Suddenly Dishonest!

Joanna posted a picture on her blog today, of her wig back in its box and about to get put away for a while. I can relate to her post-Sparkle blues and the wistful feeling of de-princessing. In my case though the wig went into the box, the box (and everything else) went into a suitcase, the case went into the car and got taken some 50 miles away where it will stay until goodness knows when.

I live with someone who knows nothing about this side of me, and who would certainly not understand it. (I don’t actually understand it myself.) For the last few years however my partner has gone on extended holidays and this has given me the opportunity to experiment and develop a part of me that was for so many years kept locked up and shoved down in a corner of my mind. Previously prior to her return, I purged, and the Salvation Army got some pretty natty duds as a result, but last year I found someone who would store my stuff, so I felt able to buy some wigs and go a bit further knowing I wouldn’t have to throw everything away on her return.

However there is a disadvantage to this. The level of dishonesty has gone up several notches (natch!). My activity while she was around was limited to reading a few odd blogs, never commenting though. There was only one ‘secret’ and it was that while she was away for a few weeks I dressed. And as the months went by the secret got further into the past, who knew if the opportunity would ever come again? There was no secret cache of clothes or make-up, no secret group of people I had met – no link to the world of tg. There was just me with a desire in me that I could by and large keep locked up and shoved down.

Then last year things changed. Now there was a secret cache of clothes, there were pictures of me on the internet, there were people I had met, I had a profile on the Angels site, posts and comments scattered around on various forums and blogs. This year it ramped up still more. I have been out in public, I have a blog of my own, a handful of people I email. Kate is no longer shoved into a corner of the closet and put into hibernation – she is part of my day to day life. And the person who shares my life, knows nothing about her.

I am suddenly dishonest.

One of the pieces of advice I am only too quick to give out to people in various situations is, never go with the flow; the path of least resistance is not usually the path that leads you to where you want to be; if you must have regrets let them be for things you did rather than for things you failed to do. Yet I seem to have drifted into this situation. I didn’t plan it. I took a series of actions and this situation is the consequence, it probably wasn’t rocket science to actually predict it, it didn’t just happen, but I was too busy being excited and happy and eager to exploit the brief window of opportunity when it presented itself to foresee it. And I don’t know what’s going to happen next.

Behind Our Eyes

In the very core, at the root
Where no eye ever sees
I know what I am.
I am she.

Yet in each mote of my flesh
Another truth is writ
He is printed over me.
Like tangled string.

A hard road I walk
Where all attend him,
I look out and know
He has stolen my journey.

I take scissors to the string
Unravel him
And still they attend him.
Succour the dying, killing me.

So I yield; relax; curl up
Behind our eyes.
His journey now.
I am so tired,

I Just need to sleep

Love and Monsters

This is a big moment in the life of this blog – my first Doctor Who post.

I liked the quirky format, the idea of a group of people ‘getting geeky’ about the Doctor, and the characters involved. I thought Marc Warren was particularly good as Elton. Quite a few series have done episodes where the main characters take a backseat and we see their effect on a group of peripheral characters and these episodes are often among the best. But here the payoff was very poor, and much as I like Peter Kay … well if I can quote MSN entertainment,

“This will be a much more serious role than most of his characters.”

Er … no, I think not.

And would the Doctor really condemn a girl to eternity as a paving stone … I don’t think so.

Still there were some good lines (from memory – so not exact)

Elton: “There’s a big scary green thing there and your giving me a hard time?”

Elton: “We even have a bit of a sex life.”
Ursula: “Lets not go into that now”

Question – Elton remembered the Doctor (in Dave Tennant incarnation) from his childhood, when was that? You mean the Doctor is having adventures they are not telling us about? No fair!

A Little Sad Today

There are various things going on. None effect me directly (so far) but it hurts to know some of my friends are in pain. So I'm not saying much today. I have been thinking lately about life as a journey or as many interleaving journeys, and I wrote this poem with this in mind and also thinking about my friends.

