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� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.

�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.

�hates: Microsoft. Obviously.

�reads:
secret-motel
artgnome
enfinblue
stepfordtart
ten-oclock
boombasticat
lawliiet
annanotbob
fifidellabon
my-serenade

Lynn Jones
Becky
Samantha

Poetry Corner
9:06 a.m. -- 2009-02-06

A Letter of Complaint to the Council


The sky is coming in through the roof.
The melted sun is dripping
its golden oils on our clean white cloth.
Aeroplanes, like dead flies,
are floating in our soup.
There is no waiter to complain to.
Our dining table is cluttered up
with scraps of cloud
and Dutchmen's trousers.
At night, the stars descend
like flakes of dandruff around my head.
While I am trying to roll the perfect cigarette
I have to dodge the tumbling planets.
We have placed a bucket, strategically,
to catch the moon.
Our carpet is ruined
by the yolk of broken galaxies
and trodden Zeppelins.
This morning, while waiting yet again
for the man to come and fix the hole
I noticed also that a blade
of wilderness has forced it's way
through a crack in the floor.
There are grains of desert in the living room...

- Robert Newton Calvert, 1945 - 1988


Probably my favourite poem, just now. Grains of desert and a blade of wilderness... such a simple concept, but not one that I would ever have come up with, nor put into words. I love the result. I love the way it�s so accessible... you can read that small part and remember it; take it with you for later. It�s a kind of two-tier system, where you can appreciate it, but you (or at least, I) couldn�t have created it. Unlike certain modern art installations, which always leave you thinking �Yeah. I could have done that, but I wouldn�t have had the barefaced cheek.� (In my none-too-humble opinion.)

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