Oh, fucking crap!

But first, a Poem

Wheat grows toward
A beautiful night.
Papa's found an orchard;
Mama's got the light.

And one more

Tangerine Sea

Mexico fried trees
Elated stars wheeze
Sexual bondage a mirror
Loving kindness is nearer



And another by William Bar (me)

Opinion Claims Moose

Sharing feelings takes emotion
Increases it, raises it, to devotion.




So back to subject number one -- my hypocrisy.


I was keen to become a prostitute. At Survivors of Transsexuality Anonymous (an old, largely forgotten "support" group), the women who worked seemed much more feminine, aware, womanly and knowing than the others who were largely dweebs. I had begun hanging out at Sally's ("dressed") and knew that I could get money for coke by having sexual contact with the habitues of the place. I was frankly envious and determined to show that I could be proficient in the profession. I was in it for money and power and showing off my ability to "love." Sex to my mind seemed secondary to seduction. I did of course have sex with the men and occasionally found it fun, especially when high.

When I became sick of the degrading acts I performed, and more aware of the self-destructiveness I was displaying, I attempted to turn away from it, only to find that there were many reasons to continue. In particular I tried to protect other girls. I was shocked to find that most did not take to "protection." Obviously they also had their reasons to work.

For some reason I just did not see myself in others who were trying to seduce men and benefit from it. It shocked and dismayed me that people would persist in that, because it had caused me damage. I learned not to try to interfere in what seems to be a rather common introduction to the life of being a woman.

More:

I tried to make love a reality within my "career" and at the same time was intensely interested in pursuing an image, money and being shady.

My choices had seemed limited when I came out (and they perhaps were). I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to look beautiful and sexy. At the same time it seemed to me that I was destroying my life, that I wasn't getting what I expected, that I was disappointing myself and my parents. I used to cry and bang my head against the wall in the bathroom in despair and desperation. So, did I choose what I did for similar reasons as anyone else? Probably. Do I have a right to judge? No. Have I judged? Yes.

--Bitch was my friend--

And now is it closed?


Au revoir
c*mare