Diaspora

Sometimes we are pilgrims
Each step filled with wonder,
With the anticipation of delight
As we strive towards the holy place

Sometimes we are refugees
Little centres of confusion.
Ears straining for pursuit
Heart aching for sanctuary

Sometimes we are nomads
Flowing over the ground
With no purpose, like the sea
Our only motive; motion.

Sometimes we are litter
Aimless drifting wind blown
As like to stop as start
Everywhere is somewhere.

Stories

One of the things I have always done is tell stories. I used to amuse my friends and cousins with them when I was still quite a small child (as opposed to a small adult as I am now). And in a way almost every thing I do is about telling stories. Even when I cross-dress in a way its about telling a story. Siobhan, in her blog has referred frequently to a 'sense of audience', and thinking about this has clarified a few things in my head. So many of her posts tend to do that. So from time to time I will be telling stories on this blog.

The word 'story' is often demeaned, "oh thats just a story!" but stories lie at the very heart of our thinking. Many of the basic lessons we learn as children come to us as stories, and when we play it is often done as story. In many cultures the story teller is a holy man/woman, and rather than an 'intelligent designer' what many of the worlds religeons propound is an 'intelligent author'. I may go into this in more detail later but for now I'll leave it at that..

Very little of my poetry is completely autobiographical, (if you have read any of it you will be pleased to know this) but rather it is just another way of telling a story.

And here is another one.



Afternoon Tea

Dust motes dancing in a sun-shaft

We sit across from one another.
The afternoon is dying
The sun is low, lancing in through
The window. One full spotlight
Catching her face. Cruelly

The tearoom is full of shadows
A place suitable for dying
Silver and china gleam dimly,
Like funerary vessels. The solemn
Waitress is clothed for mourning

Across from me: this woman,
It is plain to see she’s dying.
Slowly the way we all do,
But with her. Once. There was
Nothing in the world was more alive.

Nothing made me feel more alive
But now I too, am dying
Its there on her face picked out
By a sun that will be blazing
When we two are dust

Dust motes dancing in a sun-shaft.


In Other News

Stephanie Rowe has an interesting link on her site today, a web site that appears to be able to learn. If that is true and it doesn't just mean 'store more facts' but rather 'build/abandon logical structures' then thats even more spooky than having it appear to read your mind.

Drabble

No not the presenter of One gal and her blog, but a literary device, as explained here.

Warning Meme alert.

There was a craze for limited length stories particularly among science fiction writers in the 80s. The daily telegraph did a competition for mini saga’s (exactly 50 words) and had over 33000 entries. Science fiction has always had a soft spot for such devices.

Some people think 50 or 100 words is a bit wordy however and in one set of rules you are limited to 8 words, for example

"As the sun sank slowly in the east…” by Fred Brown

Or

"Aliens disguised as typewriters? I never heard such -- " by Colin Greenland

However it’s difficult to get any kind of character development going in these, so they came up with the Drabble. to reiterate a drabble is a story in exactly 100 words, (up to 15 extra for the title).

So I am throwing down a challenge, write a drabble.

Here is mine.

Testosterone.

I got back to the bar and looked around, puzzled.
“Where’s Tom?”
Gaynor looked at me, a worried frown creasing her brow “He got into a disagreement with one of the locals.”
“A disagreement? Over what?” I had only been out the room for a few minutes.
“Something silly!” she said “They went outside!”
“Outside?”
“Yes they said they were going to settle it hand to hand.”
“Hand to hand?” Now I knew why she looked worried.
Then I heard them. Coming through the open door, the unmistakeable voices of two men, slightly raised.
“Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack ….”

In Other New!

Ever wonderered where you stand politically? Wonder no more Freiya has a link on her page today that will answer this burning question for you.

Also Connie has a hoot of a link on her page today. Call Centres how we love 'em!

Tradition, Poem and Litter

In the time honoured manner, may I present :-

Makeup Tip of the Day

Take a tape measure and measure the circumference of your head, the tape should go front to back and pass over the nose. Now apply concealer, beard cover and a GOOD quality foundation until at least an extra inch has been added to the circumference.

