Marriage of Society

So today was a historical event for queer rights in California. You can now (after the official word has been handed down) get married to your partner.
Did this invalidate heterosexual marriages already existing?
Did it make a mockery of standing heterosexual marriages?
No, that had been happening since divorce, adultery, and domestic violence has been around.
“It wasn’t Adam and Steve…” says some who are quoting scripture, when in fact they ignore the infamous story about removing body parts from another man to grow a human being.
That is preposterous! (Gen 2:22)



Death of my Light and Life

I wish my death to occur in a warm ocean:

  • The salt air filling my nose and taste buds to saturation,
  • My arms floating out-as my legs too relax.
  • My wonderful mind feeling the light pour out of it into the void-beyond…

like so many times before now.

The warm water will fill my senses with that of my birth-many times entering this world in a peaceful warmth and easing into being. My soul seems to be the perpetual arrow in flight not having once stopped but occasionally skipping years of prescience.

My body should breakdown in the natural process and fill the smallest organisms, the plankton, full of energy then in time will go through fish, filter feeders, or a whale if I am lucky. A Sei Whale would be appropriate as I once took Sei as my name in this current life that I can call my own.

Perhaps This time my hand touches water from Lethe to my lips..

Death is truly a beautiful thing; my death will be more beautiful than my life has been at times- A cacophony of light and matter not unlike the supernova in its exit.

Don’t worry, its just another beginning.


Fathers’ Day Dreams

So today is Father’s Day to some,
to others its Fathers’ Day.

Some of us had a try without knowing what we were doing,
others were nothing but a surrogate for some other person-in full or lacking capacity.

I don’t consider myself to have a father, its more like the story of Aphrodite at times:

“In the most famous version of her myth, her birth was the consequence of a castration: Cronus severed Uranus’ genitals and threw them behind him into the sea. The foam from his genitals gave rise to Aphrodite (hence her name, meaning “foam-arisen”), while the Erinyes (furies) emerged from the drops of his blood.Hesiod states that the genitals “were carried over the sea a long time, and white foam arose from the immortal flesh; with it a girl grew.” The girl, Aphrodite, floated ashore on a scallop shell.”
(Excerpt from

There was nothing positive as my life started when I lived next door to him. Happily I have learned not to expose myself to venom, hate, and such. But sometimes it spills from me as though hemorrhaging or collaterally. The hate does make ones skin thicker and thus will ooze from pores of relationships with partners and one’s own children.

My children do not know me and its sometimes it is remiss but that’s my burden and as such there is not any regret for what I could not control.

Amanda Peet once said of child-rearing in a magazine artice: “Parenting is a lot like when the oxygen masks drop in an airplane: you cannot help anyone until you fix your own situation.” (paraphrased)


Clarity as a Liquid

If clarity was something you could consume-or drink….

I might drink a whole bottle without experiencing any “perceived effects.”

(A friend might offer perspective about what was supposed to happen when you consumed the lightning-in-a-bottle of clarity.)

After an episode like that, I could drown in a whole ocean made of clarity, and yet be “thirsty” for clarity.

Its not unlike having a doctor explain what was supposed to happen or what happesns “in theory” when medicine or therapy is applied…

My corpse would be brined and pickled in clarity and yet I might not truly understand.

“Give me clarity!” is a hollow plea for some substance that goes through in an unaffected matter.

“Doctor, what was supposed to happen? How does this change me?”

The others.
I can see the viewpoint of others, relative to my own. That tends to be a gift, but time cannot be undone.

Or can it only be repaired?

In the Void of the Internet…

Silence. Its all the internet is.)

You wake up one day to see that you are your own worst enemy. You are standing holding the fate of choices.

The human Teflon effect of your life-
no matter how its come to materialize, just doesn’t seem to wash off.

You are not the victim. And yet your life has become an adaptation of your surroundings, environment, and stimuli.-you have victimized yourself, you are your perpetrator.
Since the blame is on yourself, there is only one person who can stop it -or will be stopped.
You put up a fight with yourself and cannot succumb.
There is nowhere you can go.

The Dividing Line of Feminism and Expression

I’m conscious, no doubt. Most of the world’s ration and reason anymore hurt my brain.

