Published: 9-7-11
Updated:
Updated:
| Clements Unit 037 9601 Spur 591 Amarillo, TX 79107-9606 |
Please don't judge me by my criminal charges because I am not the monster most
people visualize when they find out a person has two charges of aggravated sexual
assault of a child under 14. I share a mutually pleasurable and intimate experience
with another and the legal system saw it as "rape."
Please believe that I have never been and will never be capable of forcing myself on
anyone, not even by mere pressure or trickery.
That said, I'm a transgender female who is as deeply feminine on the inside as I am
frustratingly masculine on the outside. I'm intelligent, creative, very open-minded,
free-minded, very loving, compassionate, sensitive, passionate, sensual and try to be
generous [although that gets harder with each passing day]. I'm also a little coward,
because I'm terrified to show my truest nature in this place. My inner child is very
strong and I love to play games. And, like a child, I feel every emotion and sensation
in its purest, hottest and most exquisite form. But anger and hatred are my least
favorite emotions, so I keep a very tight rein on them.
I don't think I've every truly hated anyone; not the girl or her brothers for whom I'm
here, not their parents who had me arrest, not my captors and not even my most
ardent tormentors here in prison. And everyone I've ever loved, I still love to this day.
My intensity, depth of thought and free-spokeness are intimidating to most people,
especially those people with high sensibilities. I am not Christians, but like those of
that faith I hole that love is the highest good. But unlike Christians, I believe pleasure
ranks a close second to love because it is essential to the development of love.
I have the hands of an artist, the mind of a write, the heart of a poet and the soul of a
woman. I just don't have the both that I've always wanted...even during all that time I
wasted trying to deny it to myself by convincing myself that I really had two souls and
that Aleona wasn't really "me."
Speaking of wasted time, I might as well tell you from the start [no surprises] that I've
been "married" twice. Both were common law marriages to bisexual females. The
only good things to come from either experience were my three beautiful babies.
The oldest is 18-year-old Bryanne who calls herself "Blue" and has proclaimed
herself gender queer [like daddy, like daughter, I suppose. My other two kids are
boys, 12 and 10 years old. The youngest is autistic. So much for the hard part...
Now for the other hard part. I'm looking for other like-minded transgender females
and full or partial transsexuals who are open about their feelings and experiences
and are not squeamish or judgmental about unusual and-or taboo [yet harmless]
forms of pleasure. Debates are welcome as long as the debate isn't hostile.
Now, since admittedly I'm a bit of a "spiritual lesbian" and tend to prefer smaller,
slimmer, softer body types, those of you who are attractive in that was are preferable,
especially if you are taking hormone therapy and-or have had at least some gender
reassignment surgery [vaginoplasty is especially interesting to me since I personally
would take it that far if I could]. More intimate relationships are possible with the right
"girls." I also love to have a picture of you, but beggars can't be choosers.
I apologize for the embarrassingly bad photos here which is why I added the drawings
of the current me and my ideal of me as a woman. Yes, I drew them myself. I tried to
make the portraits as true to the real me as possible. The prison photo [upper left] is
from when I was 34 or 35. The tiny photo of me is when I was in my 20s, the denial
days of my life. I miss my hair from those days.
The drawings are just sketches. The ones I really concentrate on are far better and
more realistic. I used a mirror for the sketches, so you are essentially looking at a
mirror image of me. I'm not trying to sell art work, but I might be inclined to do one or
two for free because I am generous to my friends. Everyone says I've captured my
face quite well.
Please write me. All but my father and my step-mother have forsaken me and I'm so
in hell right now. I'm so lonely and desperate for like-minded friends in this horrible
place that I cry nearly every night.
Please give a girl a chance.
people visualize when they find out a person has two charges of aggravated sexual
assault of a child under 14. I share a mutually pleasurable and intimate experience
with another and the legal system saw it as "rape."
