Some of my coworkers have the strangest things hanging around their office.


Not much to say. You see, I took some something to assist with sleep last night and I'm still groggy. But it's the first day of my vacation and I'm waiting to catch a flight.

Last night, I got together with 4 good friends for dinner. We had a long, overdue talk. I had been withholding from them for many months. It had been eating away at me, but didn't know how to talk to them. It was good to finally open up and share some of what's been troubling me. They reminded me, a few times, that I need to learn to trust in them more. And they showed me loads of love.

Sometimes trust is a difficult thing. I know in not trusting, I'm not only short-changing but actually insulting those I call my intimate friends.

Before I was getting ready to leave, one of them pulled me onto his lap for hugs.

New lesson: the lap of someone who has lost 25 lbs and the butt (mine) of one that's lost 20 lbs makes for a bone bumping bone, uncomfortable ride.

I need to say a few things and then I'm getting off the topic. You see, I have wonderful things to look forward to and I'm not dragging myself down. But I need to let off some steam.


I have no solutions to what is happening with CHC and see both sides all too well.

In many ways, it's none of my business. Number one, I'm not a bio male. Number two, I'm not transitioning. I choose grey. I choose to be a question mark.

My shrink has told me a few times that I'm 50 years ahead of myself. He was trying to excite me. All it would do and still does, is make me want to slash my wrists.

For real.

I clearly know this choice to remain in the grey isn't popular nor will it allow me to attend events where I feel the energy that is home for me. Not even with those who I consider family.

The CHC fury is not a new struggle. And for me, it brought back so much hurt that I've experienced.

Bear with me here...although connected, I'm going off on a couple things:

First, although Oprah drives me crazy many times (mostly because she talks too damned much for an interviewer), every once in a while she has interesting topics. Monday was a beaut.

In watching snippets of the documentary she highlighted, I cried.

An 18 year old girl created a short documentary and recreated a test done back in the 1940's. Preschool children were shown a black baby doll and a white doll. They were each asked which one was "nice" and which was "bad".

In 2007, 15 of 21 children picked the white doll as being the good one. And these kids were African American. Preschoolers!

You can see the documentary here. It's in the sixth season and it's film #2. It's a short film and the testing with the kids takes place more than half way thru the film.

One little girl when asked why she thought the black doll was bad, said "because it's black".
"Why is the other one nice?"
"Because it's white."
"Can you give me the one that is most like you?"

The little girl went to reach for the white doll. You can see the confusion on her face. She then hesitates and moves her hand, slowly and sadly pushing the black doll toward the interviewer.

It fucking broke my heart.

After watching, a thought came to me.

In 1968 (I was 8 years old) I asked for a black baby doll for Christmas. I came from a very white French Canadian catholic family, community and neighborhood. There was a Puerto Rican neighborhood next to ours but that was it. We were the Beaver Cleaver community. No diversity whatsoever. My mom was shocked by my request, but to her credit she finally found one, and gave it to me. All I really remember is I identified with that doll. It felt like me.

I remember from about that time calling myself the black sheep of the family. 8 years old and I already knew I was odd, and therefore bad. That's how I saw myself. After watching the documentary, I have to wonder if I did the same thing as those preschoolers.

In 2007, very little seems to have changed in the way we internalize messages. Yes, there may be more laws for protection, but prejudice is high. As I've said many times before, it's seeped into our marrow.

While watching, I also had to question, if this is happening still with race, how much more is it happening with the power of the penis? In a world where more grey areas appear to be coming out of the closet, where we see it isn't a black and white world, where it is becoming more difficult to define gender, how do we attempt to create safe places for ourselves and yet at the same time acknowledge that we can not easily define what is what?

During the show I watched, one message became clear. The greatest hurt came from within their own families, their inner circles.
Those who themselves know all too well the pains of being different were, for whatever reason, perpetuating the problem and creating more hurt.

I'm pissed.
Hearing over and over again, by many, "oh I wish you could have been there…you'd fit right in."
"Your energy and play is similar to what we saw."

