Gender bending in Inception....Like many, I saw Inception...

and what I loved was that one of the cooler characters (the forger) transformed into a hot blonde to distract the mark. Later the character "hit on" another, humor ensued and the movie went on. Gender bending in dream-land, and subtly so. The actor made the choice (or the writer) to say "darling" to rile his rival, Joseph Gorden Levitt (the point man).

There was no political or gender pointed metaphor or meaning in the said narrative constructs, the character simply can exist in any form. It just is.

Imagine a world where one's public gender could shine?

Imagine we could switch our looks at any time and act out any identity we wish?

In a way, it's kind of scary.

Tumblr Addict, nutso in boy mode

So, I've become a Tumblr addict. So easy, so fun, so simple. You think Facebook is addicting....Tumblr is pic oriented. Very Trans friendly, I've found, as well as GLBT friendly. Do try it for a diversion. I spend time reblogging pretty items. Think of it as a way to save pictures, links, etc that you gush over, without the hassle of other social networking sites.

Do you any of you other gurls out there find that your gender dysphoria vacillates between 0 and 100? I find I can go from 0 to 100 in seconds. Other days I hover at 70, sometimes at 55. Whew! Makes a girl's head spin.

Have I mentioned I haven't dressed in two weeks and that an adored family member is divorcing? Well...I have been cleaning house in Upstate New York for the last fifteen days with my spouse, who rocketh, and sat front seat for divorce drama craziness.

For a long time, I felt like I wasn't the craziest bitch in the house. Mind you, denied of any transgender expression for such a time...I began to impose my own non binary gender zest to life and cooked, cleaned, repaired the house, the car, helped with the laundry and encouraged the women of the family to live! Yes it was a fucking Lifetime movie...in my own mind...though I must say the women around me loved my help and support and my attention to their clothing, jewelry, interests....(geez sometimes I wonder is transgenderism is extreme heterosexuality on steroids....)only if I had been dressed as a housewife, or hippie girl, but alas, I wasn't. Otherwise it was an above average week with the fam....

My wife and I did go shopping at her fav place to shop and I came away with two dresses, three tops, two camisoles, one Victorian wanna be blouse, and accessories. Unlike past shopping experiences she showed distaste for my trans identity, though it wasn't discussed. I could tell by her eye rolls and smirks....like she was thinking "Won't this go away?"

Transgender Identity Pt 2

Late, late, late. Sorry all, meant to report on this earlier. The second half of the TG ID program concerned a Eunuch detective in the mystery, The Janissary Tree by Jason Goodwin and a literary character named Mars, created by Kelley Eskridge, whose gender is purposefully concealed from the reader and appeals to all, depending on the situation Mars appears equally Femme and equally Masculine, or somewhere in-between. The stories, the excerpts lyrical and insightful, and dripping with sensuality. The Eunuch discussion was rather interesting and Goodwin explained that...paraphrased: human culture has been creating Eunuchs as long as there has been civilization. We seem to need the perspective, the mirror, of the third sex, or acknowledge it somehow. Unfortunately Eunuchs are outsiders, in the same regard as crossdressers and tg folk are in some cultures.

I agree, for there are many cultures who adopt and cherish tg folk, just as many as there are those who spit and hate.

To the Eunuchs!

To the best of our knowledge: Transgender identity

While working out this afternoon, I listened to a new audiobook download, To the best of our knowledge: Transgendered Identity... more like a download of a radio show from Public Radio International. You can read about it here.

One of the featured interviews was with Throbbing Gristle/Psychic TV front (wo)man and pangender artist Genesis P-Orridge who is basically turning his body into a rebellion against DNA. He prefers the pronoun (s)he, had his breasts implanted and modeled after his wife's breasts (they had breast augmentation surgery on the same day (sigh...how romantic) and each underwent cosmetic surgery to appear alike)and argues that our bodies are machines and should be fitted in any way shape or form we feel is appropriate.

How would scales and experiments in skin types be adaptable to space travel, living in harsh conditions, etc. Utterly fascinating.

So when I got home I looked Genesis up and found many images that chronicle her stages of androgyny/hermaphroditic transition, as you can see above. Absolutely inspired.

