Colin Falconer

I’m reading Colin Falconer’s Silk Road. It’s a brilliant adventure historical fiction.  It pairs a Templar with a Dominic papal priest travelling from to the ‘centre of the universe’, Karakoram, capital of the Mongol Empire,  near the centre of modern day Mongolia.  They are on a mission to speak to the Khan but what is so enjoyable are their meeting with people along the silk route, their conversations, the great adventures, the incredible Tatar Princess, and the comparison of her with the Chin Dynastiy women. All the while there is discussion of Buddhism, Mohammedism, Christian Nestorianism and the most rigid Catholicism as opposed to the liberal faith based Templar tradition. Great wars and romance and visual delights woven by the greatest of story tellers.I am so glad I’ve found this new author.

He’s right up there with previous authors of historical fiction like American writer, James Michener’s whose books were a wealth of history, geography and philosophy. Michener’s characters and plot are not  as well developed as Falconer’s whose more comparable to the great African writer Wilbur Smith.  His writing certainly captures conflict well like Tolstoy, but equally the sensual like D.H. Lawrence  His passion in not at all salacious as George Macdonald Frazer, creator of that greatest that great historical fiction character, Flashman. I was excited to find Falconer as I was to find Peter Rimmer whose writer is as ‘full’ and ‘absorbing’.  This Silk Road captured me as Flight of the Fish Eagle did.  Colin Falconer is simply brilliant though in his ability to take the most erudite subject, a discussion of the nature of being, and turn it into a dialogue as good as Franny and Zoey of Salinger or Steppenwolf of Herman Hesse. 

I’ve downloaded several more of his books as happy as I was when I found Baldacci, Daniel Kallas, Ian Rankin, Anthony Melville-Ross,Phillip McCurtchan, Hiiansen, Harlan Coban, Manda Scott, Bernard Cornwall,  Griff Hosker,  Louis L’Amour, Tom Clancy, Asimov.  Each of so many writers has been just that good that I haven’t been able to stop at one.  Like ice cream they cry for more.  I’m an inveterate reader of every genre except perhaps horror though Steven King is the exception.  I can remember young when I ‘found’  Robert Heinlein and later Douglas Adams.  True treasures.  But historical fiction has always had it’s appeal for me a student of history.  I’ve often read a text of ‘non fiction’ history alongside an historical fiction enchanted by the tale woven by the writer who not only is a story teller but a researcher.  

Finding Colin Falconer has awakened that delight I’ve known again and again though less with age. I sometimes feel jaded and a bit ‘bored’ by modern writers, like the too predictable detective story.  I liked reading Tannis Laidlaw recently who adds to the Agatha Christie genre.  As a psychologist her insights into humans are so engaging. Colin Falconer though does all of this and more with his intimate grasp of ideas ,brilliant caracterization and the truly epic adventure tale.  

Thank you.  I now have quite a few books to read when the books shelves were less well stocked than those of the young man. That young man simply soared to meet Dostoyevsky,  William Somerset Maugham , Winston Churchill and H.G. Wells. Now it takes an Abraham Verghese , Cutting the Stone to lift me out of older age and that ennui so well written of in the Bonfire of the Vanities.

Thank you, Colin Falconer for being a truly inspirational  author that keeps me up late at night, glad to be alive, looking forward to the next page like a child enthralled by the campfire tale. . 

Shopping

I actually used my ‘reminder’ app on the iPhone.  I’d get three of the 7 on the list done.  I would have missed one without the memory assist.  So organized.  

I left the poor little cockapoo forlorn at home to guard the premises.  He looked so dejected.  I armed the security system but left off the nanny cam. He got in trouble yesterday for attacking a cushion, killing it and beginning to eviscerate it. He’s been on good behaviour since I shouted at him and told him ‘no’ in no uncertain terms. It’s been a month since he killed Big Bird, my down comforter.  He’s learning.  Still less than a year.  He’s acting like a big boy with a ferocious bark when neighbor dogs come into his yard. 

The Vespa Touring 300 is still a darling Scooter. I’ve the big Harley but in the city will I much prefer the Vespa. I’m off to look at a folding electric bike tomorrow morning. Deer hunting begins in December. I’d love to leave the Vespa but have a bike I can put in the back seat of the truck. I’ll be using the Honda 420 Rancher ATV for hunting.  Ride up into the mountains and settle in on deer trail hoping a buck comes within range of my Excaliber bow. I’ll have a rifle along for black bear as the season has opened for them.  Rifle season for deer opens later in Sept.  

Laura’s coming. We’ve been texting back and forth this week excited by the nearness of the trip.  The camper and truck are ready to go and we’re booked into a full service camp ground with Wifi water , electricity, sewage and wifi. The ATV trails lead off from the RV campground.

I parked the Vespa in the Mall parking lot. I’m wearing my new painted half boots.  Very unique.  I love them and at Cobs a pretty lady standing next to me complimented me on the boots.  I liked that.  I’d stopped at the precious jewel stored and bought some amber stud earrings. I saw they were on sale when I looked in once when I in the mall to pick up my Mail. No time then but now I have a couple of pairs of amber earrings. I’ve lost so many over the years.  Motorcycle helmets eat them.  No matter how much I try to remember and check.  Motorcycle helmets are sneaky and they just love amber earrings.  The gold studs do much better.  

