiencing conflict, suffering,
and/or feeling pain. I hope it is of some help.
all my love,
Pristine A. Gee nov 15 1997 8:34pm
Portrait of An Artist As A Transvestite
What exactly is the stigma involved with transvestites, I don't know.
Not only do I love the word transvestite, but I love
what it stands for and what it is. It's about movement. It's about
crossing boundaries. It's about change. When you stop moving, you're
dead.
What is less often addressed is the fantastic motive at the heart
of transvestism. Let me put it this way: we have five established
senses. We only live by two or three at most; sight being the predominant
sense of all. We say, "I'll believe it when I see it." We drool
and gawk at supermodels. We shape our diet to lose weight and look
trim. We treat otherwise normal everyday people with special doting
care because they are celeberities. Well-dressed people receive
better attention in society. Painters are the first thing that comes
to mind when you mention the word artist. Then there is an
artist of sound: a musician. An artist of taste: a cook. An artist
of smell: A fragrance developer. As you can see, the farther we
progress, the list begins to get more obscure. Finally, at the end
of the line, you have the artist of the sense of touch: the transvestite.
Of course, an artist actually shares with their audience. Well
the reason there's no audience for the artist of touch is because
people have lost touch with their sense of touch. Sure, there are
many other aspects of touch. Enjoying sex is one aspect of touch,
just as listening to loud music is one aspect of sound. But you
wouldn't listen to heavy metal around the clock would you? There
is a gorgeous palette of touch out there, and if we are to live
fully and incorporate our senses to their fullest capacity, we'll
have to do better than just going to a museum and admiring Mona
Lisa.
Dressing or Cheating?
I've met wives and girlfriends who acted as though dressing was as
terrible as cheating. I've never personally had the experience, but
I've come across people's wives and girlfriends who reacted in a way
that was nothing short of a heart-attack. The mystery behind what
is so terrible about transvestism is actually what turns me on even
more about it. When I think about it, it actually amazes me that people
who are involved in this totally harmless pursuit get a deluge of
abuse from family and friends. I had a talk with a transvestite once
and she broke down in tears, she said her girlfriend could not accept
her. Whatever happened to "it's what's on the inside that counts?"
In an age where people are relentlessly substituting objects for emotions,
why should a piece of fabric come between two people's genuine love
for each other?
People see nothing wrong with husbands' or boyfriends' pornographic
magazines or even an occasional whip or handcuffs. That's acceptable.
Then you whip out a skirt and suddenly the power shifts.
Power vs. Control
I hate to admit it; but to a certain degree, it's about control over
the feminine image. Each of us has an image of an ideal man and an
ideal woman. When we fail to find that ideal woman, we recreate it
within ourselves. WAIT! Don't run to your email composer yet! Each
woman has her own image of an ideal man and an ideal
woman: It is called the romantic novel. They fantasize as much
as anyone else does, and when they fail to find that ideal man, they
try to recreate it in their boyfriends or husbands.
We all crave control to a certain degree in order to make things
go our way. No one is ever entirely innocent.
Time Makes Us All Hypocrites
There is a battle of contradiction within ourselves between man and
woman. Sooner or later, each of us will contradict ourselves. I know
a few people who are exceptions, but that's because I live next to
a cemetery. It's the nature of time and how it changes situations
and people that make it impossible for anyone to be consistent. If
you look hard enough, you will find contradiction just about anywhere
you go. The days of the stiff-upper lip folks who appear to be steadfast,
consistent, upright citizens of the community are over. Today, you
can be a loose, dynamic, improvisatorial person and still be
an model citizen in a community. Transgendered behaviour is not gaining
immediate acceptance because people still have to free themselves
from the tyranny of appearances and a resistance to change. You can
dress in a way that others might find unsettling and yet be an entirely
capable person, but people find that contradictory because what it
really boils down to is uniforms. People react to uniforms
and the association each outfit implies. What you have to realise
is that there is nothing wrong with contradiction: It is a learning
mechanism in the process of going forward.
When there is uniformity, there will be no evolution.
