Walking the Dialogue Road

I am struggling. Right now I am writing a book, and I am struggling because there is no likely way to “win.” The book is on transgender journeys and concepts. If I yell too loud, people who need to hear might not even pick up the book or want to dialogue on the issues therein. If I don’t include blunt and pointed criticisms of the oppression present in some transgender realities, people will declare me to be white-washing and sweeping my brothers and sisters under the rug. I am struggling. I am trying desperately, one key-stroke at a time, to…

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Through Memories and Back (Dirty South Tour part 5 of 5)

With the alarm I roll out of bed and head off into a shower with great water pressure and beautiful smells in it. Clothes refolded and organized for the last legs, I smiled at the small number of books left. Folks may not know, but to sell a book I have to pay to get them wherever I am going, and if they don’t sell, I have to pay to get them back home. I usually cram my carry-on with books, hoping I can fake my way into having it “look light” as I lift a 35+lb carry-on into the…

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My Mother’s Mandolin

Her hair a snowy river cascading down her back, she sits opposite me. Fine patterns left by the spider webs of a life dance on her face, a subtle stories of things that cannot be unseen and little moments of joy forgotten. It is beautiful to have my mother at our dining room table, cup of tea in hand. It is sad to have my mother at our dining room table, cup of tea in hand. Our conversation crisscrosses family trials and tribulations, my cousins she shops for, the aunt who keeps losing weight, the new jobs and hobbies. Conversations…

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Negotiating For What You Want

On Tuesday, April 7th, I am hosting #SexTalkTuesday on Twitter from 3-4pm EST. In honor of our upcoming topic, Negotiating For What You Want… I wanted to share a secret of mine… Because… I have a secret. It’s one I’m rather ashamed of actually, one that has messed up relationships over the years and one that has caused people to think that I am aloof or foolish. My secret is that I am not so good at asking for I want. That it is a skill I deeply need to work on. I’m prone to saying I’m downright crappy at…

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The Chocolate Cross

Yesterday I was at Walmart in search of Orange Vanilla Mio. I have developed a love for this stuff in my travels. Water flavoring that fits in my carry-on liquids baggie. I am a huge water-drinker, and having every other bottle be flavored is lovely. I’m not usually a Walmart shopper, but so be it. On my way in, I was struck by the following sight. Giant, chocolate, crosses. You can find a wide variety of Easter candies in the world, with eggs and bunny type things that are far more evocative of Ostara (the pagan Spring Equinox cross-quarter sabbat)…

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The Tongues of Teaching Stories

I make my living as a storyteller. A teller of stories, of information and ideas, of passions, aspirations and histories. To quote Graydancer, I curate. My voice carries, it whistles, it winds and winds its way into ears and hearts, embeds in brains. The things that come off my tongue don’t end there. They end up carrying over to the tongues of others. Therein arises my emotional upheaval of recent days. When you look at my hiking boots, you might say “oh, nice hiking boots.” But I see not just hiking boots. I see the first pair of hiking boots…

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Alpha Subs and Type A Service

I am drawn to Type A personalities. Folks who know what they want, have passion, go for it with gusto. I adore basking in their presence and seeing them take their fire and make it into their dreams. The magic sitting opposite them feels palpable, their will crafting reality into their vision. Or, if not their vision, seeing the world lit up through their lens. Show me your rage and indignation about the wrongs on this planet, and through you I will learn how to make this a better place for us all to live. I’m not especially interested in…

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Dusty With Their Memories (Dirty South Tour Part 4 of 5)

I heard something vaguely vibrating across the room. Waking up and shambling out of bed, I made my way to my bags and looked down at the phone. Missed call from my ride north. Frak. Looking at the phone I also noted the time. 6:15am. Frak frak frak. I was supposed to have been up at 6am and out the door at 6am, frag. I run downstairs and there they are with a smile on their face, my lovely pair taking me north. Elizabeth had never been to New Orleans before and the gent she was with loves spending time…

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Protocols To Let It Go (Dirty South Tour Part 3 of 5)

Fresh-made biscuits fluffy in a bowl. Sausage crumbled into thick gravy made from scratch from a loving hand. Eggs, fresh fruit, cottage cheese, thick-cut bacon. I woke Saturday morning to the scent of a southern kitchen situated in Biloxi, Mississippi. LaughingGoddess and Tristian were dancing around each other in a dance that spoke of lives known to each other. Her other slave came out and joined us and food was devoured in delight, new faces being added shortly after as yet more came to feast. This poly tribe lit up my heart, as well as their guest who I talked…

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Rolling In Waves of Rope (Dirty South Tour Part 2 of 5)

Five States in Four Days. That’s the plan. Tristian picks me up at noon and we head up to his place to grab my books and for him to do some life-at-large stuff. I feel touched when I am given entry into people’s lives, homes, families, friends. So often we only know people at clubs and have no idea what their fullness of being looks like. We do not know their names, but know the shape of their cervix. We have seen them bleed, but have not seen them squee in delight about quilting. Two hours later we load into…

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