Swirling clouds in violet haze

Sometimes I think it'd be cool to be transgender. Don't ya think so? To be a man and dress like a woman. Be a woman and dress like a man. I think it's so free. That's being alive. It's feeling that you're trapped and finally doing something about it and not caring about the stares received from other people. In some ways, it's beyond being gay, because you can come out, but walk down the street and no one can really see or smell it on you. There isn't a specifice gay smell, ya know? But to be transgender, you're admitting to a whole lot of things and just going with it. I can't imagine the bravery because, let's face it, people are assholes and will make comments and give the glaring eye, even without noticing. A Marvin becomes a Melanie or a Bryan becomes a Shaniqua (why not go all out?). Not that I will resort to being transgender, but I'd like that bravery. I'd just like to say fuck it, and walk around, showing my uniqueness and rawness to everyone. I'd learn to ignore the rude, ignorant assholes who are allergic to individualism. In a sense, I have my own transgender stuff going on, with my alter ego, Frank. Yes. The post-op lumberjack who sips whiskey and talks like they smoke sandpaper all day. woooot.

I write lots of love poems. Lots and lots that fill my mind. I can write a love poem in my mind, because that's where my love is really stored. Yeah, I suppose there is some leftover in my heart, but it all sits in my brain, waiting to be unleashed. I'm a very introverted human being. Not necessarily being shy, but I live inside of myself. I find it funny when people apologize for keeping me waiting, and I say it's no problem because I entertain myself. I have my own books, music, movies, poems racing through my mind, and I have no problem being alone. There is an abundance of love and lust that my brain creates, and it's easy for me to write and write in my head. Sometimes I remember them, other times I forget. When I do remember I seldom put them to paper or on this blog. I feel like most of my blog is clothed; it's a rarity to find it in the buff. When I do reveal myself on here, it's a tad bit embarassing, and there are some things that I should keep my mouth shut with...but in the end, these are nothing but a jumble of words and what do they actually mean? They're all relative and can be taken any which way you'd like. Think I'm happy, sad, funny, promiscuous, prude. Whatever. I really don't care. No, that's a lie. I care a lot. Love poems. So many and no one to actually share one with. I write them with mediocre personal experience only because my stimulation is from outside sources at this point.

Love is what I think of most. I find the whole act fascinating. It strips us down to our skivvies and if we let it, love will make us completely vulnerable--naked. Love is naked. True love is naked. And if you're truly in love with the other person, you'll feel comfortable walking around naked for your whole life. Is anyone that bold?

Speaking of being naked in public....apparently there is a day in December that women can legally walk around naked. Apparently it's only in the city and Keri said that not many women would do it because of the winter weather. Na ah. If I had a chance to walk around topless--even if I did it for five minutes--and not get in trouble, I would so do it. Especially in the city, where I won't even be recognized by the hustle and bustle. Yeah, I'd so rock my own set of blinding lights...and I meant that in a cool, subtle way, but I don't think it's a compliment? ehh?