The Music Playing in Your Head

Music, particularly music that my parents loved, sometimes just comes upon me. I always feel a certain warmth, a certain melancholy. It is not just that my parents are long dead, and the music evokes them, but that feeling is in the music itself. Perhaps we do live in happier times.

This blog should probably be split into two parts. Tales of tranny lust and life in one blog. Whimsy and the mysteries of the east in the other. At any rate, this entry is almost totally devoid of tranny lust, though there are hints of other more socially acceptable forms of lust. At any rate, in the category of whimsy, I have been trying to improve my sanskrit by translating popular music, having played with Dylan and Hendrix... " sAcigama bhaSaka Jimi abhigantum anujanihi" .. I will help you with that one.. "Move over Rover..." No more help. Like Joyce, I write for generations unborn. I am finding the old songs more adaptable to sanskrit rhythmns, and this song has echoes that I hadn't noticed before.

kuha vA kutra vA

etad manye / samAya pUrva AvAbhyAm /ekAnya samAloka prAcya

kutra na cetami kuha vA

vasamAnam ambarAn avasathAh / etad hasat sama purA

kutra na cetami kuha vA

karmani pUrva prAbhavan / karmani punar sambhava

khalu manye samAstavAhi pUrva /prahasAva pUrva / samgamAva pUrva

ka janati kuha vA kutra vA

Apologies to those who know for any grammatical errors. Anyone want to play?

In particular kacit khikhivat devi ?

Salokya

Salokya -- The liberated state of being in the same world as Devi or Krishna depending upon your gender preference in paradise. So it is time to choose a vacation. This is of course suffused with expectation and meaning. Vacationing alone means going somewhere, and doing something. The going implies there is a better place than where you are, and the doing implies that you are presently wasting your time, or something like that. And in my case, I have gone to places, the forested mountains of the East, and the Appalachian trail, or the desert vistas of the west, and found the divine there for a few days. I was speaking with a friend about travel brochures for guilt trips, and so we need travel guidance for transcendence.
So I always chose the cheap thrills, majestic landscapes with whispers of dead civilizations, the Goddess's toys littered about. But this time, I choose Savannah, asking questions like where can a girl find screw on earrings in Savannah? Where do MY people hang out. Is ambrosia available in a Go cup? Anyone with the proper brochure please let me know.

Castles Made of Sand

Cleaning house.. and running across an old notebook writings from the time of dissolution of a long long relationship. The most painful.. days of my life..
writhing under the whip of her indifference, page after page.. hope upon hope expressed, and yet at that point I had never revealed anything about my ummm gender issues.. which at the time I wasn't so clear about. Certainly didn't know any way to talk about them..that wouldn't end in disaster from my perspective. It is like it isn't that important, but everything was about the absence of affection..understanding that the boy part of me is not very affectionate at all, and i would have needed to let the girl out... so that i could feel more? perhaps..at any rate who was this person.. who wrote the following poem about himself.

Scarves and watch caps over bone
eyes overturned like headstones
and bags of rags and wrappings
in subway tunnels moving
through wakes of newspaper.
Grey skows slowly crossing the harbor

Murmuring through the fog


Days cast off and Nights discarded.
through vistas of mist shard upon shard
watch capped and satchel moored I comb
silver key once mine alone
to undo that once done
the rusting lock on her affection.


Loss total and inexplicable. A constant litany in this life.

The general wisdom would be that Belinda is a deluded soul. Constructing a feminine self from the least evidence. Lost in a mirror gazer world. Yet looking back at a younger more conventional self it is difficult not to see a sandcastle maker, and a rising tide. She loves me.. She loves me not.. and if She doesn't love me who will, and if no one loves me, then... well.... boo hoo. But a poor delusional sissy gurl can find comfort in a Goddess, and construct a self.. entirely. Next installment, Sanskrit translations of the classics.. the rock classics that is.