Tomorrow: Eye shadow – how to achieve a light natural look with only twenty seven different shades.

Actually this is my (or one of my really weak suits) I look at some of the pictures on flickr and so many have wonderful faces. Now I refuse to believe that ALL these people have such naturally perfect skin so its got to be really good makeup techniques. I've practiced and practiced but nothing gets hidden, if anything the flaws in my skin are made more obvious. Next time I have the opportunity I’m going to go for a make over and see if anyone else can work a miracle or if I’m beyond the painter and decorator and need major refurbishment.

Oh by the way, did I mention I sometimes write poetry. OI! Get your hand away from that browser button, it won’t hurt … much, I am not a Vogon.

In the Dawn

A pang of fear inside me
On the pillow, there beside me
In the growing dawning light
Just the imprint of her head.

I scan the room and find her
Framed against the window
In the growing dawning light
As she watches me in bed.

Her shadows soft and curving
Her gaze on me unswerving
In the growing dawning light
Her thoughts are all her own.

And the ache in me is mounting
For the days are swiftly counting
When the growing dawning light
Will find me here alone.

Hopefully you havn't "only survived by chewing off bits of your own anatomy."

People often say to me … "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bathroom!” They never say, “Kate, where do you get your fashion ideas from?" But they might one day. There was this page out of a magazine that blew into my garden, it had a picture of a girl on it, and I thought … that looks cute so I decided to do my own version. Here it is.



You know if anyone actually read this blog this might have the makings of a meme!

er... what now?

If like me you are easily amused then I have a few links for you. (See, only my second day and I have run out of things to say)

Firstly let me say (queue echo chamber) Stick Figures in Peril! (echo off) No that wasn’t a weird spontaneous outburst. Its actually a Flickr.group and if you are prepared to trawl there are some gems in there. However two animation posted to group discussion are particularly cool.

Ball Machine And in particular this (just click play)

A site I like is visit4info where you can see tv adverts from around the world. Two of my favourites are; "Carpark Nooky " (warning- a bit rude) and the all time classic "Kid in Supermarket" (This is spoiled a little because you know what the ad is for, when you don't the punchline is a killer).

On a (slightly) more serious note. If you are a writer or you like to read or you just like to have stuff on your screen so you look busy, you might like Great Writing.

And any story featuring pixie boots can't be bad.

Ok, one more Bombay TV movie

The Date

Not sure how long I’ll be able to keep this up for … but here goes.

Welcome gentle readers … you are there aren’t you? You know what they say about people who talk to themselves?

This first entry is rather sad, as yesterday we took my mum’s dog to be put down. He was very ill, the vet said he thought there was multiple organ-shutdown, he hardly seemed to notice the injection and then he was gone. I spent my lunch hour today digging and preparing a little box. And then I laid him in it. He was quite a pretty little dog, even in death, a wheat coloured Chihuahua with a white chest and he looked like some one had been heavy handed with the eyeliner. Since my mum has no garden now we are going to bury him in mine, tonight I am picking her up and we’ll say a last farewell to him.



Thanks to Gillian Stuart I found a rather amusing site. Being something of a compulsive I am afraid I created a shed load of movies, which I won’t bore you with here … oh all right then.

A Reason to kill

Sometimes ...

A Special Treat

Not His Type

The Adventures of Doris

The Last Bastion of Masculinity

Tat for Tranny's Latest Advert

Blend Barry Blend!

His Kind of Girl.

A Famous Visitor

Incidentally any likeness to people living or dead is entirely coincidental, and ALL the names were changed to protect the innocent, and sorry I spelled your name wrong Gillian.


Well I did warn you, compulsive - if I could just get it to kick in on the things I'm supposed to be doing I'd be unstoppable.


Hmmm I might like being a blogger, I can see this place in a few weeks time, Links and feeds here and whatnots there, badges and banners, stuff squirted into here, and stuff squirting out of there …

Now lets see, what do I click now?