Knowing full well that it will never happen because well, if FTM's are having problems being seen, then where the fuck does that leave me?
Knowing the only way to get little tastes of what I need is to create my own events, hoping beyond hope that maybe one day, it would be reciprocated and knowing full well it won't because well...I fall in between the cracks.

Yes I'm angry. And hurt.
And I have no fucking answers.
And I needed to vent so I can move on.

And the whole thing makes me incredibly sad for everyone involved.

When people ask me if we've made progress, I always have to stop and think.
It's never an easy yes:

But you don't have a dick.
You don't have an "m" on your driver's license.
You aren't white.
You aren't blond.
You aren't pretty.
You won't shut up and take it.
You don't know your place.
You cause trouble by asking questions.
You don't know what's good for you.
You aren't a bear.
You aren't one of the popular kids.
You aren't smart.
You aren't skinny.
You're only a fucking girl.
You're a nerd.
You're a retard.
You're too short.
You're too tall.
You dress funny.
Your hair is strange.
You stink.
You're full of shit.
Your imagination is getting away from you.



This week's Freewill Astrology.

Yesterday involved a big insight. This awareness was pressing on me and I knew I needed, in some fashion, to blog about it. Not having yet found the words, there weren't any other entries either. It's been fairly consuming and nothing else would come out.

Today, in some blogs, there's much discussion about exclusivity and discrimination, stemming from this past weekend. Although I tried not to pay attention, it couldn't help but encroach. There are thoughts I want to share, questions I want to throw out, and yet cannot. I can clearly see both sides and understand where each are coming from. And it doesn't prevent the pain of similar situations from my past to rise again.

My heart also hurts for those caught in the crossfire, as well as those on either side.

So between yesterday's insight and today's drama I find myself tangled in thoughts and emotions.

There are no words for blogging.

I've been physically ill for the last few days. Pain would come and go and by yesterday afternoon, although I know I could have sat through a film, the idea of walking to the cinema and waiting in line for an hour was too much.

Instead, I began a new painting. Being tired, I worked from a photograph. There was something so relaxing in actually looking at an image instead of painting only from my belly. Afterward, it was time to clean brushes.

I've been negligent with brush care. If a brush became too stiff from not being properly cleaned, I'd pull out a new one. So I chained myself to the sink and took care of them. Three of them needed additional attention and have been sitting overnight.

Last night, while throwing out trash in the dumpster, I bumped into a neighbor I've only seen a couple other times. A young man, early 20's. An art student.

He was clearly upset and approached me, crying, and leaning in close.

In tears, he shared his story.

Feeling very lonely and ignored, utterly frustrated, he had thrown his cell phone against a rock, busting it apart. He had called 10 different friends over the course of a couple days, only to get answering machines and no return calls.

Through his sobs he mentioned how when he has money, they come around and contact him. But when he doesn't have money and still wants to spend time with them, they would appear to retreat. He was hit with the realization that his friends weren't really his friends, and he was alone. He also was aware that throwing the cellphone was not the wisest thing to do.

I pulled him to me and put my arms around him...tears in my eyes. His pain touched my own. We stood there together on the sidewalk next to our building. He talked through his sobs while I listened.


It's a familiar story.

I don't believe in coincidences. The last three mornings I've awakened with memories of similar events from the past 20 years. I still believe they cared and loved me. I also believe they weren't aware of what they did. And...I wonder what my part was in those scenarios. How and why would I draw it to myself?

The beauty of these recent mornings is that for the first time in my life, I wouldn't sink into huge darkness that would sit heavy for the day yet knew it came up because it's more old poison being released while I slept.

The images and memories, vivid behind my eyes when the sun hit my bed, were signs of healing, not torture.

This morning I thought of my brushes...always pulling out a new one. Instead of tending to the one that's been good to me, I'd let it dry, caked with paint. A small but powerful gesture.

