Communist China released the chimera virus from the Wuhan lab, killed the whistle blowing doctors then disappeared Hong Kong freedom demonstrators, while Canada continued to give Xi Linping millions of ‘aid’ and set up Chinese Huawei 5 g systems throughout the country. 5 eyes alliance considers Justin Trudeau a security risk. He wont travel to the states. He hardly leaves his mother’s basement. His eyes look like saucers,.
I’m still afraid. I’m listening to people struggling daily now and it’s systemic corruption. The level of distraction increases. I find myself at times unable to shake the sadness. All day I hear of the business losses, the unemployment, the fear of the future, the threat of war. The incompetence of leadership at the federal level, and all the paid riots and civil war against America remind me of the history I read of pre WWI, the pro Hitler forces WWII and the Maoist Revolution. It’s same story different names,
‘I will not fear financial insecurity.’ Yet the future at times looks bleak. Jesus commanded ‘Be not Afraid’. So ‘worrying is wicked!” I remember in a particularly bad blow off the north of Vancouver Island, high seas and wind, night falling and the sailboat taking on water. My older Christian sailing friend was at the helm. I was bailing in the cockpit below him. We’d been discussing the Bible the night before. “Are we wicked yet,” he asked with a pirates gleam. We were definitely wicked
I’m feeling wicked these days despite all my training and experience.
I think I’d like a sex change. I’m weary of warrior William and defending women and children. I’m tired of seeing all the deaths by abortion and the knowing the wealth of abortionists. Bad women have lied and Miley Cyrus rides her ‘wrecking ball’ . Eva Brawn rises from the dead. At least Stalin’s wife killed herself. Mao’s Jiang Quing was the ugliest dirtiest stupidest woman of history. Now Peng Liyuan is the most disgusting disease of a woman the world has ever known. She smiles as she celebrates her husbands murdering innocents, spreading the stink and contagion of her filth all over the world.
Peng Liyuan is Eva Brawn. Worse.
I don’t like Sophie Trudeau but she’s not the evil that Peng Liyuan is. Sophie is just a shallow disgusting trashy bit of self centred fluff who married a stupid stoner without principles, heart or brains. A tool. Sophie’s like Margaret, his mother who oozes entitlement now.
The Charbonneau Enquiry confirmed that Quebec and Montreal and McGill University are ruled by mafia and biker gangs. SNC Lavalin is now linked to the Picton Farms cannibalism and the child sex trafficking of Libya. The head of CSIS says that the Communist Military has infiltrated Canadian education, media and government to the highest level. I talk to immigrants who have escaped ruthless totalitarian regimes like Canada is fast becoming. They say they don’t know where to go now. “I never thought it would happen so quickly here.” The Venezuelean grandmother weeps, telling her sons the horrors they have escaped. I remember all the refugees I saw telling of rape, theft and murder. The Iranian girls raped by the Moslem religious police. The Vietnamese women stripped of all their wealth and raped in trains, the only thing remaining, a diamond drilled into a molar. Freedom’s ‘just another word for nothing left to lose’. It’s the lull before the storm.
I read about a mother Kingfisher defending her eggs from a snake and began to cry. I remember my mother at times like this. I miss the strength of women of her era like Mrs. Churchill.
My Aunt Sally was a soft, brilliant, stylish, tough executive assistant. She flew all over the world. She especially loved attending Baptist Conventions. She was executive assistant to the Canadian Ambassador in Washington during the war. I loved to listen to her stories., She was my favourite Christian. She and her gorgeous girlfriend, Babe, the Executive Assistant to the Head of Esso. When I visited Toronto and stayed with them as an older boy, they always made me laugh. The two of them were so eye catching, glamorous and confident. They reminded me always of that picture of Marilyn Munro and Rita Hayworth.
