Remember the movie "Alfie" with Michael Caine?
He gets the girls, a good variety of girls too. I liked Mary Asher, who played the hitchhiker. I loved Shelly Winters in the film too, so buxom & with very relaxed morals.
Well, the end is kind of sad, he spots his infant and former girlfriend with her husband coming out of church after the child's christening. He returns to Shelly, but she has replaced him with a younger guy.
Anyway... I thought this guy was pretty interesting in the clip below.He was wearing such a unique outfit, I had to film him.
It features kimono like sleeves, a loud print skirt, satin sash and a tie. His headdress is what stands out most, but it's not an outfit I would wear myself. I have a tendency not to mix accessories. I think I dress very plain at least compared to this guy whose look I find interesting,funky and tacky.
All types of people make a world complete.
Friday, January 7
Character vs. Psychiatric Explanations
I like the bygone days, when people had character.
My granny for instance, she was a shrewd business woman with "character", some indefinable aspect to her that was unique. She was warm & hilarious with a very fiery & fierce side.
I imagine today, pscyhe docs have a "label" for that certain something that was part of granny. I don't know what they'd come up with, maybe hostile aggression or some other trash.
It all takes the beauty out of being human.
There's a telephone pole in my window view.
It's an attraction for people with pronounced character.
I've seen many talking to it. One guy, I know well, offers it a cigarette during the conversation. I don't know whether the pole joins him in the smoke break or not... but anybody who's giving enough to share smokes with a telephone pole is generous & considerate enough for me.
My Ma has always had the fondest regards for people who are challenged in some way. She (before retirement) would recruit with good pay, these people, that some may consider outcasts. Giving them a job, a title and pay gave them self esteem.
They had more self esteem then, than they do today, where now psych docs crush their spirits with unattractive labels.
Honestly, I think psych docs are a business and keep concocting new definitions to add to their billing files. The biggest breakthroughs in the industry of psychiatry hasn't been since Thorazine( once upon a time, served anyone with bad nerves) and Valium.The most recent additions are the Alzheimer drugs which seem to work well.
In some cultures, mental diagnosis is shrugged off and the individual (brought up with a strong back bone) continues his route, un-disrupted by shrinks.
Extremes in mood (bi-polar) can & are mimicked by anyone consuming stimulants alternating with depressants.
It should be a punishable crime, the professional disintegration of character, taking one's personality away.
I have nothing to gain or lose from my opinion, but I'd hate to lose my passionate disposal of such nonsense.
By no means can one's intellectual capacity be paralleled with their psychosis.A high number of schizophrenics are of genius IQ.(I'm not schizoid myself, but a voluntary advocate)
I saw my ex, being robbed of her beliefs by psych docs. She became victim of psychiatric abuse.
Slowly over time, she was convinced by psych docs that her nerves were so bad as to warrant massive doses of tranquilizers.She became a victim to her drug.A walking zombie, who only walked the passage her psych doc dictated. She believed what these professionals preached and was eventually consumed by it, in this process, she'd lost her identity as she'd known it.
The book of psychiatric "abnormality" is her new Bible.
I am venting.I think it's a cruel & crooked business.
I've been escorted down that hell by psychiatrists myself. Any guy into dresses has probably had to work as hard for his sanity as I have.I've gone to hell and back & everywhere in between to stand up for my rights as an individual.
And you know what, I'll share a smoke & chit chat with anyone who wants a discussion with that telephone pole, anytime.
My granny for instance, she was a shrewd business woman with "character", some indefinable aspect to her that was unique. She was warm & hilarious with a very fiery & fierce side.
I imagine today, pscyhe docs have a "label" for that certain something that was part of granny. I don't know what they'd come up with, maybe hostile aggression or some other trash.
It all takes the beauty out of being human.
There's a telephone pole in my window view.
It's an attraction for people with pronounced character.
I've seen many talking to it. One guy, I know well, offers it a cigarette during the conversation. I don't know whether the pole joins him in the smoke break or not... but anybody who's giving enough to share smokes with a telephone pole is generous & considerate enough for me.
My Ma has always had the fondest regards for people who are challenged in some way. She (before retirement) would recruit with good pay, these people, that some may consider outcasts. Giving them a job, a title and pay gave them self esteem.
They had more self esteem then, than they do today, where now psych docs crush their spirits with unattractive labels.
Honestly, I think psych docs are a business and keep concocting new definitions to add to their billing files. The biggest breakthroughs in the industry of psychiatry hasn't been since Thorazine( once upon a time, served anyone with bad nerves) and Valium.The most recent additions are the Alzheimer drugs which seem to work well.
In some cultures, mental diagnosis is shrugged off and the individual (brought up with a strong back bone) continues his route, un-disrupted by shrinks.