The boy had smashed his phone, his only contact with those he knew. The only copies of numbers were in his phone. If someone wanted to return his call, they couldn't.

In our pain, we hurt the very thing we need.

(This is a crummy photo. The colors are really more vibrant, but I can't seem to capture it in the shot. The detail below, when clicked on, is closer to the painting.)

I've been staring at this painting for about three weeks.
Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Can't seem to hear what it's saying. Or maybe, it's not the time.

What bothers me is that it bothers me.

There are other paintings, sitting unfinished for months or even years. Yet they don't nag me. I know that one day, they will either be worked on or not. I enjoy where they are headed and have the patience to let them be.

This one...is different. And I don't know why.

It's teasing me...always asking for attention.


I have fallen in love with a portion of it-



Guess I'll let it sit some more.

Quiet couple of days.
I've been sleeping quite soundly, waking each morning knowing that I've slept deeper than I have in a very long time.

Today, I want to paint. And later on, try to catch a film.

The Seattle International Film Festival began on Thursday. I'm going to take my chances and see if I can get in to view A Walk Into the Sea: Danny Williams and the Warhol Factory later this afternoon. This year, they don't have the box office on the Hill which is odd, considering three of the film venues are right here. I didn't feel like trucking downtown to pick up tickets so I'll wait in line with a book and see what happens.

Here's a review from the Tribeca Film Festival.

Just down the road from the Egyptian Theater is Rudy's. Yesterday was the first time I noticed the sign had "tattoo" on it. A one stop shop of sorts?

Another reason to like my job:

You never know what awaits you when returning to the office after errands.

Yesterday, I left to pick up food. I wasn't gone 20 minutes, only to return to a new door to my office.



After peeling it back, I discovered this:



It seems that one of them had opened an Ikea box to assemble a bookcase and got creative.

After we all had a good laugh, they did clean up my office.

Later in the afternoon, another coworker had gone to the store for food and returned, handing me some of the best dark chocolate peanut butter cups I've ever eaten. It was his thank you for stopping my work and assisting him with a project.

Another time, knowing my love of thick post office rubber bands, (they are stiff and VERY stingy), I walked in to find my chair covered in them and my monitor bound.

Having coworkers who celebrate your fetishes is a huge job perc.

After we finished one big project at work yesterday and had an impromptu celebration with the staff, C joined me at Septieme for a drink, a little dinner, some chatting and then we each immersed ourselves in our books. Quiet evening.

Although I've wanted to, I haven't painted since Saturday. Work has taken much energy. It's hard sometimes, walking into my apartment and seeing my palette filled with paint, ready to go and not having the oomph to approach the work.

A coworker and his partner are leaving for IML today.

Including today, there are four more work days before taking a 2 week vacation.

Here is this week's Freewill Astrology.

These most gorgeous drawings have me absolutely enthralled.

I keep staring...taking in the weight, the sureness and the delicate nature of the line.

Now why the hell can't I draw like that?


We did a ton of gift processing yesterday and my assistant's computer went flukey. It's going to be a day of calling tech support to find out why we can't see the individual entries even though we can see the totals.
Sometimes, computers scare me.

Because there isn't time for a longer, more exciting entry, today's photo has nothing to do with anything other than provide a little fun.

Short entry today.

Great session with my shrink. Can we say how delighted he was that I immersed myself in painting while in the throes of terror? Yeah. But then again, so am I.

It seems that as things have become more difficult and dramatic within, the therapy work I've been doing is manifesting itself in very positive ways. It's a relief.

Now, although I have a ton of work to dive into, I'd much rather be either of these two guys. It's cloudy and misty today. A perfect day to kick back with a book and a hot cup of tea.

How to work through a panic attack~


Remember this?
It was the 4th version, continually evolving.



Well yesterday I was hit with the beginnings of a panic attack. It was so difficult to breathe. Fear surrounded me. I didn't know which way was up...and I couldn't stop crying.

