Another issue of the online magazine I published in the early 1990s
THE SUBVERSIVE
Number 8
“Where Dreams are the stuff Reality is made of”
DECLARATION OF PURPOSE
“This journal exists to promote the concept that each human is a unique individual, intrinsically entitled with an equal right to pursue her own destiny as far as it does not inhibit others in that same right. The Subversive shall serve as a ready forum for the free expression and exchange of ideas that do not violate this mandate, in the belief that tolerance grows from a familiarity with variety.”
–signed,
Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor
WHERE TO FIND THE SUBVERSIVE:
The Subversive is available FREE as a download on America Online, Compuserve, Genie, several servers on the Internet, and various BBS around the world.
For those who wish to Subscribe, contribute articles, stories, personal experiences, information, jokes, or whatever Email melaniexx@aol.com, or write to:
Melanie Anne Phillips
150 East Olive Avenue
Suite 203
Burbank, California 91502
Only original material will be accepted unless quoted in the context of an original work or submitted with credit to the original author along with permission to reprint the material.
Submission of original material for publication in The Subversive constitutes a non-exclusive license to Melanie Anne Phillips by the author/copyright holder to reproduce all or part of the material in any media.
EDITOR’S NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free online to all who wish to read it. However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain. Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free specific license for your purpose.
EXPLORATIONS
by Melanie Anne Phillips, Editor
“Homesteading”
Last month I talked about how my journey to be a woman had finally ended after a lifetime of yearning and five years of travel. But what happens AFTER the journey ends? Once you find yourself where you always wanted to be, what then? The quest to discover who you really are is not unlike many other epic adventures.
For a parallel, lets look to the pioneers of the American West. They, as we, had plenty to leave behind. Most were business people, family members, participants in organizations and clubs. For the most part, they had not ventured farther than the next county before in their lives. So what drove them to embark on a dangerous trip into the unknown, from which they might never return? What would move them to leave behind all that they had ever known, all the comforts of home and the relationships they cherished, just for the chance at a new life?
The question holds the answer: they left for a new life – a new beginning that might lead to something better than before. They did not hate what they were leaving; they simply saw the limitations of what they had and the potential of what the might find.
So, they packed their belongings and sold what they could not take. They said goodbye to loved ones they might never see again, turned to wilderness and stepped bravely into the unknown.
Bravery is not to act without fear, but to act in spite of it. Our pioneer ancestors were not fools. They did not make the decision to leave lightly, nor did they minimize the risks. But they felt that the potential rewards outweighed those risks. So they held their fears in abeyance and bravely let go of a normal life.
Yet the risks were very real, and many were lost along the way. There were those who had hardly just begun before they were stricken, and others who succumbed just as they glimpsed the Promised Land, never to set foot upon it. Even for those who arrived safely, the effort itself changed them forever.
Most of these pioneers only had a vague idea of where they were going: a state or a territory, no more specific than that. So, how did they know when they arrived? When they crossed one more range and saw below them a green valley, or a wooded plain, or a seashore, or hill. And something about that vision matched the picture they had in their minds when they started. They stood on the mountain crest, drank in the dream made real and said, “We have come home.”
You see, there really was no destination until it was found. And what defined the destination was their decision to stop there. For some, it was just what they had been hoping for. For others, it was the best they found before their motivation ran out. The longer the journey, the greater the toll.
This was my story last month as I had crossed a final divide, took a look around and said “I have come home”. But what now?
Once our pioneer ancestors arrived they didn’t just sit in their rocking chairs and watch the seasons change. No, the same motivation that lured them from the secure comforts of the old life, drove them to make something of the new.
These hardy individuals, men and women and children, did not pause to rest in the shade, but immediately began a new quest: to build a home in this new land – a home that would be all they had yearned for. Just arriving didn’t bring the reward of a better life than they had left, it just gave them the opportunity for one. But now the real work had to begin.
But it was a work of joy because they reaped the benefits of their own toil. This was a land in which one person could make a difference. A land of freedom and potential. But with that freedom came the threat of the wild. Seasons could be harsh, and wolves could kill. Yet through it all, the joy prevailed. They cleared, and built and planted and reaped. And there came a day when the harvest was in and there was more than they needed. This was the day they could pause in their labors and celebrate the bounty of the land. But then, it was back to work again, for one harvest never hold enough to carry until the next without continued effort.
In the end, their happiness was not measured so much by what they had, but by how they lived, and the times they shared with others.
We too are pioneers – Social Pioneers. And we leave behind all that we know and love, for all that we dream and yearn for. We face the dangers and some are lost along the way. Those who survive cross one last divide to find the place they will call home. Like our ancestors, we Social Pioneers have been changed by the experience, but have not lost our dreams. Still, those dreams are not fulfilled by ending one journey, but by beginning another. Now that we are here we have a frontier to tame: the New Frontier of the human spirit. It can be no less treacherous than the wilds of the continent, but its potential rewards are no less great.
So, I have set down stakes. I am clearing, building, and planting. God willing and the creek don’t rise, there’ll be fields in the Spring and a harvest in the fall. Perhaps one season there will be enough extra to pause awhile and celebrate. And if I am so blessed, I can think of no greater joy than to share that moment with you, my sister Social Pioneers of the New Frontier.
— Copyright 1993, Melanie Anne Phillips
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Last month I asked our Email subscribers if they would prefer The Subversive to be uploaded as usual, in straight ASCII, or if they would prefer a compressed format. The response was overwhelming! I received scores of letters requesting the “zipped” version. Still, most of our readers have decided to stick with the ol’ tried and true ASCII style for now. Here is a sampling of some of the requests for change to zip:
From: Karen Day
GREAT idea. I’ve found that 20 mins is a bit big for the budget, but LOVE the newsletter. Keep writing, Melanie!!
Love,
Karen.
From: Wavy36
Dear Melanie, Thanks for the consideration of compressing the file. This is a big advantage as I sometimes am not on long enough to download The Subversive at any given moment. Once again, keep up the good work and Happy New Year!
From: Melanie 337
Hi Melanie! Did you know that the AOL DOS software v1.5 will automagically uncompress ZIP files after downloading? So if you don’t have PkUnzip, but AOL 1.5, then you can still get ZIP (or ARC too!) files.
From: EtherNyet
(The Subversive) and the log, aren’t compatible with standard IBM PC text editors. The only editor I can use is the one on AOL. The files are missing the carriage return/line feed combo that makes them loadable into the standard DOSS editors. Is there any way to fix that too while we’re at it?
