broken ends never end

Sometimes I paint my nails. Or I polish them, without painting. French manicure is my favorite style. I like to grow my nails out and the paint helps strengthen them so they won't break. But I play guitar so I usually cut them back. Or they break when I am doing the dishes or working on my bike. I have not been to a salon in over a year. I highlighted my hair myself, and there are many broken ends, but I don't care, just let it grow. Life is full of broken ends so you might as well do yourself a favor and accept it and move on.

I don't mind if I look wild. I rarely wear high heels or dresses. I never really did much anyway. I am fluid in gender expression, identity and sexual orientation. I have been with men and I have been with women. I have fallen in love with them, or not. I never really saw myself as one or the other, exactly, but somewhere in between. My fashion is mostly androgyn. I wear what makes me feel comfortable and confident. Because confidence is sexy. I am tall and thin. Light on the dimensions.

I'm not at all interested in being admired for my looks or my intellect. I would rather be known for a kind heart. I challenge myself on a daily basis to convey the loving spirit in my heart. I tend to get shy and reticent with people, I mean my spirit, which is why writing has been my medium. I learned early how to express my true self to you with words. And it is essential for anyone to shine in their own chosen way. So go on. Let's not be shy. Shine!

EXCERPT

He waited for her with all the women waiting to get their ombres and bangs, in the forefront of a high-end salon halfway into Berkeley on College Avenue. He was the only man in the place. The glass storefront so clear one was likely to crash into it, were it not for the Helvetica script lettered across it. And he felt out of place but he didn't care. She was lying back in the barber's chair with half her head dipped in a basin, and as the stylist massaged the soap out her hair into the rinse, she shut her eyes. They had traveled together in the early morning chill promising a warm summer day, to get here. He rode his skateboard, she pushed pedals on her ten-speed. Witness the weaving in and out, threading one another's tracks coming together, then apart. Talking. Laughing. Cheerful and melodic bursts into cool and receptive air. They were to meet his friend for coffee next door. Soon. She felt her head dissolve into a warm glow around her. The scattered voices of women like birds, had vanished as the water rose above the ear canals. And though she was not smiling, it was only because her smile peeled off her and sank, rocking then spinning slowly down to the granite floor of the basin, and while she was not looking, one of her eyes popped out from under the lid, and floated across the surface like a buoy marker, and nested in some soap suds. And as her mind marveled over the fresh instance of love tingling all over her body, her boyfriend uncomfortably shifted on the charcoal seat cushions not ten yards away, a Madameoiselle magazine in his hands with the image of a gorgeous Parisian cover model unimpressive to him now. His eyes moved hawkishly about the room to get a glimpse; raising him up with them to see down the middle aisle of stylists at work, past the smoke and mirrors and chirping, to the hollow toward the back of the same room where she was.  Her brain matter unraveled into a labrynthine interpretative submersive dance. Seemed like half of eternity, lost. Then swept away she was to thoughtless clarity, by the sudden opening of the drain, the lifting of her head, the watery fingers of her locks gripping the back of her neck, the half-smile pinioned to her lips, the eyeball slipping back under the lashes and lid. The sound of birds chirping. Only the thoughts had flushed on down the drain, for what use are thoughts in love's possession? The stylist was telling her something, and blowing it away. Posits and remarks, littering the floor. Her body still tingling, the glow had not left her. Just cooling in air along with the hair. She could not now help her eyes from lifting her up, in the chair as they circled around, and found him in there. Waiting for her. She found in him in there -- again, life was a blur.

-- Excerpt. Daughter of Darkness. Book #2