I haven't painted all week and have not felt bad about it. Much of my painting energy was thrown into creating and shipping out samples of my work, which made for a productive time.

In the midst of terror, I chose to paint. This is something I've never done before.

And that 4th version of what was originally a red square, morphed into this:



Then, I couldn't stop so I reworked three other paintings into these:







While painting, almost immediately, my breathing slowed down. Deep and even.
I never thought I'd have the desire to work while in such a state.

Again, another lesson learned.

An Army of Lovers~



"Wanting to reform the world without discovering one's true self is like trying to cover the world with leather to avoid the pain of walking on stones and thorns. It is much simpler to wear shoes."
- Sri Ramana Maharshi

The above quote is from a Brezsny email this week. It speaks to much of what I've been thinking about the last few weeks regarding various communities and how they fit in my life, if they do at all.

And from yesterday morning in a weekly newsletter, Eric Francis wrote:

"IT MUST BE terrifying finding out you live in a dormitory contaminated with dioxins. Imagine: you're 18 years old and you're having a great time at college. Then one day at the end of the year, you find out that your building had an electrical fire so long ago that nobody remembers, but not so long ago that the toxins are any better than the day of the event. Nobody told you. You feel betrayed. You learn that the chemicals involved will affect you for life; that your children and even your grandchildren may be affected; that you were lied to; and that there is nothing you can do about it except prevent future exposures, if you can."

He goes on to speak about environmental contamination but to me, it spoke loudly of internal toxins.

In my adult years, from about 20 to 40 I was a very happy person. People were drawn to me. I had large varied circles of friends. My nickname was "The Hub" because I could connect people and make things happen for others. Folks called me brave. I'd take risks and make major life changes whenever I needed to.

I was succeeding. At work. At school. In life. In sex.

Sometimes, in my alone time, I'd feel a deep isolation. In those rare moments, I knew there was no one I deeply connected to. Something was missing. Yet if you asked me, I couldn't explain exactly what I was looking for.

When I began training and the stripping of self it entailed, my pretty little house fell down. The deeper I went, the more I could see the rot, and the contamination from a childhood of exposure to deadly poisons.

This work has left me dissatisfied with much of what I see around me. My sense of smell for substance has heightened dramatically. Definitely a curse as well as a blessing.

I also am left with anger and a deep feeling of betrayal from my past. With this, I know that the only person who can really take care of me, is me. Regardless of what's happened, no one can save me. I'm the only one who can make sure my past doesn't continue to affect my future.

But we all need allies, don't we?


Last summer a special person wrote to me, saying I needed an army of lovers. I cried when I read that line. He was correct. I don't expect a large army, but a handful of folks who are individualists, freethinkers and radicals.

I've realized that simply being involved in the leather community doesn't make one such. There are many sheep, as in any other community. Cultish behavior can be found anywhere, not only in Falwell's church or Jonestown.

What I crave are those who, in spite of fear, are willing to live a life of integrity and openness, knowing it goes against most of society and maybe even subcultures. I hunger to surround myself with a family made up of those who are not impressed with being a part of the A list but instead each an individualist. I yearn for a group of artists who continue to dig within themselves, shoveling away the dirt to find the diamonds that we all have hidden inside and create from whatever is found there, be it sludge or shining star.

I desire a small band of truthseekers.

I long for an army of lovers.


Sometimes I mourn the happy days. Life was simpler then. The crowds were larger. There was an innocence to that time.

Suffering that at times needs to be done isn't condoned or celebrated in this life. Yet in seeking only happiness, there is a danger of ignoring the hard stuff. I seek truth.

But with diligence to this work, although at times it feels near impossible to do, I am discovering a richness that was previously unimaginable.

I am learning a whole new definition of intimacy.

Tonight at FELS. Although there are always familiar faces, the mix is a little different each week. As are the conversations.

This evening, unexpectedly, one of the guys and I engaged in a wonderful, more intimate chat.

You never know what you'll get at FELS, and yet, at the same time there's a comfortable routine that makes for a nice way to finish out the week.

