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.

Imaginary Vagina II

In meditation, I frequently imagine my form as female rather than male. The prana rises through the nadas. The external form is illusory, the subtle body seems to me female. prana drawn in through the yoni. rising up penetrating the chakras..resting between the brows. I can do that now. It feels so real, prana entering through the gate of creation, the gate of maya. Sometimes I imagine myself one of 16 naked in a circle fingers touching. our breasts heaving under the cold clear moonlight, candra. Uduvasini, goddess, tripura saundari. moving clockwise, in the circle, dancing, and rising as we dance.. drawn by the rasa of Durga summoning the nityas, paricarinis. lighter dancing, and now corkscrewing and rising.. rising in the air... cool, filled with chilled light, slowly rising like heavy smoke. Up and up.. returning to Ambika, to Mahadevi

ka a e la hrim, ha sa ka ha la hrim. sa ka la hrim!

Imaginary Vagina

So who else has one? I know you are out there. You crazy Autogynephiliacs! For me the illusion is produced by tight tight panties, worn over carefully tucked male parts. Mine tuck real good because I have been doing it for years, so my poor little tessies, well they stay up north for a long time even when released from their cruel bondage! Well not so cruel really since the result is a very secure and complete feeling that I have a lovely lovely pussy, and not one of those nasty cocks. i mean you can touch around it, and opening and closing your legs the illusion is complete. I realize that this puts me !gasp! close to you know those gender dysphoric transexuals, some of whom I have met, who seem to suffer so much, and make radical choices and.. well I .. i just don't feel that way except for my IV.. for the love of IV! IV! The Mama's and Papa's knew.
So having one, I just love to touch myself..sometimes, but of course touching can reveal the shortcomings of an imaginary vagina. But usually even if I dont touch myself or maybe just touch my so so sensitive breasts, then there is such a powerful illusion, feeling it get all warm and sensitive.
I always sleep with my Imaginary Vagina, even when being a guy all day and night. I have even gotten all kinky and imagined.. lying in bed that I have a penis. trying to imagine it getting big and hard. But I don't do that very often. But I have come a long way from a happy cock pulling panty fetishist. I was so ashamed. But what is the shame in imagining you have a lovely lovely vagina. So why haven't I ever told anyone except you dear reader. Wouldn't you love to touch it? I bet you would.

Among the Leather People

Attended a picnic today. Me in a sort of semi-drag, since I wasn't going to know hardly anyone, and anyway it was raining, I mean at this point around here, we are well past the cats and dogs and moving into Biblical territory. Some soggy judgement has been rendered. This was a barbeque hosted and attended by leather people. That is my term, not everyone was wearing leather. In fact no one was. It is all about scenes discussed and play anticipated. Pony play, cane play, fire play, knife play, The plays the thing, Doms and Dommes and subs. I guess I expected more overt scenes. This was a munch and a barbecue so it was largely a bunch of men and women in shorts or jeans, sharing food, little liquor with one painted nails and face, ancient androgyne wandering among them. The frisson of dominance and submission was submerged in this cosy gathering of friends. What can I say? While I am just short of horrified by some of the things that consenting adults at that barbecue do to each other, I am enamored of Mistress and sissy play, and I was hoping that the two yellow ribboned pigtails in my gray mane, might cause one of the Ladies present spontaneously start ordering about, while smiling in amusement as I abase myself in utter and fabulous humiliation, stripped to bra and panties. Alas.

Talking later with my sister about some particularly awful things going on in her life, I was struck by the sensible attitude of the Leather people. To quote the Incredible String Band: " Maya Maya.. All the world is but a play..be thou a joyful player....

All the world is the Goddess' lila. Mahamaya. I am not a transvestite, or a transsexual, or a bisexual fetishist. I play at them, as I once played at being a husband and a father.

For all you who are into shoe play, image of Devi Kroell creation from Shoe Goddess website

Housecleaning

Living in a house with a former lover and planning to sell it, throwing things out, is a task that can easily eat up a weekend. And the little things that lurk in corners and crannies emerge again. Abhijnana, the sanskrit refers to the tokens of remembrance, I may not be Krapp, but i have a lot of crap, notebooks from former lives and forgotten lives, so it is that a notebook casually opened, reveals a diary more than 35 years old, and the thoughts of a younger self, all forgotton until the token brings them back.
Thoughts about an ancient lover, before it all became a habit of years, and before it all became dust and ashes. With regard to a once proudly embraced sang froid,

"Is it an honest reaction against love that would mold me or is it impotence, death of honesty, and the hidden vice"

Later the author discretely allows that

"Certain books were disposed of"

Yikes! couldn't those classic works of transgender erotica, Miss High Heels I would guess. http://www.castlekeys.com/library/Pages/misshh.html

even be refered to in private notebooks? Apparently not, and so hiding and throwing out things became the habit of decades until seriouls things got thrown out.

And the notebook has enough bad poetry to fill a girl's school. the best I humbly publish, this gem hidden in drawers for decades finally sees the light of day. A publishing event of note. Perhaps the literati can be drawn to this blog.

I
Amnesic burrowing creature
in tunnels undre cold earth
silently
sing

Need better poetry?

The forgotton self had copied a poem for that long ago lover

"In the void air towards thee
my strained arms are cast
but a sea rolls between us
our different past."

http://www.iment.com/maida/poetry/arnold.htm#parting