My Cuisianart coffee grinder died. I was going to take it to a little repair shop I’d seen in the neighbourhood but a couple of weeks later nothing had happened. I chucked it in the garbage.  Decided I couldn’t mess with the morning schedule. I’d been using my back up camp grinder.  The Bay had the exact one and it had a 3 year warranty.  Stupid of me. I’ll remember to keep the receipt and this one will last decades.  They are only $100 and I did get a year or so wear out of the last one.  I’ve a new one now.

My coffee bean roaster died today too. I think the universe is criticizing me for drinking so much coffee in the morning.  Ethiopia’s Lallibella carved  underground churches, the Likes of the Pyramids,  have been overrun by the Tigray communist mobs.  This is at the same time the Taliban has routed Biden from Afghanistan and are murdering more Christians while Trudeau continues to rant about Islamophobia. His cabinet called the Taliban ‘our brothers’ , somehow forgetting they’d killed hundreds of Canadian soldiers in the last year.  Ethiopian coffee is the source of the first coffee and I have been able to order Yirgacheffe and Sedona beans on Amazon. A local East Africa store brought in a lot of the green beans so I bought a lot and have been roasting and grinding this nectar all through Covid.  Outside the monastery in Ethiopia I sat under coffee trees and watched as it was made for me, a highlight of my pilgrimage to Ethiopia.  I couldn’t find a roaster in the mall and was so disappointed that Ming Woo kitchen store has closed .Flight centre has gone too. So many specialty shops have fallen to the lockdowns.  I’m thankful for those that survived.

I did get an inexpensive toaster that advertises itself as 50% faster than other toasters.  I love toast but don’t like waiting for my slow expensive toaster which makes perfect toast.  In the morning I just want toast as a platform I can smear peanut butter and jam on.  Mostly in the morning I have a yoghurt and a protein bar.  If I’ve been prepared I have hard boiled eggs and with fall coming I’ll definitely have more toast and jam and even porridge.  

The chill is in the air.  I have enjoyed watching the geese go overhead in V’s .  I’m not ready for the summer to end. I could easily enjoy another month of hot sun and lying on the lawn chair in the back yard. With Covid and the Flu I’m bearing up for the war of immunology and climate. I’ve bought more vitamins today.  I’m taking extra D and Zinc.

This pumpkin latte at Starbucks is really good.  I’ve had several ‘shopping days’ this summer and am actually enjoying the ‘outings’.  The coffee break and a little writing thrown into the middle of the walking about from store to store looking at merchandise and people works. I’m actually fatigue and I’ve only done this for an hour.  Shopping is rather exhausting and for a low activity sport it’s surprising.  I’ve not spent much money not like the day I bought shoes and had more peircings.  So it doesn’t seem to be a direct consequence of the outflow of money energy.  It just always seems tiring.  Even when I’ve shopping in out door markets I’ve come away tired. Perhaps its the mass of people or the slow speed or hauling parcels.  I do like getting home and looking at the loot.  Consumerism.  Consumer therapy.   

Normally I know exactly what I want, like the folding electric bicycle. I’ve been researching them for years and again for the last month. I’ll go tomorrow and if the one I like is fine in person I’ll just buy it and leave.  “Men shop like they fuck,” a woman told me.  There’s some truth to it.  This sauntering about looking at everything and occasionally picking something is a bit feminine.  I suppose I’ve done something similar in a hard ware store. But this mall shopping bit is fairly novel. I’m mostly doing it with girlfriends. I suppose I could learn to like it.  On space ships the mall and the walking about inside will be de rigour.

I’m so looking forward to being in the woods though …..a few days. 

Now to get back and load the Vespa and relieve the little guy whose no doubt feeling abandoned and neglected and calling dog counsellors to discuss his feelings of neglect.  Meanwhile I’m thinking it’s good for him to do some work.  In a week or two he’ll be a Knight attacking a dragon partridge to retrieve it for me.  What fun!!!

Random Thursday

Laura wrote that it was National Dog Day.  Last night some one phoned at 4 am. Woke me. I didn’t answer. No message. I couldn’t get back to sleep.  Thinking of blocking the number. Not sure how to do it. Flashbacks to call nights.  Guts and gun shot wounds.  Crisis line calls.  Attempted suicide. Violence.  I was afraid a lot in my work. Dangerously insane. Unknown strangers. Then the lying psychopaths with false accusations and their friends in high places waiting to help social terroris. The PM paying terrorists who killed medics 10 million dollars.  I’d loved Barbarella but the day she became Hanoi Jane, she became ugly. Talking to POW’s who were being tortured while the commandant quoted ‘beautiful American actress’.  Trudeau , scum of the earth. Already I didn’t like him but that day he paid the Muslim terrorists 10 million dollars was the day the light went out of the world. Davos and Agenda 21.  Was life a nightmares. Epstein’s Suicide. The Trumped up dossier on Trump.  The PM ‘taking a knee’ in the Marxist BLM riots.  Public health officials saying its okay to have political rallies but not to gather for converts.  The lies and more lies and insanity on steroids.  Media gone mad.

