Because I’m convinced we’re all very busy writing or plagiarizing or parodying songs about tiny men and giantesses, I decided to create a contest about it. I begin to suspect that only a few of us ever entertain the thought of composing original songs about people of different sizes. An even smaller number does it credibly. I’ve heard a couple of amazing works thus far.

My own songs are childish and mediocre, but you don’t see that stopping me from putting them together! Nope. I’ve also become interested in promoting my Size Tunes 2017 contest with commissioned images, the one above being the first of… I don’t know how many. Let’s see how addicted I become to DeviantArt artists. This one was made for me by TeaQuill, who is currently accepting commissions. I’m very happy with it.

I’m also quite sure we all like to be sung to, simply because I do. The idea of a shrunken man that serenades his giantess has always struck a deep chord with me. It doesn’t matter that he sounds like food cans being crushed, or that what he sings is the ABCs. What matters is that he does it; that he stands there and entertains her, and earns her heart by exposing himself, and giving her an offering that is part of who he is.

Speaking of who we are, this is who I am:

(Just the lyrics. The song file is just too much to share.)

(Hmm. Where’s my Dollhouse song?)

(I’ll post it later. I can’t find the lyrics right now.)

(But enjoy the image, and think of words to sing to your giantess.)

(Or your tiny man, if you have one that inspires you.)



Size Tunes 2017

Lah lah lah

I’ve had this idea for years. I contemplated it, and never did anything about it, until now. Back then, because I used to go to boards and talk to a lot of people, I got to know a few of them a bit, and as it turns out, nearly every one of them had some musical ability. When I published the collage above, I received a file composed by a blog reader, inspired by it… so the idea of songs inspired by size differences is not at all outlandish, and it’s certainly something a few of us have thought about, and done more than just think about.

So… it’s high time we have us a music contest:

I’m just going to sit here quietly, and while I wait for songs you write about giantesses, or tiny men, or gigantic/tiny feet, or micro-robots, or foxes the size of the solar system, to come my way, I’ll mess around with Garage Band, and see what I can come up with. I can sing my own songs, but when the time comes, I might get someone at fiverr® to do my singing for me. Everyone in my family knows my voice. Or I could just use Audacity to alter my pitch… oh this cracks me up!


“Birdy 2” by Fetish3D

I was listening to “Broken” by Depeche Mode for the millionth time, when it came to me that I should change the lyrics to suit my giant thoughts about shrinking that very special little man in my world, Hopier… so here they are.


I want all the control
And almost no pain
How much will I shrink you
As you scream in vain

I see the man that I knew
Cannot be found
Replaced by another
Who’s shrinking down

There’s a place where you’ll go
Without any sound
Only you can hear me
Only I’m allowed

You’ll be so far away
So far from here
You won’t remember
Old times, all those years

When you’re shrinking, I will catch you
You will shrink so much, so far
You will make it, I will be here
You were shrunken from the start

When you were a man
You’d dream all day long
You’d dream of a woman
You thought it was wrong

Now that time is gone
It’s real for you now
Now that you’re caught in
My hand as you howl

When you’re shrinking, I will catch you
You will shrink so much, so far
You will make it, I will be here
You were shrunken from the start

Should Be Higher

Here I sit, listening to my old external drive whirring as it bestows upon this new Mac my old, beloved GTS and iTunes files. There is some trash among the treasures… I was wincing as I reread some of my super early cyber sex ventures. I was ridiculous. Now I’m awesome (or would be if I was still engaging in such lurid activities). No one else was ridiculous, by the way. Just me. Ahem.

Depeche Mode is also awesome. Their Delta Machine is not buried among the files saved from the ruins of my previous iMac, so I was listening to it earlier as I was emptying my fridge’s contents—they begin to mutate if you don’t eat them by their date of sentencing—into the trash.  I love Should Be Higher for more reasons beyond the peppy, pounding melody. It speaks to the part of my mind that sees a little guy, and it transforms the lyrics into this:

A man and a woman stand very close to each other. He whispers in her ear,

“I dream of a day when I dare to believe you’re the answer
When the shame and the guilt are removed and the truth appears
Oh the touch of your hand, I lose who I am if I want to
I tried to resist but succumb to the bliss of your kiss”

As she kisses him, he begins to shrink. In seconds, he’s sprawled at her feet. As she plucks him from the floor, she says,

“You should be higher
I’ll take you higher
Don’t be afraid
You’ll just have to pray”

He struggles to remain conscious, blood rushing down as she lifts his tiny body, pinched between thumb and fingers. He tries to sound reproachful,

“Your lies are more attractive than the truth”

She answers,

“Love is all I want”

He continues, [and I don’t know how to explain his usage of the word “book”, so it goes on unexplained] .