Please believe that I have never been and will never be capable of forcing myself on
anyone, not even by mere pressure or trickery.
That said, I'm a transgender female who is as deeply feminine on the inside as I am
frustratingly masculine on the outside. I'm intelligent, creative, very open-minded,
free-minded, very loving, compassionate, sensitive, passionate, sensual and try to be
generous [although that gets harder with each passing day]. I'm also a little coward,
because I'm terrified to show my truest nature in this place. My inner child is very
strong and I love to play games. And, like a child, I feel every emotion and sensation
in its purest, hottest and most exquisite form. But anger and hatred are my least
favorite emotions, so I keep a very tight rein on them.
I don't think I've every truly hated anyone; not the girl or her brothers for whom I'm
here, not their parents who had me arrest, not my captors and not even my most
ardent tormentors here in prison. And everyone I've ever loved, I still love to this day.
My intensity, depth of thought and free-spokeness are intimidating to most people,
especially those people with high sensibilities. I am not Christians, but like those of
that faith I hole that love is the highest good. But unlike Christians, I believe pleasure
ranks a close second to love because it is essential to the development of love.
I have the hands of an artist, the mind of a write, the heart of a poet and the soul of a
woman. I just don't have the both that I've always wanted...even during all that time I
wasted trying to deny it to myself by convincing myself that I really had two souls and
that Aleona wasn't really "me."
Speaking of wasted time, I might as well tell you from the start [no surprises] that I've
been "married" twice. Both were common law marriages to bisexual females. The
only good things to come from either experience were my three beautiful babies.
The oldest is 18-year-old Bryanne who calls herself "Blue" and has proclaimed
herself gender queer [like daddy, like daughter, I suppose. My other two kids are
boys, 12 and 10 years old. The youngest is autistic. So much for the hard part...
Now for the other hard part. I'm looking for other like-minded transgender females
and full or partial transsexuals who are open about their feelings and experiences
and are not squeamish or judgmental about unusual and-or taboo [yet harmless]
forms of pleasure. Debates are welcome as long as the debate isn't hostile.
Now, since admittedly I'm a bit of a "spiritual lesbian" and tend to prefer smaller,
slimmer, softer body types, those of you who are attractive in that was are preferable,
especially if you are taking hormone therapy and-or have had at least some gender
reassignment surgery [vaginoplasty is especially interesting to me since I personally
would take it that far if I could]. More intimate relationships are possible with the right
"girls." I also love to have a picture of you, but beggars can't be choosers.
I apologize for the embarrassingly bad photos here which is why I added the drawings
of the current me and my ideal of me as a woman. Yes, I drew them myself. I tried to
make the portraits as true to the real me as possible. The prison photo [upper left] is
from when I was 34 or 35. The tiny photo of me is when I was in my 20s, the denial
days of my life. I miss my hair from those days.
The drawings are just sketches. The ones I really concentrate on are far better and
more realistic. I used a mirror for the sketches, so you are essentially looking at a
mirror image of me. I'm not trying to sell art work, but I might be inclined to do one or
two for free because I am generous to my friends. Everyone says I've captured my
face quite well.
Please write me. All but my father and my step-mother have forsaken me and I'm so
in hell right now. I'm so lonely and desperate for like-minded friends in this horrible
place that I cry nearly every night.
Please give a girl a chance.
| DOB: 6-10-73 HEIGHT: 6 feet WEIGHT: 195 EYES: Brown HAIR: Brown RACE: White TATTOOS: Yes HOMETOWN: Dallas, TX HIV: Negative MUSIC INTEREST: Industrial, Gothic, heavy metal, classic rock, country OTHER INTEREST: Drawing, writing fantasy & erotica, sex, gender bonding, vampires, werewolves, non-violent erotica |
| THE FUTILE PHILOSOPHY OF THE IMPOSSIBLE MARTYR by Robert Irvin |
Severance...Across a starry void, singing forlorn in shining splendor, feeling warped as tremors fall, like a Mobius strip, twisted and two-dimensional, the spirit moves
separated from the icy glare of incongruence. Aching for the right to be, the tumbling divinity cries out "Sanguineous! The blood falls! The sacred blood!" Too late, she
has her quest. She opens herself and weeps for them, the hopeless and the man, that look with bloodstained eyes on her ubiquitous defeat. In timeless correspondence, the
pneuma flow and dreams of sleep, but she knows it's just an ethereal nihilism.