– Just curious –
Reply to EtherNyet:
I get very little feedback as to the technical quality of the downloads unless it just flat out wont work, so I don’t know if this is a common problem or not. Because of the way my system is configured, I find it easiest to prepare The Subversive on a PC in Word 5.0. Next, I copy it to GeoWrite, then save as a text file, which strips out all the stuff that is Word specific. This is the ASCII file I upload. Before using this system, I had several complaints that the file would not load at all into a number of different word processors, especially on MACs.
If anyone out there knows something about computers (I sure don’t!) perhaps you can suggest a better way?
Melanie
Letter in response to a reader who was uneasy with conflicting masculine and feminine feelings:
Hi, xxxxx. Actually, I wouldn’t worry about the conflicting feelings you have from time to time. After all, they only conflict in TIME. In space, they are all a part of you and exist in perfect harmony. It is when we lock ourselves in both time and space and say that we must only feel THIS way all the TIME, THEN we have problems.
Allow yourself to feel differently at different times. Allow yourself to be who you are not based on a single facet, but on the sum of all the facets that are naturally you. As long as it is honest, each little part is a part of you. And subjugating any of them just to be consistent is to deny a part of yourself. That is the greatest dishonesty of all.
For a TS, one of the hardest things to learn is that you are not a woman until you are unafraid to be masculine when you feel it. For a TV, this is no less true. Its really more a matter of degree: how much time do you want to spend in each role and to what degree do you wish to explore and express each? Since it is difficult to successfully portray oneself in both roles alternately, one must choose the role that provides the greatest latitude to one’s natural expressions.
It would be nice to think that we could have the courage to be all that we are in either role and not worry about the consequences. But the consequences are very real, and even if we ignore society, it won’t ignore us. But do we not need society to protect us as well? To guide us and provide us with a commonality and security? If we desire these benefits, we must pay the price of a certain level of conformity so that we are not shunning the very predictability we are asking to receive. That is why we choose the role that is best for us, yet do not deny the parts of ourselves that do not conform to that role. Certain facets are compatible with public presentation, others are not. That does not make the hidden sides immoral or wrong, but merely private and personal.
So, in response to your other question about how to tell your wife? Rather ask, do you really NEED to tell? For a TS, yes, there is no way around it. But for a crossdresser, it is not necessary at all, nor is it dishonest not to. The choice really depends on how much of your life you insist that she share for YOU to feel close to her. But if you DO decide to tell her, be sure you know exactly how YOU feel about YOURSELF first. Unless she is wholly bigoted against the concept, she will take her cues from you and how you see it. If you are ashamed or confused, so will she be also. If you are comfortable with yourself and understand your feelings, she will likely sense this is a fully integrated part of your personality and find nothing within herself but the desire to understand and accept if she can. So, first know yourself and accept yourself. Then share, if you must.
Hope this helps. Take care and,
Love,
Melanie Anne
And now for the next installment in the serialization of the book:
RAISED BY WOLVES:
A TRANSSEXUAL DIARY
by
Melanie Anne Phillips
PRELUDE
The pages beneath, chronicle my 30 month journey from a life as an apparently normal husband and father to that of an apparently normal woman. In the hope of capturing the immediacy of this emotional trip into the unknown, I shunned the retrospective approach, opting instead for a daily Diary.
Each entry was made on the day the events actually happened, expect as noted. And each is filled with the raw and unpolished thoughts and feelings that held me at that moment.
Of course, this leads to a somewhat meandering story, as well as contradictions in my point-of-view and personal emotional outbursts that I’m sure will make me squirm once this is published. But anything less would be less than truthful. And if this document is to serve any purpose as either a tool for tolerance and understanding or as an inspiration to those contemplating any major life-change, then it must be completely honest.
February 4, 1990
As I look back over my recent entries, it seems they grow farther apart. At first I hypothesized that I was losing interest in this journal, but it truly remains central to my motivations. In fact, I am merely beginning to settle into my new life and grand shifts occur with less frequency.
A genetic male or female would find little of interest to write about their lives if they confined their subject material to personal gender issues. So as I approach a stable lifestyle, the non-gender related events of my life far outnumber the others.
I suppose I could begin to interject material of a general nature, but that is not my purpose here. No, this treatise is commentary of a specific journey, and when read will flow in continuity and the gaps of time will be bridged by the printed word. Therefore, I shall speak when I have something to say. Which is not now.
February 13, 1990
I spent all last week in the office in Dave mode. It was hell. Mike has been throwing himself into saving my business and requested that I come in as Dave until things got back in order. After all the strain of working up to going in as Melanie, after all the fear I had to overcome, suddenly I was forced to backstep to the other side of that seemingly insurmountable obstacle and start all over again.
I made it, but barely. Every person who had seen me as Melanie and now saw me as Dave was like a stake through my heart. The tension wound tighter with each day. But in the end, I survived the week and lasted the weekend without once presenting myself as Melanie.
But now, as I look back, that week was truly useful to my understanding of the depth and subtlety of my feelings. There is no compulsion to present myself as a female in an overt sense. Rather, it is an almost subliminal background against which to play my personality. Dave format grates against my feelings, Melanie format enhances them.
Now that I have been back as Melanie for two days, I have relaxed and once again enjoy the inner peace that was so sorely lacking. But it did take the full two days to regain it. The first day, I was so awkward that everyone I passed, from the parking structure to the office, gave me a weird stare. But today, I encountered more people along that route than ever before, and not one paid the slightest heed. I don’t believe that has happened before in the three weeks I had previously enjoyed.
Is it my hair, make-up self-confidence or a combination of many things. I wish I knew, for blending in is a far more satisfying feeling than standing out.
The producer has offered me the opportunity to go to the Soviet Union to work on his movie. Again, it must be as Dave. I have told him I will accept, and yet I do not know if I can live with that decision. If only one week of returning to Dave has driven me to the brink of depression, what would twelve weeks do?
Even at home, I no longer play the role as I used to. I wear the same female jeans, pink sneakers, socks, and underwear I do as Melanie. Only the voice and lack of make-up are different, AND the body English, perhaps the most significant alteration. But even these are drifting farther away from what they were.