It’s hard to get back to sleep since Covid. I’d been dreaming of taking a group of friends on my sailboat into that harbour I always return to in my dreams.  Tom was there and Laura to.  Madigan was with me. Then I was in a huge cathedral where people were sitting about discussing God and life, ethics and character.  I next was in a cafe and I had my Excaliber 30:06 with me and another man was there cleaning his rifle. It might have been Kevin.  I was talking to George and that’s when I woke up to the phone. Thankful to remember the dreams.  The locations were part of my heaven. This place I go in my dreams, an Athens like peninsula.

Madigan cuddled and comforted me through the night. I tried to get back to sleep and dozed and prayed.  

I began this blog as a step up from my previous writing collection. Since I was a teen I’ve been writing. I had 3 ring binders. I kept a personal journal which had a recurrent theme of guilt about masturbating then about sex then about masturbation.  A personal journal chronicling my lust and short fall from love.  I’d also record resentments and self pity.  Then I had another binder which was about travel and ideas.  I had for years story and poetry snippets.  Then there were long philsophival and theological discourses .I kept these in cardboard boxes which ended up in basements and storage lockers.

When I began this blog I had several themes and others have told me they wished I’d separated them like I did the binders.  One was the journal.  It still records the confusion about sex drive. Freudian psyvhiatry is all about sex and aggression.  So there’s that.

The other theme is travel and observations . This is coupled with photographs I take of my adventures and experiences

Then there is the psychiatric discourse.

Then there are the theological discourses.

Then the travel journal and observations, anthropological and personal

Sharing my personal journal was an experiment in transparency. I found that too many of my patients and people I knew had the false notion that their thoughts were different in kind from other ‘well people’.  They aren’t.  People who have read my personal journal have said ‘you’re crazy’.  I’ve asked them ‘don’t you think like that at time? “. They’ve invariably said “I do but I’d never share it.”  

We are as sick as our secrets.

We no longer have the luxury of privacy.  The PM can be fucking goats in his children bed room with his wife snorting coke but the majority of us don’t have a body guard and information control .  We can’t by reporters and CBC.  I don’t know what the Saudi Prince puts up his ass, frogs or gerbils or scorpions but a journalist was killed in the embassy and chopped up while his wife waited for him outside. The Argentinian police were nortorious for have very small penis and a penchant for liking prostitutes to pour fresh squeezed mothers milk up their ass holes. Latinos have this mother thing. But we only knew about the government sexual inadequacy because all the reporters who learned about it and got pictures of the President fucking pigeons went missing.  Finally we learned that the Clintons and Trudeau’s liked Epstein’s island and Epstein suicided.  Mel Gibson is making a movie about the Rothschilds.  Bankers wear diapers and suck on soothers while old ladies perform fellatio.  

Perversion is everywhere.  It’s part of the honey pot and spy industry and whole countries have been traded based on threat of disclosure of pictures of gay encounters.  

Yesterday sex secrets were big business. Now the big tech companies, and all the social media agencies have more personal information on everyone than ever before. The Supreme Court Judge candidate lost his position when it was found his house ordered Debby Does Dhallas and other salacious material. It turned out it was his teen age son.  Judges have access to the real thing so it’s usually teens and Communist Chinese Military that are into hard porn .  The Communists have always listed after western girls not interested in their masculine comrades worn down by the chauvinism of Marx and Mao. 

E.e. Cummings ‘They’ and ‘Thosepeople’ know everything about all of us. Obama even spied on the leaders of his allies. Homeland Security accesses everything.  Theree’s a camera somewhere always.  The police might not have clearance to access it but someone more elite does.

It’s all above my pay grade.

I wanted to show that sane people, I’m ultra sane, are crazy in their thoughts. What we think is everything.  What we dwell on is different. The saying is a bird can shit on your head but you don’t let it make a nest in your hair. The brain is like a radio receiver.  Even in my dreams I’m replaying a scene from the tv show I watched last night and a bit from a book I’m reading. They’re both about the Middle East so the tv plot and the book plot got mixed up in the dream.

It’s alright to think of suicide , homicide, sex with giraffes or flying.  It’s not alright to act on a whole lot of thoughts.  I really still want to touch the breasts of beautiful women I meet but I don’t want to be condemned for the dirty old man I am.  Meanwhile the President is sniffing the hair of little girls and whacking off to memories of scents. Others are masturbating to images. I’ve talked to thousands of people normal and abnormal about their masturbatory fantasies. I’ve talked to thousands about their thoughts. I’ve listened to hundreds free associate. I’ve asked the most personal questions .I’ve examined gun shot wounds and see the ravages of children’s genitalia after adult rape.  

I have a lot of fairly skewed experiences.  I sit with people in church anf they’re concerned about thinking about a night with a whore. I’ve been in the whore house then been the doctor of escorts and confidant of escorts. I’ve listened to rapists and murderers.

its what you dwell on.  I might think in passing about nuking a neighbour but its been decades since I took the time to spend weeks seeing how difficult it would be to make a dirty bomb. It’s been decades since I had a collections of poisons in the basement I found in the woods. I studied poison for a bit there like my friend kept snakes and studied venom.  