“Your lies are written down there in your book”

She replies, shaking her head,

“Love is all I want”

He tries to ascertain his current altitude, but the pressure from her fingers has begun to impede coherent thought,

“Your arms are infected
They’re holding the truth”

Amused, she crooks one corner of her mouth,

“Oh stop all your crying
This one you’ll lose
You should be higher
I’ll take you higher
Don’t be afraid
You’ll just have to pray”

“Your lies are more attractive than the truth”

“Love is all I want”

“Your lies are written down there in your book”

“Love is all I want
You should be higher
You should be higher”

She stops his ascent, only long enough to allow him to see where he will land when she releases him. She drops him.

Thank you, David Gahan. sigh I can only hope to see them live next year.


Flash and Moon

Those are their names. Really.
Those are their names. Really.

And I don’t think you have to ask who’s Flash and who’s Moon. This is their story, also kind of a song. You know the one. Mmm mmm mmm mmm.

Once there was this woman who

grew very tall one day and couldn’t fit inside her home anymore

And when she finally came to terms with her new size

she left her town to see the world

* * *

Once there was this man who

got into an accident and started to shrink small

And when he finally saw he wouldn’t get any tinier

he left his home to see the world

* * *

And both woman and man were glad

’cause no one had it better than they had

* * *

‘Cause then there was this woman who

met this little man who understood the way she felt

And when she fell in tall love

he fell in love with her too

They couldn’t quite explain it

it was as though they’ve always felt that way

There really wasn’t a “scene” that went with this collage when I created it. I saved this Sandra Bullock image three years ago when I was looking for good ones of her to modify to suit my gigantic thoughts. This one wasn’t the best, or the clearest, but at that time it made me smile to imagine myself in her place, irreverent and mischievous as I flash an entire city (I think I envisioned some nice undies for myself, though), in response to their passing legislation against the usual state of undress in giantesses.

Your Tiny People rules don’t apply to us, you see. Our nude is belong to us.

Anyway, I forgot all about it until 2007, when while sifting through my collages-for-my-blog material, I spotted it again. I still had no little story to go with it, but some things I had read online on a board… some giantess board, its name I can’t possibly remember… about some members protesting collages because male “junk” was visible.

There’s a part of me that understands, but there’s another part of me that thinks, “I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed a female member protest the countless collages that involve female private parts, yet we do see some men protesting the visible male ones. What’s that about?” In the end, there are always going to be some people protesting something. Too much nudity, too little, not enough giantess action, too much intelligent dialogue, not beautiful enough, not girl-next-door enough, not enough points, too many threads, not enough- Ah, you get the point.

I’m more the type that keeps her trap shut and clicks on what she wants, or better yet, makes the sort of stuff she wants to click on while complaining about stuff on her blog.

Which brings me to this here collage. There’s that woman, you know her as the actress that she is, but for my collage she becomes an extension of me. She’s spirited, loving, possessive, thoughtful, often irreverent and definitely naughty. She prefers to expose her dirty thoughts to this one little guy that warms her heart, though. Not the whole town, or the world. Just that one Little Man that gets to look up and see all that she has to offer, the one that inspires her to grab that skirt hem and smile as she shows him the rest of his life.

Or the afternoon, at least. Little guys get tired so quickly. Tsk tsk.

He's My Tiny

A repost from my old blog.

He wants to shrink too.
He wants to shrink too.

Lesley Gore performed songs that were hits before my time, but made their way into the soundtracks of ’80s movies I watched and liked. Four years ago, in December of 2004, I must have been watching Sixteen Candles or some other such movie when I thought of changing the lyrics of “It’s My Party” by Lesley Gore, into “He’s My Tiny”.

I love breaking into plagiarized song, especially when I modify lyrics to fit those very special, tall thoughts of concocting a shrinking formula (that’s what I refer to when I sing about “mixing ingredients”) and making a man very tiny and breaking the law and abducting him against his will and keeping him forever even though he had a different plan for his life.

He’s My Tiny

Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone
I’m thinking of him all the time
Why was he gone from my hand
When he’s supposed to be mine

He’s my tiny, and he’ll shrink if I want to
Shrink if I want to, shrink if I want to
You would shrink too if I happened to you

Mixin’ ingredients, keep plottin’ all night
Leave me alone for a while
‘Til Johnny’s shrinking for me
I’ve got no reason to smile

He’s my tiny, and he’ll shrink if I want to
Shrink if I want to, shrink if I want to
You would shrink too if I happened to you

My darling Johnny might walk through the door
Like a king for his queen
Oh what a Christmas surprise
if I could make him my ring

He’s my tiny, and he’ll shrink if I want to
Shrink if I want to, shrink if I want to
You would shrink too if I happened to you

Lesley Gore – It’s My Party

Dollhouse Blues

I posted this at my old blog, and I wasn’t planning on allowing it to see the light of day again, but I received a request for a repost, so here it goes.

It’s cheesy, and it makes me feel like Elizabeth Shue in Adventures in Babysitting, except without the fake applause from a crowd that should have wielded tomatoes.