And I must be changing visibly. When I went to pick up Mindi at school the other day I was late and she was in the office. A girl sitting on the school steps asked her mom as I passed, “Is that a woman?” The mother said, “Yes.” And out with Mary two nights ago to the 7-Eleven: A beggar in front of the store accosted me as I stepped from the car, “Ma’am, can you spare some change?” “Sure,” I felt like saying, “I’ve got plenty of change.” When I Answered the phone today, a bill collector asked, “Mrs. Phillips?” So I said, “Yes.” and played along with it: had the entire conversation as Mrs. Phillips. And this with my kids in the room, who didn’t notice anything different about my voice.
Well, although I feel I’ve come a long way, I’m really at the start of my transformation. Two, maybe three years from now, I will probably not resemble much of what I am now, and certainly nothing of what I once was. But that is good. For every day as my body changes, my mind is freed. And there will come a time when both are unified and my dream of walking through the High Sierra in blue jeans and tank top, slender, female, the wind tousling my hair, will be a reality, then a memory instead of a fantasy.
February 15, 1990
I had a very frustrating phone call with Dr. Jayne today. To understand the situation, you will need to hear about a few events that occurred in the last few days.
I have always been easily embarrassed by thinking that I might appear out of place. In high school, if I was entering a long, empty corridor and someone came in from the other side walking toward me, I would be so nervous about what to do with my hands, where to look with my eyes (at their face, at the ground, where?) that I would either stop and pretend to be opening a locker that wasn’t mine until they passed, drop my books and be picking them up, or snap my fingers like I forgot something and turn back the other way.
As an adult, when crossing the street, I would never know what to do with my hands or arms. I was always afraid I would be laughed at for being skinny or not “male” enough. I would pretend to scratch and itch on my face so I could hold up my wedding ring as proof that someone thought I was worthwhile enough to marry.
I could never bring myself to return defective merchandise. I would always leave that to Mary. I have never really been able to pinpoint the roots of these feelings of insecurity, but I do know that many of them grow from feeling that I didn’t make the grade as a male. I never could relate to my male peers as a kid. They talked about different things than I was interested in. They saw the world with what seemed to me like “meanness” or at best callous disregard. All I ever wanted to do was be accepted and do things to help others and bring joy to them.
It may be hard to believe that anyone could be so, what should I say, “naive”… “untarnished”… “pure”… “foolish”? But indeed I was. I never killed an insect until my teens, and to this day find it repugnant. I never had a beer until I was 23 years old. I nave never smoked. I didn’t say my first swear word… I mean I NEVER said ANY swear word until I was twelve. What kind of kid lives like that?
Even as an adult, I only went out on two real dates before I met and married Mary. And the most I ever did on those dates was a little petting in the front seat with our clothes completely on. I was ashamed to consider that a girl would think I was forcing myself on her. I just wanted to be emotionally close, to laugh and cry and share together. How could anyone want to violate someone just for sex. I still can’t conceive of it.
It wasn’t until long after I was married that I allowed myself to look at a pretty girl while driving and not worry that others would see me look. Of course, I was only looking with envy, not lust, but I didn’t want anyone, even people I didn’t know, to think I was being lecherous.
But all that has left me in the last couple of months. Under the protection of Andy and Mike/Nikki, I felt free to express myself for myself. Their confidence and “devil-may-care” attitude was an umbrella for me, shielding me from the fear of what others thought.
But through this all has lingered the fear that when I have made the transition, I would still be readable as a male for the rest of my life. Now I know that at this point in my development I am ready to face even THAT and to be what I want and need to be, screw the world, full speed ahead. But with my history of self-consciousness, is it any wonder that blending in with society would be more comfortable than spurning it?
So in this vein, I have grimaced at the masculine cut of my face as I stared in the mirror over the past few weeks. It seems that I appeared more feminine when my hair was SHORTER! Perhaps it is just that the edge of it now accentuates the squareness of my jaw. I do not know. But on days when I look in the mirror and I appear to myself (from make-up and clothing) to be truly feminine, I am much more confident and content than those days when I appear to myself as Dave in Drag. Therefor, I hang on every indicator that society feeds back to me as a sign that something is working or not working in my goal to blend in.
Last night I happened to pull my hair back behind my ears and WOW!!!! Suddenly my whole face took on an INCREDIBLY feminine look. I have never looked so good, even at 18! I went into the office like that to do some work and Mike was AMAZED at the difference! Now, I don’t know if others will see any change at all. But the confidence and comfort that hairstyle gives me makes me feel so at ease, that I forget gender and just throw myself into my work, my career, my chores, as if I had been born female and nothing was going on here at all.
During the time I spend at home I still just keep my hair brushed into bangs. But even that seems to be changing to a more feminine look, as I have mentioned in the last entry where I am beginning to be read as female even when not making any overt attempt to create that impression.
So today, I had picked up Mindi at school and had to clear a parking ticket at the courthouse. As we walked down the street, I had the eerie feeling that I was being seen as a mother with her daughter. I can’t put my finger on it, but there was a subtle shift in the way people made eye contact with me. Perhaps it is just that so many people have stared at me lately that the lack of attention was tangible.
Indeed, they used to stare only when out as a woman. Then they started to stare when out as a man as well. But today, NO STARES!!! Well, we went into the courthouse and I approached the window. The female clerk smiled at the sight of Mindi by my side and gave me pleasant glance, which I returned. I put my tickets and my license on the counter and explained that I wanted to clear them. I did not use female voice. She jolted at the sound of my voice, looked at the license, then turned into the Ice Princess. I mean, her whole demeanor changed from warm and friendly to “kill you if you breathe”! Now, Dr. Jayne may say this means nothing, and Mike told me “what makes you think you can tell if you’ve been read?” Well, the hell with that! She read me as female and when she found out I wasn’t, She was very nearly rude.
Immediately afterward, we went to the market. Again, I had the uncanny feeling I was being read as female. I was just wearing a windbreaker, T-shirt and jeans, but somehow I must have projected that image. Again, no proof. But some guys pushing carts moved out of my way, and several women pushing carts challenged me for the right of way. Now this has only happened to me before when dressed as a female, so maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, but it never happened to me before when not going out of my way to appear female.
I was standing next to one woman, looking for sea shell noodles, when Mindi called me “Dad”. The lady jolted visibly as if hit by a brick, turned and quickly left the isle. At the check out stand I was nervous. If all in line and the checker as well were reading me female, what about when I spoke? But if I spoke female and they were reading me as male, what then? Besides, Mindi was there and Mary doesn’t want them to know, so I couldn’t do fem voice and on and on…
I got so nervous I could feel myself blush. The female clerk seemed to read me as female at first, but then, as I answered in androgynous mono syllables, started to wonder. I don’t know if she was ever really sure, but Mindi softly called me “Daddy” once, and I believe she may have heard. But the box boy hadn’t and as I left with my bags said, “Have a nice day, Ma’am!”
