Carnagie Hall

A guy stops a passerby on the streets of Manhattan and asks “How do you get to Carnagie Hall?”

The passerby shakes his head and mutters, “Practice, practice, practice!”

I often ask myself, “If you could do anything in the world right now, what would it be?”

I know what I want and need.  It’s the same thing most trannys want and need, an encouraging and empowering mirror, offering constructive comments and external support from a reasonably objective eye.  Problem is, that is mostly a professional task nowadays, and are therapists or voice coaches or other pros really ready to do that work?   I haven’t found many who are.

But beyond that, what can I do for myself?  People tell me to just do it, but I know that the only way I can do the hard stuff is in some sort of context, towards some sort of bigger goal.  Working a shit job is just working a shit job, but working a shit job to pay the bills while you build a career, a business, a practice, well, that’s one piece of something bigger, something more inspiring.

I have said for years that the challenge for me is to build some kind of practice.  That means building a structure to offer services and recieve rewards for those services, building a context to be visible inside of a wider community, and building a life that serves those goals.

But what is the practice of a prophet?  I know who I am, and that’s not a lawyer or a newager, but it is a tranny-theologian.  I may have laughed when the carreer test in college said that my interests most lined up with those of ministers, but damn, they were right. 

Hello, let me help you die and be reborn past history, biology and expectation. 

Or don’t we yet have enough practice?

I Love

I love my lipstick marks on the lip of a Coke can, because it means I have been there.

I love black tights, in all their deniers and compositions. Thick and tight, to wear with short skirts, crisp & thin for business, sheer & gossamer for evening, heavy & cotton for wintry days.