Today i share my thoughts and am coming to the end of that project.  PM Trudeau and other world leaders in the west are joining with the Communist UN and turning the clock back to the 15th century like the Taliban time pieces.  Others are worshipping Marx and Lenin. It’s the 21st century and our PM is trapped somewhere back in the 19th venury to the 15th century. Merkle was a scientist and it was obvious.  Trudeau is a nasty idiot with a family name and a trust fund. It’s obvious. We’ve had a number of these hollywood type leaders recently. Front men and front women.  They’ve moved the world along to one world government and totalitarians. It’s scarey.  

Freedom of speech is gone.  So Freedom of thought will be gone soon. I wanted others to know they were okay. I’m okay you’re okay .  But Freud with the National Socialists, the Nazi’s took charged escaped and said “maybe the paranoids are right’.  

I’m thinking that too and I’m thinking that this ‘project’ of sharing my weakness and inadequacy and negativity might be enough. I”m clear that I doubt, am confused, have uncertainty, am moody.  I’ve known that courage is doing the right thing in spite of fear. I’ve been courageous.  Xi Jinping is a pig. A running dog killler and murferer. Dr. Robert Hares descriptions of sociopaths and psychopaths was the best. They’re charming and they were three pieces suits and fuck pond muck.  They are a nest. They are insects that run together. The worlds leaders deal in war, drugs , child prostitution and power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. I don’t judge them at that level since maybe I’d be like them if I had more opportunity.  The majority of people lead lives of quiet desperation and van’t afford to act out their vile impulses.  

I’m going to work.  At work I help people. It’s a good thing like the Buddhist idea of ‘right livelihood.’  I’m thankful.  Thank you Jesus. 

Moon

Sometimes I believe the phases of the moon control my passion. Lunacy. As the full moon approaches my libido rises and I believe I will find release in the night. That appears a pattern but there is no pattern, passion comes and goes randomly. My desire for a sex change waxes and wanes. One day I want to move to Alberta and know joy in horses and rodeo as I once did then another day I’m ready to move to Ireland tow work and write. I sometimes am on the verge in summer to fly to my boat and set sail For the Caribbean taking the inside passage not worrying about the sept. Then I riding in my truck and camper with my dog across America. I’m pushed and pulled by thoughts, dreams and wishes. The surge over me like the sea. I move in them a while letting the water rise in the shallow but avoiding the deep. I’m not ready to plunge right in. This life I’m living the after thought of my brothers sickness and death okay. I am on land some days missing the sea. Wondering what the next advenute will be, marking time still enjoying the work but feeling decidedly like I’m marking time, marching on the spot. Then I look at the little dog and realize he’s maturing and he’s becoming more a friend and companion. I am doing good. I am far less than I once was. My drive and focus are no longer aiming for the best I can be, I’m satisfied and good enough and am meeting a need and doing what has to be done. I’m an okay player on a professional team. It’s easy now and I’m content to play the game relaxed. I don’t need to leave. In time I will.There are many moons and I still have a few.

Turn down day

During the week working I’m wishing i had time to do things. All I have is time and I look forward to the weekend with the thought of freedom.  I like work. It’s not the work. It’s not like I’m wanting to escape from work. It’s just that I sometimes fantasize about all the things I ‘could’ be doing.  This happens when I’m waiting for a call or at noon or in the evening.  

I’m stressed by work more as I seem to pick up the anxiety and despair in a way I didn’t younger, 

Now I’m at the cusp.  People ask ‘are you still working?’  “Are you going to retire?”  More and more I hear of friends dying too.  So I ask is this what I want to be doing? Is this what is the best use of my limited time? There is a sense now that time is limited. An illusion but a product of age.   Is this giving me joy and satisfaction?.  Am I doing what God wants for me?  

My problems are ‘Cadillac’ problems.  I’m alive, healthy, roof over my head, food in the fridge, work to go to, no significant debts.I’ve a mortgage but part of my having this home is to serve my work. If I stopped working I could sell this home, downsize and live off government pension and maybe do odd jobs.  I’m so weary of the government and beurocracy and their evil corruption. Nuremberg.  The banality of evil.

There’s an election coming. There’s a new wave of the Covid.  There’s taxation and inflation and never before have we have such a criminal traitor in power in Ottawa.  There’s a futility of dealing with clowns.  There’s a fear of growing old and becoming more dependent on the likes of our PM who let so many seniors die by incompetence and negligence. I would save more money for old age but there’s never enough to deal with government rapaciousness. They’re the mob.  Death tax. Tax on everything and skyrocketing inflation. The criminals and black marketeers are doing better than ever before like in all third world corrupt countries. I wasn’t prepared for the depth of evil that Trudeau would go to , punishing working Canadians and seniors as he has.  Then I think it’s just ‘fear’.  

The sun didn’t come out today. It was raining yesterday and today.  The fall and winter rain seasons are coming. I hate the doom and gloom of darkness and yet I so enjoyed and was blessed by the summer sun.  I don’t know if I’m prepared for the winter.  Sickness stalks the land in winter.  All the taxes on fuel mean costs of living continue to skyrocket.  It’s okay. I’m fine. There’s always the urge to catastrophize.

I actually imagined this weekend, getting into a dress and packing a travel bag and driving with my dog down to a dog friendly 4 star hotel in Seattle. Years ago I had a Kimpton Hotel weekend like that.  Skirts and blouses and manicures and shopping. Eating out in luxury restaurants. I could leave the dog for an hour or so and he was fine.  The Kimpton Hotels are LGBT and dog friendly.  I doubt my present puppy is ready for that. It was a frivolous weekend. I have had many such alone times over the years. Feeling safe in anonymity. 