Transcendance...Tapping herself to nothingness, the ultimate martyr, she spreads the seeds of felicity and speaks of love ever-blooming -- but no one hear her...she falls to
nothing, yet radian in the dark, she hears the crying children, lost and hungry, and longs to take them to her breast. Tears for them become a crystal veil, as she waits for
them to come to her. But they build their walls and shut her out, shut here away from their self-loathing sanctimony. Living backwards, harming love with hate and
loving the hate that harms them, they tighten their inhibitions leaving no room to sow their seeds.
Travesty...The Way is not for sale!" The downcast maiden trods in solitude, despairing for the truth and pining for love. "Ecstasy is not iniquity!" One comes to her and
again she indulges, and again she tutors an indulgent one. Open-eyed, inquisitive, and one by one, the laughing children embrace the spirit and join her bliss. "Love is
the orgasm of pleasure, and the climax of love is divinity!" Bedlam in hatred, victims of guilt and neglect bend their perceptions of that salacious succubus, that vampire
bitch that entrances and lures and debauches the meek. "Those who harm are always ones who have been harmed themselves!"
Tragedy...Blod-blinded eyes, self-righteous minds and shackled hands bring her to judgment, damn her dirty seeds of licentiousness. Her celestial flesh becomes an
abomination and desire a dirty word. "Punishment is not a guide!" Thrashed to oblivion and made to see the ones she liberated enslaved anew, with the added chain of
hatred for her, she hands in an oubliette of futility. Going softly, flowing gently into lead-cast sorrow, the timeless one approaches oblivion. A wash worn feeling of
emptiness bears the weight of souls. Life in and life out, her tragic mourning obfuscates peace, elusive in its eternal flight...to where she doesn't know.
Desperation...She was neat and quick to laugh, quick to fly, now short of breath. Worn to nothing, she sits and dreams and lacks the strength to help herself. Ever more
aware of her sickening doom, she turns inward to face the nothing, to fill the nothing, even if only with herself. Plagued by devils and formaldehyde nightmares, she begs
for peace with the voice of a shadow. In darkness lies her joy as she sings her love into void and despair. Silence only, and it magnifies her lamentations. She cries for
bitter regret...and laugh at her own weakness.
Hope...Once again the blood falls, the sacred blood, but this time it's her's. Yet, even now in her pandamonious crucifixion, she sings in shining splendor, forlorn across
a starry void, praying to eternith...that her beautiful words fall on meek ears...
separated from the icy glare of incongruence. Aching for the right to be, the tumbling divinity cries out "Sanguineous! The blood falls! The sacred blood!" Too late, she
has her quest. She opens herself and weeps for them, the hopeless and the man, that look with bloodstained eyes on her ubiquitous defeat. In timeless correspondence, the
pneuma flow and dreams of sleep, but she knows it's just an ethereal nihilism.
Transcendance...Tapping herself to nothingness, the ultimate martyr, she spreads the seeds of felicity and speaks of love ever-blooming -- but no one hear her...she falls to
nothing, yet radian in the dark, she hears the crying children, lost and hungry, and longs to take them to her breast. Tears for them become a crystal veil, as she waits for
them to come to her. But they build their walls and shut her out, shut here away from their self-loathing sanctimony. Living backwards, harming love with hate and
loving the hate that harms them, they tighten their inhibitions leaving no room to sow their seeds.
