Farewell again

So many internet initiatives peter out without a word. It's understandable: if there is motivation for a final word, there's probably sufficient motivation for at least keeping the option open to carry on.

That's not my way, though. The energetic flow of the descent has declined - at least quantitatively - to a dribble. So no more decline, here's a neat ending, perhaps overdue.

My interest in life in cyberspace is currently at a low. Deborah may resurface, perhaps under a new name, perhaps still as Deborah, but the descent ends here.

Blessings to all crossdreamers. I celebrate our transcendence of gender constraints, and our special sexuality.

Thanks, love and kisses to loyal readers.

Byeeee,
Deborah xxxxx

Deborah's dance of sadness

Oceans of sadness. Oh, oceans of sadness.

Is this not a part of life? Do we not all wade through oceans of sadness, so constant that we cease to be aware of them most of the time?

I do not like to think of trans as being a special entitlement to extra self-pity. To me it just seems typical of life's complications.

But deep sadness there is. Sadness at the bitter cruelty of the gender divide. It is not just a matter of society getting it wrong. It is imposed on us by biology. The male-bodied dancer needs more than cultural licence to dance a female part with true beauty: he needs a female body.

Sadness at the horrible repression of foiled expression.

It is not just a matter of trans (less is it a matter of wanting to be female all the time). It is a matter of an ideal self in an ideal world, where the thing to do is dance, versus all of the wretched limitations and vicissitudes of the actual.

Trans can deliver a keener appreciation of femininity. We treasure it because we don't take it for granted. But we are constantly up against a 'but...'. We are doing what in a fundamental way doesn't fit (while in other fundamental ways it so does fit). The thrill is the other side of the coin of a frustration too permanent to be distinguishable as a distinct part of everyday existence.

But Deborah dances. Deborah dances within. A sad dance, a lonesome dance, but  a beautiful one. For my t-femininity is an inspiring beacon of beauty and truth within me. I love it.

It needs persistent affirmation, being up against its sheer contrariness. Recently I have felt less happy about the blog as a medium for self-expression and connection, although it has served me well in the recent past. But I here I am, instinctively turning to it again. Deborah seems to reach for it, despite Mirror Brother's weariness.

An affirmation published online has a stronger reality. And, if you are a crossdreamer / male femme,   it reaches out to co-affirm the beautiful t-femininity within you, dear reader. x x

Strange transience

I must admit that I am fond of most of what I have written here and on Mirror Sister.

If you are too, then I am flattered. Thank you very much.

What a compliment to yours truly, that people revisit my blogs, out of all the websites they could be reading, out of all the activities they could be doing. Gosh, and thank you ever so much again.

If you like what I have written in the past, I hope your attitude is that you are pleased that it is still there, as available to be read as it always was.

I hope you don't want me to carry on writing the same kind of posts that I have written in the past. I would like to think that I have better things to do with my time than to repeat myself.

But of course the present kicks the past out into darkness. Few people read old blog posts.

Well, I am pleased that I have contributed to some individual readers' past moments. If everything now rolls on without any further contributions from me, so be it.

Or maybe what I contribute in future will be quite different from what I have contributed in the past. This would not invalidate what I have written in the past.

Love and kisses,
Debs xxx

Debbie can't make up her mind

[As ever. So far, so far from all of those who are stridently definite...]

Just supposing, just supposing, just supposing I am a girl, underneath it all. Of course my awareness of this would be tenuous and nebulous, of course. Then acting on this awareness would be the most crucial pursuit. 

Just supposing I am not a girl, not at all. Just supposing the inner woman is just a fantasy, stimulated by a sexuality that doesn't indicate any genuine femininity. Of course I would enjoy the fantasy. Apart from the sexual stimulation it would be a safe place where I could recreate myself, abolishing all the unappealing aspects of me and all the unappealing aspects of the world at the same time. Why not do that? Well, it doesn't seem like a very adult pursuit. If I am serious about pursuing it, I ought to do it properly in the company of others somewhere in virtual land: Second Life, most obviously. But even the most developed, engaged, impressive t-female in Second Life has another half: the lonesome man in front of the computer. Doesn't Mirror Brother wan't to do something better with his life than that, living vicariously through his t-alter-ego? 

Oh, but my femme blood is forever lured ...

[painting: Lady Claudine by Marcel Dyf]

Seriously t-female

It's quite a thought that I was brought up on the assumption that I didn't have any sense of t-femalenes within me. So much of the shaping of me has been without acknowledgement of that very important part.

To reidentify, reinterpret myself in a way that takes on board, integrates the t-femaleness is quite something. It's a project that needs bold pursual, and constant reaffirmation. It's a brave and important project.

It's a project that should go beyond sexual stimulation. Merely to get sexual gratification from such thoughts and not develop them further is denying an important part of me. Even if that part is itself very sexual. Throughout society sexual desire is a major motivation in social interaction and in self-presentation. This doesn't make the interaction and presentation false. The ladies' man really is a ladies' man; the seductress really is a seductress. The sexual nature of their goals doesn't mean they should just fantasise and masturbate these elements out of their systems.

T-femaleness can be a refuge, an inner comfort zone, as well as a reliable pleasure. That is fine. But there's a bigger way for me to embrace it.

T-female

Any avid, long-term readers of my blogs may have noticed how a regular theme is my strong sense of identification and bond with other crossdreamers. I'm hot on this, aren't I?

What isn't a theme is a sense of my identification and bond with women.

This latter is because I don't feel such things.

There is a sense in which I feel that attractive women are expressing something deep within me, rather than something external to me which I would like to posses through sexual interaction. I sometimes feel when I see women acting in the world, 'it would be nice if I could act in the world like that'. But I do not feel that I actually am the same kind of person as them. Something kindred deep within me perhaps, but the deep within is not all of a person, and interpretation of it can only really be speculative.

Whatever the potential at birth, I have not had the experience of being brought up in the world as a woman, so I have not become one.

Hence I am uneasy at describing myself and other crossdreamers as female, whatever the reality and importance of our trans feelings. So I like to describe our sense of our femaleness as t-femaleness. We are t-females, or at least there are t-females within us.

I'm not going to be strict about this, but even if I don't always actually preface 'female' with 't-', 't-female' is what I mean in a crossdreamer context.

We haven't been brought up as female, and of course that has greatly affected who we are. Nor can we really be certain of any actual scientific femaleness within us. But we are crossdreamers, which is all about our sense of femaleness within us. That in itself is a very important part of who we are. Isn't it, t-sisters?

Delicate shrieks

Ohhh, I hear the shrieks. The femme shrieks. The world is shrieking femme at me. From outside me I hear them: delicate, elegant, gentle, incessant, intense. Shrieking into me, shrieking from deep within me.

It's exciting, and it's scary. It's lovely and its overwhelming.

What are they? What do they saying to me? What do they want?

They say 'Go beyond, Deborah, go beyond...'

They command 'Descend, descend, descend...'