In my conservative Christian circles I’m frowned on for cross dressing, sacrilege of sacrilege while all the church ladies have been doing this for decades,  But in my cross dressing LGBT circles I’m frowned on for being a conservative Christian.  Meanwhile people around me vote for Communists and ignore the millions they kill and enslave. Meanwhile the Taliban are raping and killing and 50 shades of Grey is okay because the man is a billionaire.  Political correctness is everything.  I don’t fit in I fit in. I’m in and out, I can play the game but the game is not real. I’m more interested in the Glass Bead Game. I’m playing hide and seek with God. 

In my life I’ve had the experience of a planet with an odd wobble. I’ve been celebrated in the path moving along with others only to continue my eccentric path and move out of the mainstream.  I spend decades mainstream and it’s called a ‘phase’. I’m constantly criticized for hunting and as a sailor it was okay to sail and party in the bay but becoming an off shore blue water salesman really meant I was crazed.  I like the groups I’m in but don’t like the critics.  I was a ‘poet’ when it was belittled and now my poet friends are mainstream.  

My latest craze is cross dressing. I’ve worn women’s clothes on stage. I’ve danced the female roles as a dancer. I’ve been in innumerable gender neutral roles and undertaken countless ‘pink’ tasks. I’m androgynous in that regard. I cook and sew and performed cunninlingus like a pro. I’ve given fellatio.   But I challenge the ‘social norm’.  In high school I was that guy who was a jock, an arts guy, and an intellectual and student council and I moved in all the circles. Today the same.  But I feel the contempt and hear the words of the administrators who want everyone to be as cowardly and afraid as them. The control freaks and the psychopaths in suits seem within me judging myself.  I’m enjoying this book I’m reading. Are you trans enough?” 

I’ve never been ‘enough”. I wasn’t good enough as a kid. Loud enough, tough enough, quiet enough. Man enough, gay enough, smart enough, Christian enough. And if I’ve been ‘enough’ one way I’m too much or too little some other way. I was never drunk enough and then I was never sober enough. There are always people comparing and criticing and I’ve taken in the loudness of it all. I’m critical of the government. They are bullies and liars and right now we are paying them and they are extortionists and theives, 

I tried to have the wife and kids. I did the right things. I bought the houses and devoted inordinate time to making money and repeatedly the courts or the government stole it from me and gave it to psychopaths.  I told the truth and the judge listened to the liars. I worked hard and my pay went to the support the corrupt.  I gave a life time of service and saw that caring for people in the front lines, clinical work, was mostly frowned upon. Those who spent their times in office , the bottom of the class, the politicers and smoozers got most rewarded.

It’s the poor me Trojan worm in my brain computer that’s a ‘go to ‘ refrain. The disgruntled poor me song played on the tiniest violin. I do gratitude daily to refrain from living in that bitter envious poor me place. 

 When I put on a dress it’s like I don’t have to ‘fight’ anymore. Dozens of times there have been major emergencies, crisis, fights, people being beat up, girls being raped, car crashes, gangs….and I’ve stepped out of the crowd, alone and confronted the situations, leading for the good.  It was like the first life saving situation on that beach in Toronto where 1housands watched and only a half dozen of us assisted in saving the drowning woman’s life.  Age 16 and now a half century more later it doesn’t change.

 I’ve been first out of  the trench.  I look back now and see the fat cat leaders with guns and their guns are to shoot us.  We’re sent in against the enemy without pay and without guns and told to get the guns of the fallen.  Only occasionally have there been women in those situations and I’ve loved those women.  There rarer among the women than I am among the men.  The last time I was first to an emergency the ‘masses’ were filming it with their phones and thank god for the woman who joined me in saving the life and told the others to stand back.  

I’ve lived among idiots and only realized it when so many voted Trudeau. I felt like I was in the 30’s in Germany watching my friends back the stupid little corporal who was an idiot.  Idiots love power and go on to abuse it.  I’ve fought idiots all my life.

Wearing panties and a bra and a dress and high heels I simply don’t think it’s my place to fight. I’m an old lady when I’m out cross dressed and I just want to have fun.  I love going to the spa and paying for people to serve me, to have my hair done, my nails done. As a man I suppose I could have gone for massage but men mostly are served by surgeons and doctors.  We injure our backs carrying the luggage of women and children and the elite. We get cut and shot defending the home.  I sing the song ‘I’d rather be a hammer than a nail.” 

I learned that the US Canada border was still closed and the idea of a lazy weekend , road trip and nice hotel was off. It wasn’t really a plan.  

I like the sense of being ‘bait’ too. Being a girl is ‘fishing’. I’m a pretty lure, a worm, trolling through the market.  I like to hunt as a man. I pick out the game I want and shoot it because it stops and looks back. I’m the one who decides what to shoot though the deer might want to be found. I sometimes say I provide euthanasia to the suicidal deer.  As a man I’m a sniper.  When I was young, walking around was a risk because there were all these guys looking to prove themselves not a few guys who were really mean.  I’d get the girls and they’d want to beat me up and I won a whole lot of fights. It was okay until the Marxists feminists usurped women’s liberation and egalitarians and began to celebrate the lying sociopaths like the Trudeau ‘s who claimed they were feminists when they were beating women up and paying off little girls they abused.  The whole Marxist Communist gig,the left wing shickt is to say one thing and do the next. It’s second nature for the godless to lie.  