Now that may have been the most fulfilling thing anyone has ever said to me! I mean, my face broke into a grin that met in the back of my head.
I floated home, and actually jumped around the room before calling Mike to share this moment and then leaving a message for Dr. Jayne.
Now, I have been unable to pay $60.00 every two weeks to Dr. Jayne due to our overdue bills and my lack of work. So I have had to postpone my sessions until I can get some more funds. But I have tried to be a good client and keep in touch by phone messages so that she would not be rudely abused by my simply vanishing for a couple of months.
There have been days recently, when we had nothing to eat but rice and bread, due to lack of money, and I could not in good conscious lavish $30.00 a week on myself when I can’t even afford to buy lunches for my kids. I thought Dr. Jayne would appreciate my sacrifice, appreciate my concern for professional continuity, and be joyous for my recent experience at the store. But just the opposite was true!
She felt I was trying to get free therapy over the phone! I mean, not only had I not even considered it, but I was taken aback that she would think I would employ such a devious technique. I began to think that I had been too open, too truthful in my session. Many people had warned me to give the answers “THEY” wanted to hear, but I opted for total, and I mean TOTAL honesty.
I felt hurt, I felt slandered, I felt my trust had been violated. But beyond that, what hurt the most was that both she and Mike told me that I cared too much about what people think and that was no reason to make decisions.
God Damn! I have NEVER, I MEAN NEVER, made a decision on my transition based on what ANYBODY else thought. I made up my mind a long time ago that I am going to go all the way through with this and be what I have wanted to be from my earliest awareness that boys and girls were different. I am ME inside, not US. I am one human being who knows what she is, but SHE cannot legally or socially be graced with “correctness” until her physical nature is altered.
I love the changes that are occurring in my body. And I look forward with ecstasy to the day in which my physical alteration is complete. But I WILL do this even if I get read as a male in drag for the rest of my life.
That decision made and behind me, the next step is to limit my loses in achieving my goal. I try to keep Mary happy. I try to ease my kids into an awareness of what is happening. And I revel in feedback from society that I am truly blending in.
If I had a scarred face I could thumb my nose at the world and say, “What the hell…” and do as I damn well please. But if I could remove that scar, would I not? Should I not? And if I had been scarred all my life and never known the comfort of anonymity in a crowd, would I not wallow in euphoria for a while if the scar began to fade? Would I not latch on to every indicator that I was not drawing undue attention, that soon my ordeal would be over? Or should I be unaffected and unconcerned that for the first time in my life I could walk among others with confidence and calm, be myself and have people see and relate to ME, not to my scar?
I feel wronged in the greatest sense of the word, and hurt deeply. But I am not going to let THAT stand in my way, not after all I have already risked and gone through just to get where I am. No, I am going to thumb my nose at the naysayers and chart my own course as I have always done, with the force of will and determination that have always compensated for my self-consciousness and feelings of inadequacy.
I like being recognized and treated as a female in our society. For that I owe no one neither explanation nor apology. My only fear being that my enthusiasm and joy at finally being free of the outward image I had wrongly can in, will be misread by others and stand in the way of my journey to final completeness in the physical realm to match the completeness I have already achieved in the mental.
February 18, 1990
So I started thinking. That is, after all the flack I was getting, I figured I ought to re-evaluate. And the strangest thing happened. I realized I wanted to live as a woman for the rest of my life. Doesn’t sound different? Well, I didn’t say I wanted to BE a woman for the rest of my life, like I have before. I want to LIVE as a woman.
Small different you say? But wait! Nay, ’tis the grandest difference twixt heaven and earth. You see, I’ve been looking for justification, an EXCUSE to ALLOW me to act as a female, to express myself in the female role.
I realized that I have been pressing so hard toward surgery so that I would then have the RIGHT to act as a female. I did not want to go fulltime. The only reason I did was the growing feeling that I would never be recommended for surgery without meeting that condition. So I grit my teeth, swallowed my pride and jumped in feet first.
But the strangest thing happened on the way to the requirements: I found out I really wanted to LIVE as a woman. Now, up to this point I had considered that once surgery was behind me, I could go out as a female any time I chose with the confidence of knowing that I was justified in doing so. But I thought that I might even spend most of my time presenting myself as a male. This would help my career, my marriage, my respect in the community; in short, I wanted to PLAY the role, not identify with it.
But these last six weeks… Oh, these last six weeks! I have felt so free, so content, so energized to life! Suddenly my interest has re-awakened in my career, my business, my art! Even my relationship with my children and Mary has deepened and become more satisfying. I found myself spending all the time spent in the male role longing to get back to the preferred lifestyle the next day. And the embarrassment, insecurity and self-consciousness of both my male persona and the early days of my fulltime experience has melted away from me so completely that I hold my head high as I express myself as the woman I am.
NOW I realize the value of the fulltime experience. I had always assumed that it was an opportunity to bail out if it proved not to be what was expected. But for me, it showed me what I really wanted from life. Just weeks ago I had told others (and firmly believed) that if for some reason I could not obtain surgery, I would surely become severely depressed and would, without a doubt, end my own life. Now, I find that I enjoy my new lifestyle so completely that I intend to remain in it for the rest of my days. And the madcap frenetic drive to the operating table has calmed to modest proportions.
Yes, I still want the surgery; to make myself as physically complete as I can, to feel right about my body, to free me to enjoy all aspects of a female life. But now, I can wait. Because I AM ALREADY THERE! Post op, my lifestyle will not dramatically alter. And pre-op, there is little I cannot do. I am living as a woman and loving it. Surgery will be the icing on the cake, but the cake is mine now.
In this light, I find that I no longer think of myself as a man at all. The clothes don’t matter; it’s how I feel, not now I look. The voice is unimportant; it changes not my outlook. I am me wherever and whatever I am. I wear female clothes to clue the world as to how I expect to be treated. I practice voice to blend in with the crowd. I enjoy being appreciated for whatever beauty I may possess. For, after all, fitting in is much more comfortable than standing out. So THAT thought of my last entry remains valid for me.