Last night, because the art cd's actually made it to the post office, I wanted a treat. Being asparagus season in WA, Pagliacci's Pizza new seasonal, limited time only pizza was asparagus pizza: white pizza with young asparagus spears, red onion, chunks of juicy tomato that squirted onto my sleeve when I bit into it, and mushrooms.



It was heaven.

Finally!

I've been procrastinating for the last few days but I buckled down this morning and finished two letters...one to someone in SF and one to an old prof who was a mentor to me during my BFA years.

For my prof, I included many thank yous.

This afternoon I'm shipping out the letters with the cds showing my work.

I don't think I have expectations around this, expect for the hope that they will look at the work and respond in some fashion.

Simply sending it to these people is a HUGE deal for me. It's forcing me to reveal myself in a way I'm really not comfortable doing.

Today's goal is to listen deeply to what resides inside.

I shot this on my walk into work at 5:30 this morning. It struck me because in past years I don't remember seeing these in abundance until July and August. And yet...they've been around for the last couple weeks.

Long short day. It was a packed one and yet I left about an hour early. I'm working Saturday morning for a few hours at our yearly breakfast honoring scholarship recipients and so am taking time today and tomorrow to make up for it.

This year we expect about 500 people to attend. It's held in a banquet room at one of the major hotels downtown.

Coastal Kitchen's new menu just came out. They rotate every few months. I missed out on Sicilian food but now I have a chance to try Jamaican.

Here's this week's Freewill Astrology.

After work, Craig and I walked down to Broadway and hit Septieme for drinks and shared a plate of nachos. They have some of the best nachos around. The booze was needed. Before the restaurant we stopped into the newstand next door where we each picked up magazines to read while we drink.

It made for wonderful downtime, each sitting there quietly engrossed in our reading.

I picked up a new mag that I've never seen before - Esopus. It's beautifully created, filled with art and writing. The color and paper stock are top notch. There is some really cool pull out art tucked inside.

It's a product of the Esopus Foundation. From their website:

"The Esopus Foundation Ltd. is a 501(c)(3) not-for-profit organization incorporated in New York State in 2003. It was formed to provide an unmediated forum through which artists, writers, musicians, and other creative people can make a direct connection with the general public."

There are no ads.

Esopus considers unsolicited work from artists, writers and musicians. Go to the foundation's website for more information.

While sitting in the sun, drink in hand, reading the articles and looking at the art, I had an idea for a submission. It's something I've been thinking about for a month or so. There is a series of photographs and ink drawings that was born a few days before my cancer scare into the first couple weeks. I've been giving thought to culling the work and pulling something together. This may be a good place to start.

We'll see.

While down on Broadway, I stopped into Bailey Coy to pick up a Doris Lessing book I ordered last week that had finally come in. Before leaving the house, I was fishing in a drawer and found a 2 year old gift certificate for this bookstore with a balance of 14.60 remaining. The cost of the book? 14.16!

Don't you just love it when those things happen?

Here is an old painting from my thesis show back in 1996. Lately, that final year of school has been on my mind quite a bit. This painting is about 2'x3'.

(You can click on the images to see them larger)



And here is a piece from a series I've never posted. I have about 20 drawings from this, all done last August and early September. These were the first things I'd created after a year of being frozen.

They are approximately 15x20, watercolor, charcoal and graphite.



Walking to work this morning I was listening to my iShuffle. Sometimes it's really scary how the shuffle seems to pick songs that read your mind.

Press Release from NGLTF:

WASHINGTON, May 15 — The Rev. Jerry Falwell, founder of the Moral Majority, died today at the age of 73.

Statement by Matt Foreman, Executive Director
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force

“The death of a family member or friend is always a sad occasion and we express our condolences to all those who were close to the Rev. Jerry Falwell. Unfortunately, we will always remember him as a founder and leader of America’s anti-gay industry, someone who exacerbated the nation’s appalling response to the onslaught of the AIDS epidemic, someone who demonized and vilified us for political gain and someone who used religion to divide rather than unite our nation.”


www.thetaskforce.org

Prisoncitybear asks which teachers made an impact on you. He ends his post with:

"Write or call your favorite teacher and let them know how much you enjoyed them. It will make their day."