Extremes in mood (bi-polar) can & are mimicked by anyone consuming stimulants alternating with depressants.
It should be a punishable crime, the professional disintegration of character, taking one's personality away.
I have nothing to gain or lose from my opinion, but I'd hate to lose my passionate disposal of such nonsense.
By no means can one's intellectual capacity be paralleled with their psychosis.A high number of schizophrenics are of genius IQ.(I'm not schizoid myself, but a voluntary advocate)
I saw my ex, being robbed of her beliefs by psych docs. She became victim of psychiatric abuse.
Slowly over time, she was convinced by psych docs that her nerves were so bad as to warrant massive doses of tranquilizers.She became a victim to her drug.A walking zombie, who only walked the passage her psych doc dictated. She believed what these professionals preached and was eventually consumed by it, in this process, she'd lost her identity as she'd known it.
The book of psychiatric "abnormality" is her new Bible.
I am venting.I think it's a cruel & crooked business.
I've been escorted down that hell by psychiatrists myself. Any guy into dresses has probably had to work as hard for his sanity as I have.I've gone to hell and back & everywhere in between to stand up for my rights as an individual.
And you know what, I'll share a smoke & chit chat with anyone who wants a discussion with that telephone pole, anytime.
Thursday, January 6
dreams
These aren't my favorite and I don't know why their played over and over, my recurrent dreams.
One dream involves a room with dead and dying fish. The heads and tails have outgrown and stick out of the tanks. Huge gaping mouths face me with a pleading look. I'm racing to add water & food to the tanks. I never really manage to rescue any of them before I awake.
Another of my recurrent dreams is a batch of baby penguins in my bath tub. Similar to the fish dream, I run back & forth with pails of ice to fill the tub. Again I awake before I can really help them. I've dreamt these dreams over 20 years and I find them very unpleasant. All of my dreams aren't centered around trying to rescue something desperate & helpless. I have dreams that are so pleasant I cling to them and wake up longing for that which made me feel so contented.
One dream involves a room with dead and dying fish. The heads and tails have outgrown and stick out of the tanks. Huge gaping mouths face me with a pleading look. I'm racing to add water & food to the tanks. I never really manage to rescue any of them before I awake.
Another of my recurrent dreams is a batch of baby penguins in my bath tub. Similar to the fish dream, I run back & forth with pails of ice to fill the tub. Again I awake before I can really help them. I've dreamt these dreams over 20 years and I find them very unpleasant. All of my dreams aren't centered around trying to rescue something desperate & helpless. I have dreams that are so pleasant I cling to them and wake up longing for that which made me feel so contented.
Friday, December 31
Hopes for a Better Year
Goodbye 2010.
I hope that 2011 will be a better year for us all.
I hope the troops are pulled out of Afghanistan and end this nonsensical loss of blood as well as money.
I hope America will again, (after about 40 years of stagnation) begin manufacturing something on our own turf. Anything. We'll be buying imported toilet paper soon.
The unemployment rate is not acceptable.
I'm frustrated today, I 've been invited to my departed friend's widow's home to have a few drinks with the family and then to another friend's afterwards.
My porcelain veneer broke off and I can't possibly afford to fix it for some time, it's one of my front teeth, but hell with it, that won't keep me from smiling.
I wish peace, goodwill, love and all those good things that seem only possible in Utopia.
I hope that 2011 will be a better year for us all.
I hope the troops are pulled out of Afghanistan and end this nonsensical loss of blood as well as money.
I hope America will again, (after about 40 years of stagnation) begin manufacturing something on our own turf. Anything. We'll be buying imported toilet paper soon.
The unemployment rate is not acceptable.
I'm frustrated today, I 've been invited to my departed friend's widow's home to have a few drinks with the family and then to another friend's afterwards.
My porcelain veneer broke off and I can't possibly afford to fix it for some time, it's one of my front teeth, but hell with it, that won't keep me from smiling.
I wish peace, goodwill, love and all those good things that seem only possible in Utopia.
Tuesday, December 28
a thing for dresses
Gledwood requested I write about the beginnings of my cross dressing.
As a child, I remember my granny's coat. It had a sheared beaver collar... really soft. I used to reach up and touch the collar and pet it every day before school.
This grew into habitually touching, feeling & petting ladies garments.
She had very beautiful dresses back then, her silks and velvets.Soft cloths. Growing up, she gave my sister a beautiful bottle green velvet robe with crystal buttons which I was a little envious of. Of course, granny didn't think of giving it to me.
At the beach, I used to grab green seaweed from the water and put it on my legs. It reminded me of ladies hose and seeing it semi-transparent against my legs gave me a shiver of happy excitement. I didn't think it was strange, I thought it was wonderful!