But within me now is a different perspective. The roles of our society are subtle; no large differences have assaulted me. They are a background against which to play our personalities. My personality grates against the male role; against the female role it flows. I find that much of what I am cannot be expressed in traditional male terms: I feel confined and cut off. But the female role is larger than the range of my feelings and I find it a spacious stage upon which to strut.
So, perhaps my journey is ended here. With the knowledge that I not only want to BE female, I want to live AS a female and express myself in the female role. The story, of course, has many chapters left. For I may yet lose Mary, my children, and my career. Or I may retain them all and even deepen their significance. I do not yet know how it will all come down, but of this I am certain: I shall not go back to the role of a male. I shall live in the female role for the rest of my days.
February 20, 1990
My Thirty-seventh birthday. I picked up Mindi from school and went to renew my driver’s license, which expired today, last being renewed eight years ago. I pulled the dog-eared document from my wallet and gazed at the young, innocent face that stared up at me, our eyes meeting across a frozen moment in the void of time. I tried to remember what I felt in those days; my hopes, ambitions, dreams. I tried to remember what was the intensity of my need for transition. Did I think of it often? Did I think of it at all? But the smiling face stared back implacid, the expression impervious to my probe.
I worry sometimes that my current path is not the only one that would bring satisfaction, but the only one I have been aware of. Could I find happiness in another profession? With another mate? In another life? Am I doomed to discover, too late, that other avenues ran parallel to mine and could have taken me to greater heights in more conventional style? God, I hope not! It’s hard enough to deal with what might have beens, when there are no apparent options. But to have one’s cancerous eyes removed only to discover that a simple pill could have cured the disease and saved your sight…
But the trip was not depressing, truly. I had put on more than a hint of lipstick and fluffed my hair to its fullest look, anticipating the potential of a new photo I would have to live with until my I.D. changed. Those in the crowded office some distance from me read me as a mother out with her daughter. Those in mid-range kept checking me out. But the lady in front of me, who had the best view of the incongruities, struck up a conversation for the duration of our entire wait. She seemed not the least put out by me or those who were gawking at me. I began to feel as if I truly could be myself and it didn’t even matter if I fit into standard conventions or not.
When I stepped up to the photo counter, I handed the man my form. He read the name, looked up, then said, “Wait a minute! I think something’s gotten mixed up here!” I asked, “What?” He looked from me to the name and back again, trying to figure it out, then asked, “What’s your name?” I told him, “David”. He covered quickly saying, “Oh, it has the same birthday, I thought it was someone else’s”. Whatever THAT means. But when he asked me to step in front of the camera, he was genuinely friendly and almost jovial. “Big smile, David!”, he cheered, obviously deciding that if that was the way I wanted to look, he wanted me to look good!
So I guess at 37, I am finally learning that you can’t second-guess society. It’s not a nameless, faceless entity, but a continuing flow of individuals who traipse through your life. Some will lift you, some will try to destroy you, but each and every one has his own outlook as much as I have mine.
Perhaps the greatest mistake of my life was hiding what I labelled as my feminine side for fear of rejection that would never have come. I could have freed myself from the frustration and suffering of my inner torment if only I had given others half the chance I wanted them to give me. But, as my mother often said, better late than never.
February 25, 1990
I began editing the trailer for Larry’s feature today. This is the first time I have worked professionally in film since going public. Just three months ago, I finished my last editorial project as Dave, and could barely scrape through it from the boredom. For some time I had found myself increasingly disinterested in the media. Somehow, it all seemed trite and insignificant. But now, living life as I choose, the creative process is fulfilling once more, as I don’t have to censor my immediate instincts for telltale references to my feminine disposition.
February 28, 1990
I have been editing with Larry for three days now. Originally, he had asked me to be the Director of Photography of the feature, well before I went public. But his investors quaffed at the fact that this was not my primary area of employment in the industry and scuttled my participation in that mode. Therefore, I have taken several opportunities to make comments displaying my filmic prowess, thereby reaffirming my abilities have not gone to my tits, and also rubbing a little good-natured salt in the wound.
Surprisingly, today he asked me to “DP” the additional material needed for pick-ups. This will require several days with a full crew: my first production experience as Melanie – and as the key crew member next to the director. Not bad for a thirty-seven year old transsexual from Burbank!
(Copyright 1992, Melanie Anne Phillips)
(The Transsexual Diary series will continue in the next edition of The Subversive)
I urge you all to keep a diary of YOUR personal journey, whether it be through transition or not. The attitudes and even the order of events becomes cloudy through time, and I am continually amazed to re-read things that memory would have me believe had happened differently. If nothing else, it is a good way to see long-term patterns in yourself that you cannot see except in retrospect. That objective view alone is worth the inconvenience of keeping a journal.
FEATURE ARTICLES
Dear Melanie,
I am writing this story for possible publication in “The Subversive” (who came up with that title and why was it chosen?). I have enjoyed the conversations that we have in the conference room and always come away from them feeling better about myself knowing that there are other people like myself with questions and stories about their gender identity. I hope that the forum continues well into the future.
Love,
Stacy S6 (formerly S2 & S4)
P.S. I would love to give the girl who started the conference a big hug and kiss for giving me a place to chat or just listen to what other girls have to say.
“Stacy’s First Make Over”
by Stacy S6
I have been struggling with what to title this story. I have been throwing things around in my brain such as “Ronnie is finally Stacy” or “My first time as a girl”. I didn’t like either because whenever I’m in touch with my femme side I am (and always have been) Stacy, and at that point I am a girl. So I went with my current title because it says what I am trying to convey to the best of my ability.
For as long as I can remember I have been in touch with my feminine side. I have always enjoyed the wearing of women’s clothing and the way that doing that changes my emotions about myself and everything I am and do. I feel more gentle and easy with myself when I am dressed.
I have wanted to have myself made over by a professional artist for the longest time. I have always been to afraid to do this when I was single, and now that I am married (very happily, might I add) I have not been able to do it as long as my wife was around. She has joined the Army and is currently assigned in Indiana for training. So I figured while she was away I would get a make over to say to my inner- self that I did do it at least once in my life. So now all I had to do was figure out how I would go about it.
I am currently taking private pilot lessons and my instructor introduced me to a great weekly newspaper out of Atlanta called “Creative Loafing.” It has excellent articles about what to do in Hotlanta and also has a pretty progressive classified section. It advertises at least four different crossdressing/make over opportunities to be had in the area. All I had to do was to choose the one for me.
