Wind of Silence Without Anxiety


Both mean simply Air-or wind.

My new trial of being a Girlfriend to an amazing potential partner did seem to come to a mutual agreement of letting the natural space of sound intrude and embracing the background information. Why? Sometimes you just have to be able to get to sleep, or wind down, or settle in. Lower your anxiety without stirring the situation more.

“Shut up”, or “silence” or even “shhhhhh” are abrupt and generally tend to not be so kind. You really want to defer to being kind to someone you potentially see in long-term plans.

Why this approach?
She is a professional therapist. Not in the “doesn’t it drive you crazy that your girlfriend is always analyzing you?” sense. More to the sense of “There is some strong intellectual, spiritual, and emotional basis for trying harder and in a more effective manner than in either of our pasts.”

So basically, if you’d like a non-awkward silence but merely a breather or pause with your partner…
consider a mutual word of silence to invoke that applies to both of you.
You might enjoy the sound of the wind with each other.


Disclaimer: this person is not my therapist nor was my therapist. This technique may or may not be some professional tool or area of study by persons within the mental health career field.

Disclaimer: I am happy and she is too.


Sometimes Life Can Remind You Why You Don’t Quit

For the first time in an age, I am completely happy with myself.
My struggles are my own and they seem to be the background noise to which has been the canvas to where I sling color and expression upon “in spite of” at times.

I don’t need someone else to make me happy. Historically, those have turned into that same situation driving me absolutely miserable. I was a willing participant, I will admit that!

But after your poignancy level has tapered off and your thoughts settle, life seems more enjoyable with an augmentation of joy, surpassed with happiness. Things are new again.

Happy times and inspiration as a “muse” to the artist need not be in constant supply. Moments of inspiration cause an avalanche effect cascading the creative process.
Little input yields mass output.

I can welcome this and know that I am better for not leaving San Francisco, not leaving my life, and not leaving me.
Because no matter where you go, there you are!


Technology and Grief

I found out today via Facebook fundraiser that a friend died. (The money goal was passed in a few hours)

What we have left besides the traditional photos are texts, emails, instant messages. Thanks technology. I feel completely useless and struck sideways by a moving bus right now. Because of technology, I’d have to actually print photos to physically have them.

“Let‘s lunch at this cool vegan place next weekend? I can’t wait to meet your partner, she sounds really cool!”

People always want to remember the last conversation they had with a loved one prior to their untimely departure. These “notes” are physical/electronic records of those actual last words.

My friend was the one who showed up “on moving day” which can be the litmus test of who your “real” friends. She and I would randomly joke through texting or instant messages about how crappy rude people are for no reason.

She had just got married 2 weeks ago. Thanks to text messages trying to get together to eat lunch on a weekend, I’ll have those as long as my phone works.

When I dropped my phone in the glass of water on my night stand, she had emailed me about loaning me the money to get another.

She died Thursday the 24th of October, my phone has the last text from 14th of October. No indication of sick or dying. Maybe its in a letter that will show up one day. Maybe not.

When people weren’t so crowded and over-populated on this planet, there were memorials and tombstones left for others to see.
Now we have the last minute conversations-but only while power runs through those circuits.

Our lives now are just some webpage or profile that remains up until the server loses power or is electronically erased from in activity.

Fuck technology.


Buffet of Choices

For the criminally insane (and maybe a few others) who try to follow this blog, today’s subject is about being a girl who gets her choices. I choose strength.

What I am talking about is that I can choose to overdose on pink rather than accept being given only that as a choice. I can choose to wear PANTS, rather than adhering to what society suggests ladies should wear.

I’ll rock a skirt when I want to and it WILL rock.

A lot of my muscle mass went away-so much that I had flappy skin on the back of my arms when I waved. Over time those  subsided but they were evidence of skeletal muscle loss.

My misguided point is narrowing to the fact that, yes I am 41. My body cannot continue to atrophy at that rate. So I am starting on small weights. Making repetitions with be most beneficial, and then I want to add some strength.
Competitively? No. I was inspired by Chris Tina Bruce‘s story. Her attitude more than anything was influential to the fact I really have one person to please: myself. 1 person or 10 people can have angst towards me for being tattooed, transsexual, or any reason.

Rather than avoiding confrontation and negative approval, why not do something that is actually pleasing to me.

I am inspired more this last year over the almost daily feminist struggle that continues. I can take part in doing what portrays ladies in a non-stereotypical role and enjoy living with the freedom of choice.

I figure within the next few years, I will benefit from letting my body turn completely to much, but I am finding the strength to be useful to my direction, for now.

Maybe I would like to be a stronger girl for my own purpose, protection and power?

Later stalker(s)~


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)


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