Then the same sorts were in the money games.  I had to deal with administrators who ‘lied’ and stole documents and threatened me in person and in committee.  I survived them. I did my time and just tried to do my job. I was a clinician. Like a welder I was just going my trade. I was aconstantly paying huge amounts of money to the authorities for protection so I could do my job and collect my pay and the authorities increasingly sided with the criminals and psychopaths. Today I pay these extortionists so they don’t burn down my home. They’ve got guns.  They deserve no respect.  They are unethical and evil.  

So I pray.  

I like walking downtown and feeling the wind under my skirt  that the most I have to fear is a purse thief. I’m camouflaged. I’m unarmed thanks to the criminal leader. I don’t have a purse gun. If I defend myself I’ll go to jail I’ll lose my time playing lawyer games.  My blind dog and I were threatened, I will kill you and I will kill your dog. He said over and over.  I’ve been told this a dozen times venomously by young men who I simply stared down and faced and prepared to kill.  I am too old for a second round. I’ve paid millions in taxes to the public purse to have ‘safe’ streets to be able to go to work ‘unmolested’.  I’m scared still.  One young man sophisticated in the system went to the administration and complained that I woulfn’t help him even though there were witnesses and he was threatening to kill everyone .  The administration, cowards and con artists, low life worse than him,  beat me up to protect themselves.  The police did nothing.  

If I’m wearing a dress i imagine that I could have a man find me attractive, strange as that may seem, and at worst I’d have anal sex. It’s not that bad. I was raped and no one cared and indeed like most things it was my fault and I shoulfn’t have been there and I shouldn’t have smoked dope and I shouldn’t have trusted the powerful.

The Bible teaches us the government killed God’s son.  

God doesn’t care if I have Sex with consenting adults male or female. God doesn’t care if I masturbate.  It’s really clear what Jesus talks about. Ideally you marry and have children. But in the great kahunna, the great line is ‘God had nothing to say about women in business suits.”

Half the children of divorce their fathers are not the fathers. The courts refuse to do DNA testing on children of divorce.  The church ladies looking down on the lustful are the overweight gluttons.  Sloth is the go to Netflix sin of the day.

I ‘ve walked the dog a couple of times. I’ve got this day off. There are all kinds of things I should do:

1. Clean the house.

2 Wash the vehicles

3.  Write a novel

4. Complete the applications I began last year for various titles I’ve earned but bureaucrats have put up extortion rackets around so I have to do all these wasteful paper hoops 

5. Volunteer at the local political party again. 

6.  I prayed and meditated but both Gandhi and Martin Luther King said if it’s tough day spend more time on your knees. I pretty much pray unceasingly as it is. I’m always talking to God in my head, in my journals.  Guide, me Thy will be done.

7.  I was looking at electric folding bikes and got side tracked by an electric skateboard . I’m ambivalent and don’t need to spend the money. I love my Vespa in town.  But next week I’ll have the thought I should have looked at electric bikes on the weekend when I had the time. I won’t dwell on it.

8 I should get out. Go for a ride . Take madigan on the bike down to Commercial and have cofee. But it’s raining , spitting. Sitting out side writing nonsense is not that attractive in the rain.  People watching isn’t so good. With the dog along I need to sit outside.  

I could just read for a bit.  Soon it will be noon.  .  I feel like I’m wasting my day, Yet it’s no big deal. Cadillac problems.  I”m procrastinating doing a lot of things I think that I could be doing. I got my bow from the storage locker and I could be testing it before the actual hunting days but I usually use the first day of the hunt to site in and all that. 

Next step is to have a shower. Maybe that will inspire.

Mood

Mood is to the brain what fever is to the body.

I woke with an odd mood..  Can’t recall my dreams. Morning moods are often residual of dreams. I actually think my dreams were okay.  I slept more than 6 hours , so it could be I’m a little out of sorts due to not enough sleep. I’ve been reading this exciting book of the Moor invasion of Spain, their taking advantage of the infighting of Christians and betrayals of the crown.  We’ve an election coming here and the only way the left will win again will by divide and conquer. There are several right wing contenders siphoning off votes from the main contender.  I’m certainly weary of the politics of criminals and terrorists.  Kabul fell.

Mood is first a product of weather. There is no sun or blue sky this morning.  It may rain. With the forest fires the rain would clear the air and help the countryside,  The fact remains that I’m happier on sunny days. I ‘m convinced I’m part plant and checking my DNA would reveal I’ve got chlorophyll in sone places.