The first time I attempted to do a make over I chose a studio that does mostly stress reduction therapies. When I got to the studio I was very nervous and chickened out after I got there (and after a two hour drive to boot. 🙁 )
It was about a month later I once again had the courage to call another person to make an appointment to have the make over. The owner of the studio is named Cleo and just from talking to her on the phone I felt more at ease with the possibility of going through with it and not leaving again without doing what my heart says I must do. I scheduled the appointment for the following Saturday and resolved myself to go through with it if it killed me of embarrassment.
I counted the days, hours, minutes until the Day. I confirmed the appointment with Cleo in the morning and then left to make the time we both agreed upon.
When I got to where she lived I felt as though I was in the wrong place. She lives in the country with peacocks, emus, turkeys, and assorted other animals. But when I knocked on the door she greeted me and made me feel at home. She showed me her make up, dresses, and wigs and explained to me what she was going to do. There was no stopping me now, so I decided to go through with it or never attempt it again.
The first thing I did was to put on a black bra and hip hugger panties. Then Cleo put a black bustier with garter straps around my waist so I could have my unshaven chest hairs covered. (I wish I could shave the hair off my body but my job and the fact my wife really knows nothing about this prevent me from doing it.) Then she put black legging-like nylons on my legs to cover the hair on them. Next she applied the glue to my fingernails and put long red fake nails on me. That was the first time I had ever had them on, and God, did it make me feel good. It also took some time to get used to them, but with practice they were beginning to feel like my very own nails — remind me to get some on my next shopping spree.
Now for the fun stuff. She had me sit in front of her make up dresser and had me select the wig I liked best. She said it would determine the color of make up she would use. After about 6 or 7 different wigs I settled on the first one she had selected for me – a frosted brunette shoulder length wig that was very curly – I liked it a lot. Then she started the make over. She explained everything she was doing to me so I could maybe try it at home. She said make up was simply finding your color, applying it and blending it in sequence, and that after a couple of tries I’d have it down. It seamed easy enough. I must admit that after she was done I was very impressed with what Cleo had done. I wasn’t a model beauty but I was very definitely pretty. I couldn’t believe that I was actually looking at me – if I had seen this girl at a bar I would have asked her to dance with me. I have to admit I don’t think I have ever felt better about myself as I did the first time I saw myself as a “dolled-up” girl.
She took a couple of close ups of my face and a full length picture of me in the lingerie. Next she had me go into the bedroom to start the video tape portion of the shoot, trying on more lingerie and slips. By now I was in heaven. Then we went back to the make up room and started selecting my daywear shoot clothing. I selected a black mini skirt and white sweater. Cleo said I looked so cute in this outfit and I had to agree with her. We took most of the photos in this outfit and did a little act of a working girl coming home from work and relaxing at home for the video portion. I believe I did a good acting job for that part.
After that she had me select a evening/party dress to complete the shoot. I selected a black dress with silver polka dots on the skirt and a silver rose belt. It was a pretty good look and we completed the shoot, to include an out door sequence (God, I was nervous!). I didn’t want it to end, but all good things must come to an end. She removed the make up so I could return to my apartment in the male clothes I left in. She gave me the number to the person who runs the Tri-Ess chapter in the Atlanta Area and also the BBS number sponsored by the same person, and then we said our goodbyes.
I do not know why I waited as long as I did to do that (the Make Over). I am definitely planning for the next time I can visit Cleo’s Studio and do it again. Next time I’m going to be bringing one of my own outfits so I can experience the feminine side of me all dressed and made up for more than a two hour session. I really loved the feeling of being a woman for that time and look forward for the next time.
P.S. I’d like to say thank you to MelanieXX, Elaine P1, JeriTv, and all the others for giving me the help to get this done.
I love you all…. HEART Stacy S6
MENTAL RELATIVITY
Mental Relativity is a new theory of psychology developed by my good friend and associate Chris Huntley and myself over several years. Its impact is far ranging, offering insight in areas of justification, problem solving, and decision making.
Because it is a RELATIVITY, the theory offers no absolutes. Rather, it defines the relationship between the processes of the mind in such a way that one can objectively see what things subjectively look like from any point in the process.
Publishing the results of our work in The Subversive serves two purposes: One, it offers Chris and myself the opportunity to document our work publicly, and Two, it provides practical information that you, the readers, may find useful in exploring and understanding personal issues.
In this edition of The Subversive, I offer an article of moderate technical complexity describing the two kinds of hierarchies by which human minds can order information. Although gender considerations are outside the scope of this particular article, I am sure you will make your own discoveries as to relationship of type of hierarchy to specific Mental Sex. Future articles will draw more direct association.
HIERARCHIES: LINEAR AND RELATIVE
Linearities and Relativities are two methods of understanding the arrangement and/or functioning of a hierarchy. They are, however, mutually exclusive as to any given hierarchy.
Linearities require an appreciation in which “A” is related to “B” which in turn is related to “C”. But “A” is not related to “C” except by means of “B”. This is essential to a Linearity, as it is this exclusivity that orders the levels of the hierarchy.
Relativities require an appreciation in which “A” is related to “B” which in turn is related to “C”, however “A” is also directly related to “C” as well. This is essential to a Relativity, as it is this multiplicity that orders the levels of the hierarchy.
For complex systems (any system of more than one dimension) a Linearity will represent a hierarchy as a “branch tree”. There will b a single head which is expanded, level by level, into multiple units (or sub-divisions until the feet of the hierarchy reach the extent of the system. At this point, the linear relationships along the flow of the system have been fully described.
For complex systems a Relativity will represent a hierarchy as fractals, wherein a given matrix will serve to organize subsets of closely related elements, and more complex arrangements (equivalent to higher levels of a Linearity) will be represented as identical matrices that organize other matrices as if they were elements. When a given matrix contains all elements of a system, the relative relationships within the system have been fully described.
It is clear that in a closed complex system, a Linear Hierarchy would progress from the first unit in the chain to the last available unit in the system, at which point, the Linearity lacks an explanation for the generation of the initial unit. In fact, in a closed complex system, a Linearity doubles back on itself, inevitably reaching a paradox in which, to truly be closed, the initial unit must be equal to all the units of the final level combined.