Evolution
There is nothing more annoying than people who think that the human
race is at the peak of its evolution. When one lifetime isn't even
a gasp on the evolutionary clock, how do we know we're not presently
in the midst of an ever-changing process? People who kick back their
shoes and slouch on the couch think that this is the best it's going
to get. Who knows? Maybe this identity combination of man and woman
is part of a series of our evolutionary steps. Like the modern-day
job requirements, it's no longer adequate that you know only one skill.
You have to be versatile, fit to change, and know both sides of the
coin. Don't feel frustrated at living a life of duality: Having both
manly and womanly feelings, desires, and notions might very well be
an evolution of mankind to become more versatile in expression, feelings,
and compassion.
Talk Shows
I love the way talk shows portray transgendered people in a gaudy,
circus-like caricature. When a good part of people's perception of
each other is learned from and based on television, is it any wonder
why many Transgendereed people are experiencing crisises and conflicts?
I once accidentally caught a transvestite on a talk show, and her
attitude was so positive, funny, and unshakable, that anyone with
the slightest ounce of rebellion in him or her would have adored the
hour as each moralistic, judgemental member of the audience took turns
at the microphone, only to be shot down by our heroine's street smarts
and audacious wit. My sweethearts, when you're down and depressed,
just remember that there are those of us who will fight brilliantly
for your existence, and dote upon you until you get better. :) These
are insights that if talk shows were to display a bit more often,
people'll actually begin to view transgendered people with more of
a human angle.
Oh yeah, I accidentally ran into that talk show guest two weeks
later in the city. Boy, did I shower her with compliments and words
of adoration. And I was wearing filthy jeans, army boots, and arms
filled with motor oil!
Guilt and a Sense of Identity
For some, the post-orgasm sense of guilt and frustration hits like
a solid wall. I've seen people throw their dresses off so fast and
with so much disgust, you could have sworn somebody put a gun to their
heads to get them in those outfits in the first place. My recommendation
would be this: After your climax, Stop for a moment, keep the clothes
on, and relax. Try to recapture that sensual feeling you had before
you came. It should feel pretty good. Then you have to ask yourself:
What has elapsed between that moment and this moment? Nothing at all:
It's all in the mind. Next, try going over to the mirror and looking
at yourself.
Wait!, remember who you are inside. Remember you
are still you. Think carefully: You are simply a human being, a
member of society performing a harmless, pleasurable activity; just
like someone running down to the pub for a drink or two. You can
still go down the street for a drink or two after you hang up that
dress. (I'll probably be sitting at the end of the bar :)))
You are one of us. We are one of them. We are all together. :)
Keep On Searching
When I was on a passenger plane taking off from Newark Airport, New
Jersey towards Gatwick Airport outside London, I looked down below
me and I could see the two major highways that stretches the length
of the state. There was Route 1. and there was the New Jersey Turnpike.
As I got higher in altitude, I could see cars like ants scrambling
to get from one mile to the other. I thought about the passengers
in each car and their anxieties, disagreements, quarrels, and anticipation
of what might be ahead of them. But what I saw, from where I was,
was every mile ahead of them. In fact, I could see ten miles ahead
of where they were. It seemed like the combination of the time it
took for them to get where they wanted to go, and not knowing what
was there when they got there added to a sense of unrest. It seemed
like such a farce to I, who needed only two minutes to travel their
1 hour journey and could see what lay ahead of them.
But then I thought again: What did ground control see from the
satellites above me? It would seem such a farce to them, who needed
only two minutes to travel my seven hour journey and could already
see my morning in Paris.
We have so much to learn and discover within ourselves. The possibilities
for human arousal, human expression in the juxtaposition of feelings,
movement, perfume, touch, dress, and voice are almost endless. Like
geniuses and eccentrics however, society will need some time to
get used to us. Nothing wrong with that: I myself am still trying
to deal with the fact that you can actually open a Playboy magazine,
see a naked body and go into a thrashing erotic frenzy. There's
something definitely suspicious about that sort of behaviour. When
I see that, I often think: "There's got to be more out there."
And there is. You just have to muster up enough courage to go on
with doing the things you love. Shouldn't be too hard. You have
the lot of us behind you who are willing to keep ya warm and cared
for.
And if you're feeling a bit weak and unloved, don't worry dear,
you can stay here at my place as long as you like ;)
hug + snuggle + kiss + love
Pristine A. Gee