Travesty...The Way is not for sale!" The downcast maiden trods in solitude, despairing for the truth and pining for love. "Ecstasy is not iniquity!" One comes to her and
again she indulges, and again she tutors an indulgent one. Open-eyed, inquisitive, and one by one, the laughing children embrace the spirit and join her bliss. "Love is
the orgasm of pleasure, and the climax of love is divinity!" Bedlam in hatred, victims of guilt and neglect bend their perceptions of that salacious succubus, that vampire
bitch that entrances and lures and debauches the meek. "Those who harm are always ones who have been harmed themselves!"
Tragedy...Blod-blinded eyes, self-righteous minds and shackled hands bring her to judgment, damn her dirty seeds of licentiousness. Her celestial flesh becomes an
abomination and desire a dirty word. "Punishment is not a guide!" Thrashed to oblivion and made to see the ones she liberated enslaved anew, with the added chain of
hatred for her, she hands in an oubliette of futility. Going softly, flowing gently into lead-cast sorrow, the timeless one approaches oblivion. A wash worn feeling of
emptiness bears the weight of souls. Life in and life out, her tragic mourning obfuscates peace, elusive in its eternal flight...to where she doesn't know.
Desperation...She was neat and quick to laugh, quick to fly, now short of breath. Worn to nothing, she sits and dreams and lacks the strength to help herself. Ever more
aware of her sickening doom, she turns inward to face the nothing, to fill the nothing, even if only with herself. Plagued by devils and formaldehyde nightmares, she begs
for peace with the voice of a shadow. In darkness lies her joy as she sings her love into void and despair. Silence only, and it magnifies her lamentations. She cries for
bitter regret...and laugh at her own weakness.
Hope...Once again the blood falls, the sacred blood, but this time it's her's. Yet, even now in her pandamonious crucifixion, she sings in shining splendor, forlorn across
a starry void, praying to eternith...that her beautiful words fall on meek ears...
| Rationality Persecuted by Robert B. Irvin |
Filching words from thought laid bare,
Twisty mashing clay-like things,
Hinders something more than real,
Playing righteous with the rings.
Tattered, broken from the Sun,
Inching into nevermore.
Play that music once again,
Make me rotten to the core.
Took to heart the blades of wit,
Stabbing forth with deadly aim.
Take no pride in doing this.
Makes no difference. All the same.
Painting scenes of dimming light,
Silvered mirror claiming truth.
Shower me with naked hate,
Shattered mirror, blackened sooth.
"Evidence" is always there,
Pointing to a monstrous lie.
Follow tracks of treachery
Unseen to the naked eye.
Never more you angels sing,
Turn your downcast heads and weep,
Shy away from tainted touch.
Falling deeper into sleep.
Freed from sin, I stumble on.
Further into troubled mind,
Have no hands with which to give,
Separated from the blind.
Vision blurred and thoughts imperiled
Kept in chains, I slowly die.
Silenced by the weight of law,
Wonder why I even try.
Twisty mashing clay-like things,
Hinders something more than real,
Playing righteous with the rings.
Tattered, broken from the Sun,
Inching into nevermore.
Play that music once again,
Make me rotten to the core.
Took to heart the blades of wit,
Stabbing forth with deadly aim.
Take no pride in doing this.
Makes no difference. All the same.
Painting scenes of dimming light,
Silvered mirror claiming truth.
Shower me with naked hate,
Shattered mirror, blackened sooth.
"Evidence" is always there,
Pointing to a monstrous lie.
Follow tracks of treachery
Unseen to the naked eye.
Never more you angels sing,
Turn your downcast heads and weep,
Shy away from tainted touch.
Falling deeper into sleep.
Freed from sin, I stumble on.
Further into troubled mind,
Have no hands with which to give,
Separated from the blind.
Vision blurred and thoughts imperiled
Kept in chains, I slowly die.
Silenced by the weight of law,
Wonder why I even try.