More exciting than this was my Ma's lingerie. I loved the transparency of the cloth. I loved holding it against my wrist and seeing that almost nude look. My mother realized I was spending too much time in her closet and finally scolded me for it.
I understood then, that there was something wrong in my wanting to feel and fantasize about ladies clothes. Yeah, it was a bad day.
I continued spending time in Ma's closet, everytime I was alone in the house. It was something I could not resist doing, my own private time, my major indulgence.
When I was about 16, I began trying Ma's things on. It was a sensual pleasure for me, with some sexual notes.
Sooner or later, everyone gets caught in the act of something or other. I never expected it, as I was quite careful and cautious. My sister caught me in the bathroom, as I was in the mirror completely captivated by my reflection in a lovely silk dress with a transparent upper bodice and sleeves. I was exposed! My sister held her hand to her mouth, her expression was terror & shock. She ran out, I followed.
She really wanted to tell my parents cause we'd been quarreling a lot during that time. I was morbidly afraid of her relaying this experience to my parents, particularly my dad.With the dress safely back in the closet, I promised her Anything not to go blabbing to them. She questioned me brutally, I answered honestly. She showed a lot of disappointment, like I wasn't her brother anymore, like a freak had taken over me and she cried.
I think I repaid her trust, loyalty and help. Wearing dresses wasn't lethal, but her heroin addiction was. I found her many a time seemingly critically over-dosed, got her in the car & walked her around & around in commuter parking lots till responsive. Over the years, she let me try on & even borrow her clothes all the while keeping it a secret. She didn't understand me, but she did accept me.
It wasn't until I was living independently that I could fulfill my desire of wearing & having dresses in my closet. And much later still, when I'd wear them in public with legal concerns. I don't mind sneering, but I don't want to get beaten up over it.I find pleasure & excitement in dresses and some sexual arousal (this part turns women off but I don't require dressing for arousal or sexual functioning)
If I could undo my fixation I readily would, but I cannot. I find myself feeling unhappy and deprived if I don't indulge myself. I'm not a woman inside a man's body.I'm a man who lusts in lady's dresses.
As a child, I remember my granny's coat. It had a sheared beaver collar... really soft. I used to reach up and touch the collar and pet it every day before school.
This grew into habitually touching, feeling & petting ladies garments.
She had very beautiful dresses back then, her silks and velvets.Soft cloths. Growing up, she gave my sister a beautiful bottle green velvet robe with crystal buttons which I was a little envious of. Of course, granny didn't think of giving it to me.
At the beach, I used to grab green seaweed from the water and put it on my legs. It reminded me of ladies hose and seeing it semi-transparent against my legs gave me a shiver of happy excitement. I didn't think it was strange, I thought it was wonderful!
More exciting than this was my Ma's lingerie. I loved the transparency of the cloth. I loved holding it against my wrist and seeing that almost nude look. My mother realized I was spending too much time in her closet and finally scolded me for it.
I understood then, that there was something wrong in my wanting to feel and fantasize about ladies clothes. Yeah, it was a bad day.
I continued spending time in Ma's closet, everytime I was alone in the house. It was something I could not resist doing, my own private time, my major indulgence.
When I was about 16, I began trying Ma's things on. It was a sensual pleasure for me, with some sexual notes.
Sooner or later, everyone gets caught in the act of something or other. I never expected it, as I was quite careful and cautious. My sister caught me in the bathroom, as I was in the mirror completely captivated by my reflection in a lovely silk dress with a transparent upper bodice and sleeves. I was exposed! My sister held her hand to her mouth, her expression was terror & shock. She ran out, I followed.
She really wanted to tell my parents cause we'd been quarreling a lot during that time. I was morbidly afraid of her relaying this experience to my parents, particularly my dad.With the dress safely back in the closet, I promised her Anything not to go blabbing to them. She questioned me brutally, I answered honestly. She showed a lot of disappointment, like I wasn't her brother anymore, like a freak had taken over me and she cried.
I think I repaid her trust, loyalty and help. Wearing dresses wasn't lethal, but her heroin addiction was. I found her many a time seemingly critically over-dosed, got her in the car & walked her around & around in commuter parking lots till responsive. Over the years, she let me try on & even borrow her clothes all the while keeping it a secret. She didn't understand me, but she did accept me.
It wasn't until I was living independently that I could fulfill my desire of wearing & having dresses in my closet. And much later still, when I'd wear them in public with legal concerns. I don't mind sneering, but I don't want to get beaten up over it.I find pleasure & excitement in dresses and some sexual arousal (this part turns women off but I don't require dressing for arousal or sexual functioning)
If I could undo my fixation I readily would, but I cannot. I find myself feeling unhappy and deprived if I don't indulge myself. I'm not a woman inside a man's body.I'm a man who lusts in lady's dresses.
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