Segment one was excellent, as well, a ftm and his feminist critic/professor mother about his sex change. Wonderful to hear from a feminist perspective.

Will report on segment three tomorrow.

Tranny Madness

Tranny madness

I'm never sure how you other sisters process/exist in your trans consciousness. Sometimes I am all woman. Sometimes I am reaffirming myself as a girl, woman, transsexual. Rarely is it far from my mind.

This leads to lots of transflections, all of the many years and hours and days and hearts I have been entangled in a dual state.

Recently I discussed my issues with an old friend who covers the drag scene and is a GLBT activist.

Since I hadn't seen him since college, old memory lane became a happening and suddenly I was back in college hanging out at the gay bars and seedy streets where all the tg/ts hookers hung out. I used to pretend I was a reporter from the college covering sex changes and interviewed/flirted with etc. I was excited by them and excited by the idea of a sex change. I did this about four times. Perhaps five, some of the evenings blur together. I didn't hook up with these women, only hung out with them. Just trying to figure out what the hell was going on with me. Am I gay? Am I a tranny chaser? Am I a transsexual?

I already crossdressed, but it was a shameful coal I kept burning. Sometimes I managed to pre-exist it, that is to live with a heart that has never tap danced with gender bending. With femininity, with my secret self.

My old friend had figured himself out early. I know because he was my first experience. Period. And for a while I wanted him to be my boyfriend, and then predictably denied it till the experience was someone else's life.

Crazy. But not so much. The memory when compartmentalized can be a powerful consciousness.

These things are true

These things are true

there are aspects of femininity that stick to my guts.

I love purple glitter glam fluttery flirty clothing.

Most of my self loathing has been directed to my body image.

I buy cheap glam sham slam trinkets at Wal Mart and Thrift stores.

Love is something I believe in.

My lungs are weak.

At times I have looked at my hands and they have transformed into a woman's hand, the gauzy white light about the fingers, the nails dark red stain upon the glow.

In anger my wife told me I had “woman's hands”
When I was younger and dressing in my mother's clothes, her perfume trailing behind me as I posed in the window for the college boys who drove down my street.

At one time I wanted a boyfriend more than anything in the world.

At one time I detested my bisexual urges, so much I punished myself through starvation and denial.

Orange is my favorite color.

There are times when I want to peel the skin off my bones because it's so sensitive. Like cold teeth. Like a sprained back. That hot itching pain that pulses in yr bones, in yr sinuses, in yr heart.

I want to pass.

I feel like I was born too tall.

I hope I have the courage to change.
My heart rate increased and I warmed all over, but did not show my pleasure.

All I have ever wanted is to be a housewife, a hearth, the large pot of soup, the fresh laundry and homemade cheese. Dandelion wine. The walrus teeth bravery of wild onion soup.

For National Poetry Month

Last year I was such a yapper in April. This year I've been laying low. I wrote this one for those gals who don't get to dress as much as they want/should do. Also to those who delayed transition for whatever reason.

Ciao.



Days when I'm too Spent to Pretend

It's holding
yr breath
for
a week,

the restriction keeping your frame in line
with what frames should look like:
boxy, perfect, regulated, plumb.

It's what the bitch
in the carpool mutters,
what the teens say in the halls,
the sun discoballing off glittered flower pots.

Why can't people love?

It's holding yr breath

for a week
before you can relax
into yr skin,
before you can calibrate your voice,
adjust gears

that move yr winged feet
through the halls of town.
It's new skin,

itching and itching
under Thursday's blistering noon.

And the body rejects,
the body
rejects,
the body reacts.
So tired,

so long,
so far away.
It's a day
you can ride with the top down,
in the snow,
without jacket,
all that muscle holding tension so still you smoke
with heat, even in the cold,
even with the ice packing into yr sockets
like glitter lashes.

Tension of other shape,
new mind.

Sleep cures not,
stress is too much,
transition, transmission, transgriot,
transtouch.

Cigarettes, Diet Coke,
bubble pop magazines and crush.

These are spells against death,
are spells
against sleep,
are spells,
hell's bells.

It is like holding yr breath for six days
without so much of a squeak
of breath,

this boxed heart, this boxed life.