Mom was the beautiful solid family woman. Her older sister was the wild single divorcee, I remember in the highest heels and the deepest red lipstick. They were two sides of Christian women. Dad even suggested once that she and Babe were lovers. He didn’t think she liked men much. Dad liked the husband she divorced. He was a good sort, “Your aunt didn’t want to be married to a man,” he said. “She was more interested in the Mrs. than the man.” He didn’t say it unkindly, They were best of friends and he loved when she visited Mom because she was happiest when family was all together. My aunt divorced and never married. She had a rich network of beautiful single or divorced Christian women friends, with Babe as her constant companion. Maybe they were just celibate. I’ll never know. She lived in a building with gay men friends so over the years I’ve wondered. I realize that the gay people I knew growing up were always around 1-2 % of the society is a significant number. Looking back I remember the coach, the gym teacher, the women neighbour. There wasn’t discrimination. When the adults spoke of them it wasn’t with disdain but rather like saying, “they’re Ukranian’.
It’s funny now that I contemplate a sex change seeing nothing in the future for old single Christian men. It’s not surgery I think of but more like switching teams. Heterosexual has become as dirty a word as Christian. Social communism calls anyone successful ‘oppressive’. The greatest oppressor of Hocky was Goretsky, the dirty disgusting white privilege symbols, whose legs and hands would be cut off today’s to allow Antifida, Gender Students and BLM get ahead. Intersectionalism and the liberalism of Justin Trudeau. Good old Biological Darwinism. They won’t be satisfied till all Conservative men and women are castrated so maybe I should do it myself. No one admits that one of the attracctivions of transsexualism is ‘identification with the aggressor’. Stockholm syndrome and the gender wars.
I find myself reflecting on those outsiders I knew growing up. The lesbian couple who lived down the street. The gay men I knew in the dance world. I’d been the golden boy and like my friend passed all the male tests of masculinity. I wasn’t able to protect my own child from abortion. I was ridiculed for even caring and condemned for trying,. I envy the joy I know my friends who are grandfather’s feel today. That’s the greatest accomplishment for men. Like the mothers and grandmother’s who tell me their greatest accomplishment and love despite their awards and diplomas are their children and grand children. Family. Communism does everything to stamp out family, It’s the principle threat to the aetheist God of State.
I know that the suit jacket and jeans I wear are based on the British uniform and the country work clothes. I’m weary of being a target. All that fighting the good fright for others has worn me down. I feel free in silk and have a sense of the lightness of being in a skirt or dress. I like sandals and summer clothes rather than the heavy winter wear. I miss the tropics sailing in only shorts or shirtlesss in a sarong. There seems no merit in the role of older childless single Christian man. I’ve done my time as a monk. I discussed joining a monastery again but really don’t want to be a celebrate and love my own barbecue.
I’ve lived the life of a boyfriend. It’s a good service position. I’ve been a husband to angry entitled wives. Marriages begin well and years of bliss one day change and the criticism began. I really believe I’ve known 20 years of great marriage all together but the three years of divorce, the smug judges and the years of rebuilding, I can’t do another Canadian marriage. I think it’s my job. They could wear one mood and one face in the home and smiled so sweetly outside, switching on and off. I just never felt I left the office. I lasted years in the asylum when they’d refuse to get help and their sicknesses got worse. They found someone or some group that blamed me. The courts always blamed the man. I was always the wife as well as the principle provider working several jobs and in the end taking care of the sick one, trying to cover for her addictions, I’ve been a wife for decades to professionals and never was ‘good enough’. There was constant criticism in the end. I remember she wanted a bigger house. We’d just bought her a house. But they bought a bigger house and now our house didn’t survive to have two cats in the yard. I served, did my time and frankly, in the end, it seemed best not to disagree. The consequences were unforgiving. 90% good times in marriage but the 10% bad was not worth it in the end. Three strikes you’re out. I married in the end for children only to find they didn’t want children too. It’s not like I didn’t say this either. “I thought you’d change your mind. I never wanted to have children.” said the princess.