Ghosts of Blues Past, pray forgive me.

People that are sick of the “g” being dropped from the end of words, especially by politicians, I beg your pardon. I wrote this song a long time before the presidential campaign sank its teeth into proper grammar.

To be sung while simultaneously laughing and crying. Guitar or blindness are not prerequisites.
To be sung while simultaneously laughing and crying. Guitar or blindness are not prerequisites.

There ain’t no deeper kinda hurtin’

Than the one a roamin’ man gives

Pants and shoes, ties and shirt in

A little bag that says he leaves


Can’t you hear me baby, booming ‘cross the floor?

Can’t you feel my heart, a thunder you can’t ignore?

Can’t you hear my weeping past the kitchen door?

‘Cause inside it feels like I won’t see you no more


The dollhouse in the bedroom lonely

The dollhouse in the backyard full

I see you ‘cross a few feet only

Distance cackling in a way called cruel


Why you lean and smile baby, rubbing salt on the wound?

Why you tell me you’re there just one summer afternoon?

Why you giggle and boss me around, tellin’ me to come over?

When gone is gone, be it worlds or backyard I must cover


‘Cause you belong on me, in me, with me

And you are mistaken if you think this is a plea

Come I will, and grab by hand my roamin’ man

My dollhouse blues gone red with the fire you fan


Bessie Smith – Empty Bed Blues

Shrinking Him

It’s Saturday, so that means…


And he slowly dwindles down in size, traveling down the wall of her body.
And he slowly diminishes in size, traveling down the wall of her body.

Sing with me now:

Making him tiny and watching him dwindle;
Seeing his fear as his passion is kindled;
Soft skin that tingles as it slowly shrinks;
These are a few of my favorite things.


Growing gigantic, becoming far taller;
Seeing my love and his pants look much smaller;
Watching the world from above as it shrinks;
These are a few of my favorite things.

But today I’m going with the first one.

Welkin – Small

Stay Cool, Boy

I put this entry up on my old blog last summer, probably about a year ago, during one of those extra hot days. I find hot weather much more pleasant this year, and that’s one mental shift I don’t quite get. Years past I’ve bellyached incessantly about how hot it is, and how uncomfortable the heat makes me feel, and this year not only am I unable to muster any energy in the same direction, but I’m actually grateful for the warmth.

Something else I don’t get is why in the sphincter of hell I’m admitting I spent any time whatsoever thinking of the “songs” I’m posting below. Now they seem to trip and fall face first on the ridiculous. I’m not sorry I worked on the collage, though. It’s one of my favorites among my own, despite the seven levels of torture that was to work on that water.

Pool toys
Pool toys

About four or five years ago I grabbed a notebook and wrote made-up lyrics from West Side Story songs. I told myself a little story about my left shoe or foot being the West Side, and my right one the East Side.

The foundation of this idea was that for a small man, say a man only two inches in height, a foot of such gigantic size (two in my case) would be a multifaceted playground; each of geography so varied to his size, of proportions so monumental that they would begin to take life of their own, obviously on a primitive level, the one that spoke to early men and told them the sky was full of gods (“My stars, it’s full of gods!“), and the ocean full of monsters.

In addition to that, I had also just watched West Side Story again, and the songs were floating in my head nearly every day.

Anyway, each toe was a gang member I think, and the East Side gang called themselves The Lints. Somehow, in the middle of all this, my Little One and I developed a sort of bullying, bizarre love story where I was both the main interest, and the opponent. It’s best not to try to make much sense of it, but it was, as all of this, very entertaining for my mind.

I can’t find all the lyrics I invented, especially my favorite, One Hand, One Heart, but here are some I did find.

From the Jet Song:

Here comes [my name]:

Little world, step aside!

Better go underground

Better run, better hide!

I Feel Pretty:

“See that little man in that sandal there? (What sandal? where?)

Who can that wee tiny man be? (who? what? when? where?)

Such a little head, such a little smile, such a little face…”


The doc* is gonna have her way tonight

The doc is gonna have her way tonight

I’ll shrink him to 2 inches, unfair height!

but if he starts a rumble, I’ll stomp him right

And what I’m singing tonight, because of this hot weather, even though the lyrics don’t have a thing to do with that kind of temperature:


Boy, boy, tiny boy,
Get cool, boy!
Wriggly small pet in my pocket,
Keep coolly cool, boy!

Don’t get hot,
‘Cause man, you’ve got
To keep a cool head
When I grow don’t let fear show,
When I lift you up and go to bed!

Boy, boy, little boy!
Stay loose, boy!
Breeze it, buzz it, easy does it.
Turn on the juice, boy!

Go man, go,
But not on my toe, no, schoolboy.
Just play it cool, boy,
Real cool!

Leonard Bernstein – West Side Story, The Dance at the Gym

*As in the female doc that invents a shrinking formula. Namely me.