One might try to overcome this limitation by proposing a two headed hierarchy that might b represented as two inverted pyramids, jointly sharing a common base (and overall appearing as a diamond). The apex of each triangle would be the same common point. The result would be a diamond that doubles back on itself to a single apex. This requires one more dimension than the system being represented. The hierarchy would now appear to flow in two directions from the common apex, but when arriving at the widest point, could go no further in that direction. In other word, an artificial wall of impassibility would have ben created in the model, separating half they system from the other half.
For this reason I propose the following principle:
PHILLIPS’ AXIOM: No closed system can be fully explained by a Linear Hierarchy.
In the case of an open system, a Linearity functions much better. An open system, by definition, can continue in either direction forever. The only way to understand and represent such a system is with a Linear Hierarchy. Here, the head of the hierarchy represents whatever arbitrary starting point is selected as the beginning of the system, and the feet of the hierarchy represent the arbitrary end. Whenever one needs to explain the creation of the head, one need simply move back one step and move each layer of the hierarchy down one level. Then the feet do not go far enough in detail, add another level of feet: a de facto extension of the size of the system being considered. It is this capacity to scale a system to the needs or precursors and detail that is the essence and strength of a Linear Hierarchy with regard to an open system.
This leads to my next principle:
COROLLARY TO PHILLIPS’ AXIOM: Any Linear Hierarchy that describes an open system has arbitrary head and feet that define the limits of the hierarchy.
Next we address the functionality of a Relativity. In a closed system, even one that appears to be linear and recursive, higher levels of understanding intrinsically exist when like progressions are compared. Like progressions MUST exist in order for the system to return to its starting point. When all like progressions have been ordered into fractal dimensions, no free units remain in a closed system. Hence:
PHILLIPS ASSERTION: Any Relative Hierarchy that describes a closed system will consist of fractal dimensions, containing like progressions, with no free units remaining.
Lastly, applying a Relativity to an open system, we can see that the head could never reunite with the feet, giving infinite resistance to any possibility of a relationship between all elements of the system. The paradox would exist that between the head and the feet there is no relationship at all, which violates the nature of a Relative Hierarchy.
Therefore, the remaining principle:
COROLLARY TO PHILLIPS’ ASSERTION: No open system can be fully described in terms of a Relative Hierarchy.
In Mental Relativity, we have discovered that for some purposes it is best to look at the mind as a closed system in order to understand its internal functioning. Other times, it is more fruitful to examine how the mind fits into the universe to show how we are influenced by our environment, thereby viewing the mind as an open system.
The Hierarchical matrix we employ in Mental Relativity is unique in that it allows for the same data to be organized in either a Linearity or a Relativity, depending upon the perspective of the observer. In this way, the system described is both open and closed at the same time, allowing for a unified and consistent view of its arrangement and operation, and moving the paradox back one fractal level of complexity, out of the model and into the mind of the Observer (where it belongs!)
(Copyright 1993 Melanie Anne Phillips & Chris Huntley)
MELANIE’S WISE WORDS OF THE MONTH
“To Be or to Do, THAT is the question!”
– Wilma Snakestare
IN OUR FAMILY….
My daughter, Mindi: You know, when you first started to change, it made me cry, but now I think it’s kinda sensible! I used to be sad because I got embarrassed, but now I think I’m special ’cause none of the other kids have a Dad like you. I’m lucky! (And also, before you changed, you used to get a lot MADDER than you do now).
*ALSO*A couple of lines between Keith and Mindi that made me think of how we sometimes deny the gender we’re handed:
Keith: Here’s a rock, Mindi.
Mindi: Thank you, but I don’t want a rock.
*AND*Mary to Mindi, when Mindi had called for me to come to her in the other room:
“Don’t bother your daddy, she’s doing her nails”.
*FINALLY*Mary to me: You’re a real bitch!
Me to Mary: Thank you, I learned from the best.
And that’s enough from Our Family for this month!
AMERICA ONLINE GENDER GROUP STATISTICS
Contributed by Marsha J, Gender Room Secretary
Attendee Stats as of January 1993
State Distribution
AK. 1 AZ. 1 BC. 2 CA. 25
CO. 1 CT. 5 DE. 1 FL. 12
GA. 2 IL. 9 IN. 4 LA. 4
MA. 8 MD. 4 ME. 1 MI. 3
MN. 2 MO. 4 MS. 2 MT. 1
NC. 2 NH. 1 NJ. 7 NM. 2
NV. 1 NY. 7 OH. 5 OK. 2
ON. 3 OR. 1 PA. 5 TN. 1
TX. 8 UT. 1 VA. 5 VT. 1
WA. 4 WI. 3 WV. 2 WY. 1
179 Attendees
CONGRATULATIONS TO ALL OUR 179 MEMBERS FOR HELPING TO CREATE A SAFE HAVEN OF SUPPORT FOR EVERYONE CONCERNED WITH GENDER ISSUES!!!
GENDER CONFERENCE
Don’t forget to attend the Gender Room Meeting on the America Online BBS in the Gay/Lesbian area in the Community Room at 9pm ET every Sunday evening. For specific information, directions, or to order back logs of the chats, Email Marsha J, the Gender Room secretary.
AFTERGLOW
The Cosmic Flea
By Melanie Anne Phillips
Can you be, a cosmic flea,
‘twixt handle, crank and cog?
A particle that rides the waves,
upon the cosmic dog?
Or are you doomed to be marooned,
along that furry shore?
And strain against the handle,
’til crank turns cog no more?
When I first presented this poem to my peers, it became quickly obvious that I had made its allusions so obscure that all meaning had been lost somewhere between the author and her reader. So, I thought I might do something with this particular piece that an artist seldom does: explain her own work. In a sense then, the poem itself now becomes but a part of the work itself, and the explanation of the poem becomes included in the work. Go figger.
“Can you be, a Cosmic flea”
This first line sets the mood by comparing something “infinitely” large (the Cosmos) to something “infinitely” small (a flea). The coldness of the sterile, unknowning Cosmos is offset and contrasted by the organic muskiness of life. The choice of flea, however makes it (and us, by use of the word “you”) something of a Cosmic pest. The selection of “Can you be” rather that “Could you be” indicates that we are not yet Cosmic fleas, but might someday become them. And finally, the notion of a flea itself, especially one whose playground is the Cosmos, gives rise to speculations of the magnitude of its jumps, already legendary for ordinary fleas. Are we talking light-years here, or travel through time?
‘Twixt handle, crank and cog?”