I hear the song in my head ‘girl’s just want to have fun’ and think yes, that’s what I want. I wonder to if I’m missing that summer of 69. I sometimes reflect back on the hedonism and frivolity and community of silly love and peace when I was naive and really did sing Kumbaya. I smoked dope with the most beautiful girl in the world and we had such fun till the summer of years ended and we both went our separate ways. I was always searching for God in all the wrong places.
Divorces were the nails in the coffin. More so was the call to serve. A clear message in a chapel and the certainty that I was doing God’s will in my work and service. My ex wife hated that I worked in the north with the natives. They admired the suburban doctors and the high rise suited clinicians who acted like lawyers and accountants and never wore the white lab coat outside the office. They hated the calls I took at home and established their practice in university protected by the institution and safe in the centre of the herd surrounded by men and women who protected this main military unit. I was out beyond the wire, in the wilderness, too many nights alone, afraid, always afraid. A scout. At best militia. I volunteered. They were smarter and didn’t.
I thought I could treat her addiction getting her away from her home. I thought I could lift her out of the misery of her past. I thought that we could be free to serve as doctors and all that sordid family addiction, their heroin and alcoholism and the suicides and death of their families would be behind us. But it wouldn’t work. She came back to that and the lies and the all night long abuse. I loved that scene in the movie where the guy had to work the next day and the wife was keeping him up all night on coke.
I sometimes reflect back on the betrayals and communists destruction of family, Marx and Engles insisting that the State must rule. I remember asking for help. It’s all so long ago. The betrayals and the lies and the psychopaths and sociopaths and gratitude. I survived. I carried on. I was blessed to have men and women who were older and wiser and more experienced to talk to. My brother and family were there for me too. No one blamed her. Men mostly blame men. Women blame men too.
I prayed and meditated and paid off the debts she’d created and again built a life afraid of the violence of women, their lies and the mob and their protection in the courts. I was wrong too, but found my self saying, like Lear, “I’m more sinned against than sinning,” Then I met my friends, a band of brothers, all who had scars from divorces and sisters and the evil tyranny of beurocrats and corrupt government and the lie of booze. They’d known drunken judges and evil dictators. We’d all let our guards down. We had all been fools. We laughed. God how we laughed. All of us falsely accused. One with a dozen scars from knife attacks and broken bottles across his head and the woman was the ‘victim’. She said she was ‘oppressed’ , took his house and money and his reputation. I was cuckolded but he was utterly smeared by her lies. We met women who like us had been deceived. They didn’t think it was gender. This new adult class of women, not the girls of feminism, the real women, the ones who looked at good and evil and felt they’d failed as well. We were sinners and the groups now had neon signs saying ‘thou shalt not judge’.
Jung described Animus and Anima. There was further the good feminine and the bad feminine, the good male and the bad male of myth. It’s a thin line and years of studying philosophy and theology I learned that attachment and love were together , like courage and fear. We are all Adam and Eve. The stories are of ourselves. In this moment I’m alone and all the stories are mirrors of myself. I am the married and the divorced. I’m dancer and the dance to quote Campbell. Emerson summed it up with his poem, the red slayer. ‘If the red slayer thinks he slays, or the slain thinks he’s slain, they know not well the ways I keep and turn and toss again.” If she’d wanted to kill me I’d be dead, We loved, not the thin love of Canada but the love of ancient passion.
My memory of her hurting me is balanced by my forgetting her being hurt by me. She was physical. I was emotional. The joke about Sado Masochism goes, What does the masochist say, “beat me, beat me’....what does the sadist say, “no’.
It’s all coupled and only the stupidity and ignorance of the courts which are only interested in money could reduce the spiritual and love to the merger and sordid. The Canadian Courts are Marxist too, shallow, new and without depth. The greatest couple studied by science, asked if they thought of divorce, answered, “divorce never, murder yes.” Communism is devoid of passion. It’s just one dimensional. Everything is power. Lizard brain entertainment. Commitments don’t exist in communist countries. There’s only single people there.