His timing was good because today I'm burning cd's of my work. Seeing I had to do one, last week I decided to burn another one for the prof who made a big impact on me.

Thinking about him today, I remember his encouragement, his guidance, his manner, and in my last year, his frustration. He said that something bothered him about my work and he couldn't put a finger on it. He mentioned that I had the skills...the work was really good...and yet...something wasn't right.

I had never seen him so emotional. He was never at a loss for words, until that afternoon.

Eleven year later, with the assistance of much therapy, I now know what he was getting at. The technical skill was there but there wasn't a heart/belly connection to the work. I was afraid to lose control. I didn't dare paint passionate emotion.

So he will get a chance to see how I've evolved, along with a big thank you for being there for 3 years.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mother's Day trashed me more than I first thought. It hurts that she and I can't have an open, easy relationship. I can hear the nervousness in her voice...wanting to connect and not sure how. And I'm sure she felt the same coming from me.
Therapy was difficult today.

~~~~~~~~~~

After a week, I finally finished a laborious project. Now on to the next one. 'Tis the season.

~~~~~~~~~~

My tax refund check just came in. Yeah!

~~~~~~~~~~

This is SO worth clicking through. Check out this website to promote the author's book. I love the simplicity, the charm and the humor. Very, very smart.

~~~~~~~~~~

Since last week's massive insights...there's a place in my chest that is increasing in calmness. Nice.

~~~~~~~~~~

Reese's peanut butter cups are awesome with Dr. Pepper.

~~~~~~~~~~

Some of me has been very horny lately.
The important parts.

A couple things happened this week that has me thinking about gender. My gender.

The first is another visit to my surgeon.
(And before anyone assumes anything...it's nothing serious. I will have a procedure near the end of June, but it's more to keep an eye on things. I am fine.)

This doctor specializes in ob/gyn surgery, specifically ovarian/uterine cancers. Sitting in the waiting room is a sobering experience. I looked around at all the women. Young and old. Some bald or with head wrapped in scarves. I thought about their lives and what they're going through. I thought about the suffering they may have or are currently enduring.

While observing and wondering, a feeling came to me. I've felt it before in this office but it was much clearer this time. I didn't belong. Stepping into a women's club, I felt like an intruder.

Putting my finger on the feeling surprised me. I'm not male and have no desire to be. And yet, what I'm going through clearly reminds me that I was born female. I'm dealing with equipment that, except for 1 year of my life when I embraced a woowoo space that focused on womyn strength and the magical power in my monthly bleeding, has always felt foreign to me.

Yesterday someone posted about the '20's. It reminded me how much I loved (romanticized, I'm sure) that era. And it was partly because of fashion. There are very few periods in time where breasts weren't exalted. And I don't have them...so in a strange way, feel that a part of me would fit during that time.

I've never desired them except in a research sense of wondering what it would feel like to carry them around (a sensation curiousity, not a "how I'd be approached by others" curiousity). I've cherished the flatness of me and have been thrilled that my french heritage comes out in my lack of boobs. And...yet because of this lack, have never felt like part of "the club."

I have no idea what to do with all this. I don't want to change to make myself fit into something, be it female or male. Each time I see the surgeon she reminds me that she's willing to pull out some or all of my equipment. Having that option thrown at me, where my insurance will fully pay...floors me. In spite of the fact that owning women guts has felt like a mistake of sorts, this is not a decision I'm prepared to make. I am who I am.

But it's been a curious week with surprising sensations.

Guess I'll just let it be and say "huh."


Hmmm...I was getting ready to post this and then realized something.
It's funny that I was prompted to write about this on Mother's Day.


And now, time to call my mom...