The handle, crank and cog (in the context of the Cosmos) refer to Celestial Mechanics, in a sense to the laws of physics. In electrical terms, “handle” would be the resistance, “crank” the current, and “cog” the power (the ability to do work) produced at the end. But note that the Cosmic flea is “‘Twixt” (or between) all this. It is not actually a part of the laws of physics, but does its jumping BETWEEN the laws of physics, apparently unbound by them.
A particle that rides the waves,”
“Particle” and “Wave” both refer to light, the one universal constant, but also the key to Einstein’s Relativity. Light sometimes appears as one, sometimes as the other, but is always really both. Here, the Cosmic flea is cast as “a particle that rides the waves”, hinting that it might be seen as only half of the paradox, but intimately related to the other half. The Relativity concept further enhances the belief that our Cosmic flea can fold space and distend time. “Riding” the waves adds a touch of the California surfing culture to the activity, once again portraying the flea as a fun-loving free spirit, unbound by restrictions.
Upon the Cosmic dog?”
Here we limit the flea’s domain for the first time. It is apparently not given full range of the Cosmos, but merely the extent of the Cosmic Dog upon which it frolics. The Cosmic dog gives us our second allusion to an organic (or at least self-aware) being in the Cosmos. Note that the word “dog” spelled backward is “God”. In this line, God is cast as something less than universal in size, rather just another inhabitant of the Cosmos, along with the flea. But the differences in size are such that the Cosmic dog is completely unaware of the Cosmic flea (until it becomes a pest).
Or are you doomed to be marooned,”
The primary words “doomed” and “marooned” are both references to frequent biblical descriptors of the concept of hell; “doomed” referring to one’s personal death and “marooned” referring to an individual isolation. Note also that the term “are you” is used (in contrast to “can you” in the first line. This delineates the real question of the poem: we ARE now doomed, but CAN we be a Cosmic flea (and hence escape to eternal happiness)?
“Along that furry shore?”
Obviously returning to the concept of the Cosmic dog, which has now been changed in our appreciation from a foundation for freedom to a desert island in the Cosmic sea. And our poor, surfing flea shall surf no more, shorebound, grounded.
“And strain against the handle,”
Note that in the second line, Resistance, Current, and Power are described as Handle, Crank and Cog. But what of Potential? What turns the handle? Here we come ’round to realize that something MUST push the handle or Celestial Mechanics (the Cosmos itself) cannot function. The words “stain against”, especially in the context of the gear metaphor, conjures up images of an eighteenth century sweat shop, or perhaps Hamlet musing, “To grunt and sweat under a weary life”. It is we, ourselves, who must provide the motive force to keep the Cosmos working: a noble function attached to a dishonorable role. We are the Prime Movers of the Cosmos (not the Cosmic dog, who remains aloof) and yet we are but a pest, stripped of hope and bound by slavery to turn the handle round and round. What images does this conjure up of the servitude of our own poor and the starving populations of third world nations?
“‘Til crank turns cog no more?”
Easily the end of the universe; the collapse of everything into nothing. The laws of physics freeze, and the poor flea, after an eternity of service is given rest only when there is no time left to enjoy it. The concept of a reward is nowhere mentioned at all. Again, in a more immediate sense, what government and corporate goals chain us to the handle, sapping our strength and our happiness, rewarding us with death? And more: with what PERSONAL goals do we enslave ourselves? To what are we chaining ourselves?
A rather bleak end, to be sure. And yet, recall that this ultimate failure is not stated as the definite end of us all, but rather one of the two alternatives, the other being the carefree Cosmic flea of the first verse. And so, the poem is not intended to arrive at a conclusion, but only to pose the question for further argument.
I have often wondered how many things that an audience perceives in works of art were never seen nor intended by the author consciously. Perhaps an author’s “undermind” supports his work with patterns and comparisons of which he is not aware. So, in a sense, this has been an opportunity to find out. What I have described is what I saw in my own work. (And to be honest, only half of what I have described I saw at the time I wrote it). Yet, the “feelings” behind the creation of this poem contained the seeds of all these interpretations. But are there others? Did I put them there? Did YOU put them there? How much of the work is the author, how much the audience? You tell me.
“May you never find occasion to say, ‘If only…..'”
SUBVERSIVE PUBLICATIONS
NEW VIDEO RELEASE!!!!
“MELANIE SPEAKS!” In this new video, Melanie Anne Phillips explains how she achieved a new voice for her new role. The program provides exercises in Pitch, Timber, Dynamic Range, Affectation, Body English, Vocabulary, and Grammar in a step by step fashion that makes it easy for you to develop your own unique feminine voice and vocal patterns. If you have ever been embarrassed by your voice or have contemplated vocal surgery, see this tape first!!!
Melanie Speaks! – Thirty minute educational video ……….. $20.00
Dry Spell……………………..110 pages, scriptbinding…………. $20.00
An original sci-fi/thriller screenplay by Melanie Anne, following a woman archaeologist as she struggles to destroy a deadly organism discovered while documenting Native American ruins.
Snowstorm……………………..102 pages, scriptbinding……….. $20.00
An action/adventure screenplay by Melanie Anne, that crosses the paths of a teenage boy entered in a dangerous cross-country snowmobile race and the ruthless destruction of an entire town by a druglord.
The Day After Christmas………….50 pages, Softcover………… $5.00
A fully illustrated, satire on the threat of nuclear war that follows the destructive activities of “Saint Nuke” on The Day After Christmas.
Dichotomy……………………..30 Minutes, Cassette Album ……$10.00
12 Original songs by David Michael Phillips, multitrack: keyboard, guitar, vocals.
Tarnished Karma………………..30 Minutes, Cassette Album …$10.00
10 Original songs by David Michael Phillips, just before embarking on transition. Many of the lyrics pertain to the inner conflicts of gender dysphoria in a disguised manner, as this decision was not public at the time. Multitrack: keyboard, guitar, vocals.
All prices are post-paid, U.S. mail. Send orders to:
Melanie Anne Phillips
150 East Olive Avenue,
Suite 203
Burbank, CA 91502
EDITOR’S NOTE: It is my desire to make this publication available free online to all who wish to read it. However, due to copyright laws, any overall license would allow unscrupulous individuals to excerpt portions and use it for their own personal gain. Therefore, should you wish to upload this publication on your BBS or simply generate hardcopies for support groups and friends, please write me about a free license for your specific purpose.
THE SUBVERSIVE
Number 8
February 1993
(Copyright 1993 Melanie Anne Phillips)