It’s a day of work and work has been fine. I’m going through the motions though.  I’m no longer trying to save the world. I’m doing my best but I’m not arguing. I’m not promoting health. I’m a Lordco parts department guy.  I don’t feel it’s worth enlightening the ignorant.  If people want to die, the Beurocratic say let them die. I tell people the options. I used to take joy in helping people become the best they could be, helping them get off drugs and alcohol and give up suicide and stop being delusional. I’d convince people that sanity was better than insanity. Now if you’re ‘precontemplation’ or even’ ‘contemplation mode I’m afraid to interfere with the government’s position in any matter even if it’s wrong.  Government is promoting drug use , abortion and euthanasia. That’s their brand.  I told a woman last week that her marijuana was the problem and she threatened to complain to the government.  I don’t want to deal with Herod and his brown shirts.  When I fired a girl smoking crack in my office the Nuremberg fat cat bureaucrats took her side and made my life helll. When I fellow threatened to kill his boss and then threatened to kill me they took his side.  These people are not ethical safe or moral. I’m afraid. I don’t want to lose any more precious time with their arrogance, ignorance and evil.  I can’t explain to them Arendt. I’m trying to ‘let go’ .  I’m trying not to have resentments. I’m trying to have acceptance.

I’ve no particular purpose or meaning in my life. I’m on God’s bench and doing God’s work when I’m called. So if a patient wants to get the best I give to them. The government even told us to give people cigarettes . I took a Hippocratic oath, formally, twice.  But if a person wants to die I’ll help them die. 

I saw that an antidepressant helped prevent Covid.  Luvox.  I thought maybe I should take that. I’d take it.  I don’t know if I’m depressed. I lack all faith in government.  I see the communist take over and watch the Agenda 21 and Davos evil unfolding and have a hard time having ‘hope’. I started my day with gratitude. I like breathing. Thank you Lord for breath.

I’m doing very well by all standards.  I’m lived a good life. I’m much sought after. I appear to be okay. I once was cutting edge. Now I’m okay still. I wonder about retirement. I keep circling back to that.    I remember taking on a mortgage as a kind of way to focus my immediate future. I could sell or pay off and live a good life. I don’t need the mortgage. I don’t need this ‘life style’. This life style, this home, my present existence all support this ‘work’.  If I wasn’t doing my ‘work’ I could be sailing the seas or travelling around the country,.  I like that my dog Madigan keeps me focused. I limit my choices with responsibilities and duties.  

I have often been ‘too free’.  Others have children. Without children you can be quite liberated.  Children are the symbols of solidity for me. Lots of folk with children chuck them too.  People give up their pets.  People take terrible liberties. I could walk away and maintain my integrity, care for my dog and myself okay.

I’ve earned this ‘liberty’.  It’s miniscule compared to previous years. Again the government is turning the country into a prison while the elite hypocrites fly above us all thumbing their noses.

It’s a mood thing. I’m kind of irritated. The coffee helps. On the weekend I added a piercing. I could have just as soon gone to Thailand and had a facelift , liposuction and breast augmentation.  I think as a new GURL I’d have a new lease on life and adventure.  I don’t feel like being a missionary in Africa any more.

I do good work. People get what they need to help them, the right diagnosis, the right recommendations and the right medications .  I liked that a group of people stopped their slow suicide with drugs and alcohol in the last few weeks. It’s a thankless job though. I’m the ‘strict’ parent.  They’ve all had ccounsellors and Doctors’s who have ‘enabled’ them and taken them down to where I stop the slide to oblivion but I’m afraid.  I don’t want to be ‘tough’ .  I want to be the ‘unconditional love’ mother and blame the father in the land for everything. I want to be the tit.  I’d like tits.  I ‘m considering when to be put out to pasture.  Time is sneaking up on me. It could only be decades away.  

I have a blank slate weekend and no plans.  Time is of the essence. I have a day free and I could do so many things but fear I’ll end up on a lawn chair or reading on my couch and feel life is passing me.  I could plan a trip. I could make an excursion to the island, go to the beach. Ride my motorcycle around the Duffy Lake loop.  I fear I’ll hide in my home.  

But I’n not that motivated.  Like so many people I talk to I’m ‘waiting’ .  The Delta Variant.  The South China Seas Conflict.  The elections.  Winter rains. 

I’m going to be deer hunting. I have some anchors out in the future for  kedging - bow hunting, grouse hunting, a wedding and a winter Harrison Hot Springs spa. In the meantime I’ll work and pay rent and mortgage and hold off on a sex change another week.  This weekend I was considering a folding electric bicycle.  What to do till the Messiah comes?

Thank you Jesus!

Gratitude

Thank you God for this day!  Thank you for dreams of trucks and hills. What was that eagle and crucifixion scene about?  I know the dream is the royal road to the unconscious but it’s not been very clear what’s going on inside and outside. I’m in a quandary. The world is in chaos. Kabul fell.  Lallibella has been invaded. The China sea ship gathering continues When I awake my dreams are confusing.  I don’t want to leave them. The alarm sounded and the Creed came on. I believe…..and Madigan pounced on my face.  One snooze bar and I actually climbed out of bed.  Not so tired.  Last night too I stayed awake past midnight reading.  Now it’s an historical fiction account of the Moors and Christians in Spain.

I don’t seem to be going anywhere too quickly. I’m recouping and reviving. I’ve been playing and having fun.  Fun in the city, Fun in the sun,  I suppose come fall I ‘ll find direction.  I do look forward to the VSO.  I didn’t renew the Pacific Theatre. Partly a couple of disappointing shows and more the distance driving into town. I really don’t like going into the city. I should use the sky train more.  