For depth you must have family. Discussing the religion of Hinduism and Buddhism, the Jain told Laura and I that the Hindu Buddha has his eyes open and the Buddhist Buddha had his eyes closed. One is the religion of the family and the other of the individual and monk. I studied with Christian monks and loved the Greek Orthodox man who gave me a cup of tea and a cookie while I sat with him in my heels and grey skirt, white blouse and grey jacket. At that moment we were disciples beyond gender. I felt like Jesus and that he was Mary. Martha had made the biscuits.
Inside of us are all the stories of our being, the play of our family and marriages and families and friends and work relations. My native minister friend loves to close her prayers with ‘all my relations’ and laughs at the tales of the ‘two spirits’. I think of Bukaroo Bonzai and Raiders from the 8th dimension, the catholic trapped by his past in the wall and lost with the aliens. Transformations and transitions and the comfort of being inside.
I’ve been blessed as a healer. I’ve felt like the Channel of St. Francis. I’ve hidden the stigmata of my hands and feet and been afraid to be exposed. As long as people focus on ny saying ‘fuck’ I feel I’m safe but not so much now. Communists are too closed and sick to ‘fuck off’. They mowed the Tibetan monks down with machine guns. The Dalai Lama was the child they sought to kill but he escaped to India just as Herod had wanted to kill Jesus but he escaped to Egypt.
Now the abortionists don’t take chances. They kill all the babies before they’re born. The satanist who love sex with children and eat human flesh can’t afford to have a messiah born again or the return of the Messiah. The mark of the beast is on them. Revelations is showing in the stories of the land. I prefer the image of the Borg. I see the left wing Liberals demanding we all assimilate. That’s the lie of communist speak, 1984, the hypocrisy. Animal Farm. Goebbels said just tell a bigger lie. Walls are no good say all the corrupt with their own walls. Guns are no good say all the corrupt with their own guns. The young like the words. Das Kapital and the Communist Manifesto read pretty but adult life is messy and behaviour tells. I’m becoming Klinger in the story of MASH. I’m not a woman. I’m a man. But I don’t want to wear uniforms anymore. I don’t want to wear sensible shoes. I’m too old for heels too.
The world is sad and afraid. I’m sad and afraid. ‘Steal a little and they put you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king.’ Samuel Johnson paraphrased by Dylan. ‘What’s a good girl like you doing in a place like this.” Communists have always killed half their countries and taken the best. Kill the rich and give to the poor is their slogan. Kill the rich, ‘ they say, then they give to themselves’ In my mind I’m poor knowing the wealth of the wealth. “Feel the Bern” Bernie said with his many mansion
Xi Linping has his many duchaus and private armies. I’m rich though, compared to the homeless addict so he’s told that I’m the problem. Communism destroys the middle class. Marx was a black and white thinker. He never understood history.. He had no depth. A Kafetch,. The moderates like the Mensheviks and parliamentarians died before the Molotov Cocktails and guns of he Bolsheviks. Lenin, Stalin, Molotov and Trotsky made short thrift of them just like the Communist Chinese genocided Tibet and now are murdering the geniuses of Hong Kong. He who forgets history is doomed to repeat it.
I mostly feel like a voice over on a comic strip. I struggle with the physics of time and free will and determinism. The Big Bang theory and God. It’s easier to follow the programming. Don’t deviate. Internalize the terror. I think of Walden Pond and Thoreau and civil disobedience. These thugs and killers soil the name of Martin Luther and Mandela.
I’m a coward. Courage is overcoming fear. I did that as a man and fought all the good fights and never backed down. I fought for the safety of my patients. I fought for my friends. It began in school fighting bullies and protecting nerds and girls. I’ve been shot at too many times and stabbed and faced too many gangs as an adult. I found walking in high heels on Davie street, being targeted by a car load of thugs, I gained new admiration for women in their vulnerability. The brown thugs brutalized a smaller gay man that night He was in the news. My friend Laura is tiny by comparison. She’s shown such courage in her life. I loved the courage and valour of the pregnant girls, I new, especially in all the deliveries, I did.
