Life Without Music Breaks My Heart Open Wider

I’m a musician.
It is THIS pulse that comes from within that escapes into this universe through my fingers producing sound against a medium of material (Guitar plus Amp, Keyboards, etc.)

I don’t need a band to play. Just some time with her in my hands is all I will ever need.

Often times, people see this as a luxury, a fruitless pursuit of something that does not pay-or is a distraction at best.

Right now I am moving-in the process of call-text-email people with rooms listed. Tedious and time consuming, but necessary.

But it hurts.

She is the muse like no other muse I have had in my life.

I can see her, but I can’t touch her.

She cries to my heart-and it does break open a little wider with each speck of dust that collects, the impact is as if it were a bullet.
My fingers hurt from not touching her-the callouses crack under daily activity…
my body is not stimulated to continue their production at the intensity to which my body had grown accustomed to.

Her sound resonates within my body when she is awake.

Sympathetic frequencies through out my nasal cavities and vocal folds flutter upon this interaction.

I hope I can get settled into someplace soon.

I die slowly without playing my guitar.

-L

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Effortless Guitar Playing Through Better Living

So I had properly set up my new ESP LTD GL-200K, and the momentum forward is truly insane for even my standards.

Since I spent a while with the cello (although not properly schooled), I find guitar strings are effortless to bend and fret. My passion from that period has spilled over as things like Ástor Piazzolla‘s Libertangothe dance has not gone to my feet but to my fingers across the fretboard/dance floor. One-and-two-and-half-and-up-and-back as my fingers sweep in a stumble but moving towards fluid motion as I have progressed. (The demands of my hands have changed to a larger and thicker finger pick than I had always used too.)

I find the tango to be a stumble-a flirtatious dance that sometimes is off-beat driven, rather than parallel to the beat in its sometimes hurried and staggering expressions.

I would also like to say that there are times that I do not feel like I am the one playing-the sum of which is truly mio cuore-my heart that is speaking through this music.

Lucifer has been cited as the seed/driving force for music at times. Funny enough that Lucifer is referred to as “The Morning Star” which we know to be the planet Venus-whereas Venus/Aphrodite are nowhere near the mythological implications of Lucifer. 

Perhaps the muse is the spirits of long deceased musicians talking through my body when I am playing. Perhaps it is the combined genetics of my paternal and maternal line that course through my veins that refuse to let the musician have her sleep.

The balance of my womanhood may have plateau’ed to allow this to wash over and through me. 

 And it seems that the sales representatives at my local guitar retailer are keen to helping me and I am pleasantly surprised when they don’t bat an eye for my appearance (as times in the past had occurred at other stores).

Rock on!

Lexikat

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 Wikipedia.com)

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)

Lexikat

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).

Image

“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.

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“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

Lexikat

You mean I’m a lesbian? Ok

(and that’s fine by all the parties involved)

So a while back, I had written a few things about the differences between the T and the LGBQ. (Lesbianism revisited)

Today, I am reflecting.

You might say “embracing.”

So when I walk down the street proudly with my partner, the world sees a lesbian.

Embracing?

Its ok to:

  • Wear less makeup
  • Go without a bra
  • Wear pants more often
  • Stroll with your partner in Berkeley

Really, its probably not embracing being the L in the BLT of the LGBTQ queer sandwich. Its about embracing having a partner who is of equal standing and footing.

I’ll embrace her just fine in public, as she does with me.
(There appears to be a larger East Bay population of lesbians than San Francisco proper)

So world,
Don’t judge a girl by her pants wearing or her supermodel-distinct bodily features…
or by her girlfriend.

Lexikat

Girls, Girls, Girls

(Re-posted from e-blog from January 30, 2011)

I get asked what kind of girls I like.

(Rather than get asked out)

So…

I like curvy long haired girls.

I like skinny girls.

I like girls with shaved heads.

I like girls with multiple piercings.

I girls with tattoos.

I like girls that have fauxhawks.

I like a girl that can wear a tie.

I like a girl in a skirt so short I can see a thigh.

I like a girl with something unique about her.

I like young girls and older ones.

I like a girl who needs me.

I like to cook for a girl and a girl to cook for me.

I like a girl who knows how to pin me to the floor.

 

I love a girl who’d hang on the back of my motorcycle.

I’d love a girl I could kiss all night in the falling rain.

I’d love a girl I could walk down the street holding hands.

I’d love a girl I can wake up next to and look into each others eyes and know without saying a word what said.

 

I’d love a girl a really long time,

(probably long past my time to expire)

 

Lexikat

(This was really deep for me to put up here, I may delete it because it opened up my heart and exposed the sensative part to the world)

Anything can happen

“Anything can happen” does not implicitly indicate that Anything will happen.

(What’s this rant about?)

On any given day, there are many possibilities within the available set of circumstances.

(True)

Typically that course leads down a narrow scope, away from the most extreme possibilities.

(Yes, also true. But weren’t you making a point?)

So we can rule out the most extreme possibilities on any given day. Examples being Global Nuclear War, Virgin Birth, etc.

(So this blog is about you suggesting everything covered in the “et. cetera” then is it?)

Yes, it is.

(Why so “cloak and dagger?”)

I start each day filled with hope. I dream big. I dream in technicolor and black & white. I dream Everything is Closer to Happening. Life doesn’t mean a short thrill seeking ride anymore. Substance breeds greater and more mature possibilities.

(So you’re going to act your age now?)

Not entirely. Plus I don’t think that’s ever going to be possible from how old I am and how young I am at the same time.

(*raises glass*)

Here’s to whatever happens from here on forward. Anything might happen!

Lexikat