Desiree

I once passed a story about a woman admirer on to Jake Hale.   Jake, a brilliant FTM philosophy professor, was surprised.

“This is exactly the same story as my last relationship,” he told me.  Jake was surprised because we come from what might be seen as very different places, he being a tranny fag FTM and me being a transfemme. 

What was common in our stories, though, was the admirer.  They were both women who knew what they wanted, how to top from the bottom, and, as Carol Queen has noted, do one of the most common things in relationships: try to turn our partner into our own top, the top that doesn’t challenge us but does what we want to do.

I had a mistress who told me she asked her paying subs if they wanted an orgasm.  She knew that only the ones who said “whatever you wish” had any real understanding of submission.  The rest just wanted to push the responsibility for their own queer heat onto her.  Pushy Bottoms.

People rarely come with open eyes, minds and hearts to a relationship.  More often they project canned desires onto others, or sometimes just want to consume someone and move on.

I had become a new person;
and those who knew the old person laughed at me.
The only men who behaved sensibly was my tailor:
he took my measure anew every time he saw me,
whilst all the rest went in with their old measurements
and expected them to fit me.
    George Bernard Shaw, “Man and Superman” 

How do we believe we are desirable when desire is locked into a pattern? 

I know, I have experienced, that when people have to tell me how ugly I am, how really ugly I am, that they are not rejecting me, they are rejecting their desire for me. 

To flirt is to risk, and to know that all most people see is the surfaces they want to see, whatever that means, changes risk into danger.

Elegant, Eloquent and Sad

Ms. Rachelle has struck again:

Your blog was elegant, eloquent, and sad,
a true representation of the artist. 

I know, full well, that there are people who have it much, much, much worse than I do.  And I know that fact is what many people would use as a basis to tell me that life is hard, I am luck and I should damn well suck it up.  They would tell me not to be a whiner, to “just do it,”  to get on with it, to shut up and stop whining.

Of course, that was the path of my life, this whole “get over it and move on stuff.”   I looked around to see how others did it, and found that people use what the psychs call “latent inhibition,” the sloughing off of what is too much — inputs, thoughts, feelings, facts, memories, sensations, whatever.   The assaults of everyday life (and this fast & mechanized society has brought growth by extending the number & intensity of daily assaults we endure) are just gone, never getting through the armor or just being forgotten, left behind.

Some of us, though, well, we have a mind like hot gum on a symmer sidewalk: things just stick to it.  And when healers tell us that the new only comes when we let go of the old, we know that seeing patterns, which can only happen by connecting dots, and that means keeping the dots around, know that seeing patterns is the joy in the world.  The clutter isn’t clutter, it’s a storehouse for possibilities.

I recently met someone I worked with 20 years ago in 1985.  I started off into a story, and then stopped to assure her that this would be relevant to our conversation.

“Ah, with you there is always, always a connnection,” she said with a smile.

How can you make art unless the experience of your life is present and remains present? How do you see clearly what is there, rather than letting it slide away, and how do you see where the patterns are, the points where the universe, or at least the little universe you live in, connects?

I have long been told that in communication one has the obligation to make their own views clear and comprehensible to others.  This has been the quest of my last decades, to find language which expresses my worldview as clearly, as elegantly and as eloquently as I possibly can, so people will understand how I see, so people will understand me.

And it turns out that quest leads me to. . . sad.