This doesn’t “interfere” with my daily existence as much as it enhances it. Its problematic at times because the world, and my world have many layers. I did live the first 35 years fooling others to believe I was a man (but never fooled myself).


“Looking like I did, I always thought I was smart and not good looking. I had never felt this outside looked like my inner self-she stayed hidden for 8 more years after this photo.”

Picket fence, college, military…I had some typical as well as high-risk career choices that were considerably masculine. I spent time convincing myself more than other people and thus: being a male in all outward appearances and social roles- WERE simply a stage I went through before embracing my true self. But transitioning back east meant I was surrounded by an automobile to-and-from work, school, home. You don’t socially interact with anyone in a car, basically.


“People would kill to have a body like mine, or just kill me?”
Statistically, trans people survive suicide and are faced with a higher homicide rate-rarely killed by women.

Expressing my female self isn’t without daily scrutiny from men and women alike: a man can be butt-ugly but as long as he is powerful/rich/physically strong he is pedestalled and embraced for doing what success was defined to mean; for the woman it means you are judged based on your hair/makeup/clothing/fashion sense and not other accolades.

Women rarely get left alone when it comes to the leering and judging eyes of the world. Sure, age sometimes brings relief, but then you are seen as someone’s “mother” rather than a successful mature woman. Shit, this goes to show that transitioning from male to female is not a CHOICE!! One might argue that transitioning from female to male would be a choice based on no longer being scrutinized on a daily basis of ones looks, but that is not the case. Transgender is not a choice for anyone.

Some feel that being born as I was and being attracted to women, wearing pants, etc. are considered appropriate.

So how much breasts/cleavage do you show to express what you feel you want to, and how much is caving to “what a woman should behave as?”

The pitfall of someone balancing expression: “I don’t feel like wearing makeup nor shaving my legs.” negatively traverses my female expression. You could say that I am hypersensitive to the expressions of gender, having lived/worked/dated/stared/objectified as both. 

Did I mention that I know what runs through a man’s brain? No? Well I didn’t. I will say that I know what CAN run through a man’s brain. I was also raised around the most misogynistic/pro rape men on the planet. I knew pretty early that I was neither “them” nor “a man.”

I will admit that I cling to a few things out of comfort due to the basic fact that I wasn’t born without a vagina, nor plentiful mammary glands (breasts).

Maybe I don’t want to go to a place further outside my own comfort zone.
Maybe I don’t want to leave the impression on you of what I look like without makeup because maybe you won’t invest getting to know me or you are the type of person who doesn’t get past anything.
Maybe I like some to show some sexy legs because I literally have bled for my transition. I shouldn’t have to justify anything in what I choose to express, but in living my life, I am just.

I think you can be a femme pro feminist, and even a transsexual feminist. I also think that it really shouldn’t matter what someone’s outsides look as quoted by me:

Associated Press November 2010

Associated Press November 2010

“This girl in front of me, whether she is wearing pants or a dress, shouldn’t make a difference.” Associated Press November 2010


Ciao! Io Non Sono La Violincellista. Io Sono Sempre La Chitarrista!

Hello! I am not a cellist. I am always a guitarist! Truly a musician, magician….

Now that I have lived in “a real home” where I can explore things beyond the “newness of fascination” and child-like wonder, I am faced with a choice. The choices are always for my heart to make. Its been a year since I decided to explore the cello. I always tried to play guitar sounds from it. Its been fun, but Lucien (my cello) will  be parting ways.

My guitar, Lucifer, shown in the first video has been something whose fate had been undetermined. She was missing-in-action until recently when my friend finally stated that the guitar was in fact sold to pay bills.
I breathed a sigh of acceptance for my first and most beautiful guitar’s fate. My newer guitar, Isis, never really felt the same and I was always wanting the old guitar; wanting the original guitar.

You really cannot play George Lynch or Warren Di Martini on a cello. I tried. Goddess Mother have I tried. They are completely unwillingly capable of producing harmonics like an electric guitar.

So I have a clean slate. My heart is free from want, expectation.
Musical life is new!

It means I will have to sell my cello, but that’s ok.
Any guitar could be my guitar now.