I loved my father. He was the greatest man I knew. I miss him but I’ve found myself missing my mother and how she held me as a child. The safety that was there.
Feminism never celebrated women. It celebrated girls who acted like men. I was a women’s liberationist and still am. I believe in meritocracy and love that my friend did plastic surgery better than I did. We put it down to her tiny hands and love of delicacy. I liked the heavy handed surgery and planned to do general surgery or orthopaedics. She sewed. I chopped wood. We were friends. There never was competition. Yet all my life I’ve suffered from lesser women who wanted to compete with me. My equals and superiors never bother. I compete against myself as do they. We stopped competing with others back in our teens. Adults compete with themselves.
There is no benefit for a man in competition with a woman ,but there is no loss for a woman who loses a fight with a man. It’s all in the light weight and heavy weight and professional boxing. Now I’ve a BA student who wants to tell me, a doctor-doctor-doctor , what to do. It’s the same thing. Communism. Marx loved that he ‘turned Hegel on his head. ‘ The politics of the fringe. The night of the long knives the brown shirts raided the sex institute and destroyed all the files. Antifida and BLM are the Brown Shirts today.The Leader of BLM was a sex trafficker and a Marxist. Same playbook , different day.
A black woman dressed me in high wedgies and a short skirt, Jamaican colours, yellows, reds and blacks. I wanted to make a pilgrimage to Stonewall. The girls in pink beat the boys in blue. The photographer owner of Faces of New York followed me for blocks begging me to let him take my picture for his book. I regret that I said no today. At the time it was a personal thing. I’d been raped and it was called ‘just busting his cherry’. I didn’t care any more. I’d met so many people who’d lost legs and arms and brains but then and wanted to stop the silly. I sat in the bar drinking coffee and watched the drag show with all the rich young people dressed in power clothes. They never knew the 60’s. They didn’t know history. I remember the sound of the bullets going by my ears as the passing car full of rednecks shot at the long haired hippy. I never ran faster that time the Saskatchewan boys picked me up hitchhiking and told me that they’d given me a ride because they’d always wanted to beat on a long hair. I jumped out of the moving car and ran through the cornfields with three older guys chasing me with baseball bats. I”m so thankful I was fast.
I loved the book Pink Zwastica and the discussion of the sexual deviance and pedophilia in the SS. The Mexican sheriff over tequila told me he wasn’t a homosexual, “I have too much sex for women alone. I have to fuck boys and girls. I am a real man.” The man who had come out of prison after years told me “I’ve never been gay. I fuck men but I’m not gay.’
The Nazi killed the effeminate. Those were the gays the Nazis jailed and sent to their death in Auschwitz..
I treated Sadists and Masochists. The women who loved to cause pain and torture were to my mind the worst. They sometimes used men. I was shocked working in the jails and with the dangerously insane. Those with Governor General warrants were a real education. I have often thought the teachers in liberal arts schools and political scientists should be required to spend some time there just like we used to get gang teens to tour the jails to meet the real criminal world. I’ve met such trash and heard such bullshit out of the ignorant and naive who teach at the university. Psychopaths would just as soon eat you as talk with you. There are terms, ‘educable’ and ‘trainable’; for a reason. But drugs trapped people in their minds and so many people can live in bubbles and the internet now unites us with our kind whatever that is.
I’m not alone but I’m an outsider and I’m thankful for Gladwell’s writing and others.
Today I’m hoping to get my desk. I have to remove the couch to make room for it. I will shower first. I’ll have another cup of coffee later. I like walking the dying dog. I take my camera and get pictures while he lingers over scents, blind and sore. We both walk stiffly at times. It depends on the weather.
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