I’ve loved my Vespa in the city but even going to Commercial for coffee seems a trek.  I’m happy to just go to the nearby Lougheed Mall.  I understand how people here rarely go downtown.  I’m getting older and I think that contributes to my circumscribing life. But it could be a phase. I’m content.  I’m safe in my home and neighbourhood.  There’s been lockdowns and I’ve a routine.  A bit of a holding pattern

I’m past retirement age and that is on my mind. I like working but I want to take a trip for more than a week sometime next year. This year is rather set with Covid and work. But I can’t get a handle on the future. Next year is a mystery.  I was so attracted to the advertisement of a couple of weeks in a Thai sex change spa, a face lift and feminization of features and breasts.  I’d enjoy life in a different gender.  A new adventure.  But if I wasn’t working and just travelling would I care. I could be sailing to the Caribbean or Europe but just as soon would take my camper through the US and maybe even further south.  Camper and Vespa and dog. I’d not mind towing MacGregor 26 sailboat either but is it necessary.  I imagine I must sell my sailboat because crew is such an issue and I feel it’s too big for me solo.  

I was once sure I didn’t want to retire in Vancouver and was planning on moving east. I’ve always had a hankering for Calgary. Loved the rodeo. Imagined riding horses again and hunting in the mountains.  I think of returning to full time work when I think of going elsewhere, taking a job in Ireland for instance and being able to travel to Europe. I have Madigan to consider always .  He’s such a character.  The camper is a good place for him. Also being on a boat is good.  I imagined him when I thought of touring the US like ‘travels with Charlie’. That’s been since Shinto and Gilbert.  A long time dream.  Writing and travelling. Cross dressed to add to the adventure.  I’m less serious au femme, more removed from the worries and burden of au drab.  

I would like to go to Aberdeen.  I want to return to Southern Ireland. I’d like to see the area of the American Civil war. I’d love to hunt in northern BC.  Another moose or buffalo and a winter of work with lovely roasts, steaks and stews. I love cooking wild game. 

With work I’m no longer trying to be the best and cure cancer.  The limits to what any doctor can do are now administrative.  I was actually told medicine was just entertainment and to ‘act like a doctor’ by administration. They don’t believe in healing any more than the priest who stood up in church and thought Jesus a good teacher and the miracles of the bible myth. Since Trudeau’s greed and corruption the whole of Canada seems to be moving into poverty survival mode with people just no longer dreaming or believing. He’s given everyone dope and alcohol and we’re declining as a nation rapidly. I once believed in Canada as a dream nation but today that dream has been stolen for the fraud whose corruption and deceit are turning the country into a third world shit hole country.  

My friends retiring are all discussing poverty in old age.  Seniors looking at where to live elsewhere because they can’t afford to live in Canada and don’t feel safe. 

I wonder about Thailand, Puerto Rica, Mexico, Ireland,  I sometimes think of putting an add in the paper saying doctor with RV and dog wants to work. The virtual services are springing up but the local administration and lawyers are putting more and more restrictions and taxing education and training for their own lust and greed.  They’re low life parasites but have such arrogance,  

I’nn actually blessed and really can’t complain and shouldn’t. It’s a ‘virus’ in my brain, default ‘poor me’.  A negative function and the ‘warning light’ doessn’t come on quick enough to say’ get off the cross we can use the wood’.  I’m really blessed, God is good all the time.  This is a good day. The rain has cleaned the air. The smoke is gone for today.  Life is wonderful

I’m only at a betwixt and between when I ask ‘what next?”  I’m in a holding pattern. In God’s waiting room.  I ask for a sign, I ask for a way. Show me the way Lord.  Guide me!!!

Thank you Lord for all the blessings, this life, the family and friends and madigan Thank you for work and for the means to pay the high rennt and highest cost of living.  Thank you Lord for this day Thank you for breathing. May I be of service today Thank you

Our heron friend on our river walk today

He not only had the left over quiche, he ate the plate.

Out and about in the City

I enjoyed getting dressed up to go downtown. I left Madigan to be a guard dog.  I rode the Vespa Touring. A beautiful young blond in a Mini,  with her white toy poodle on her lap, let me in ahead of her at the construction near Clarke.  I was glad to find parking on Burrard by Robson. Seems everyone had the same idea to enjoy the post Covid Lockdowns by coming into the city.

I love the Vespa Touring box. I could leave my helmet and armoured mesh jacket. I was dressed in a new Papa’s 50’s polka dot black dress. It was sleeveless and  fell  loosely from bozom to a couple of inches above the knees. I think it’s called A frame.   I had a matching black  earrings and necklace and the sandals I bought yesterday.  Very presentable and quite invisible. At my ages men and women tend to coalesce. No one cares as long as we’re clothed.  I actually had women compliment me on my dress. 

My first stop was the Vancouver Art Gallery. With the Covid lockdowns I’ve missed my visits and reflcctions on art and perspective.  It was a bit of a hodge podge  of exhibits from their collection. I enjoyed it.  Murat. Wade.  Modern works.  Some aboriginal and some black. Angry themes and more. I did enjoy the Heath ceramic exhibit. Emily Carr paintings were on the wall about the room.  It was just a lovely presentation.  I forget the main floor Asian artist. Dragans and Buddha. I so enjoyed the ‘space’ of the art gallery. 

After  I walked  to Granville. The street was closed off and there were entertainers spaced among the three blocks.  I was looking for the shoe store which I didn’t find. On a whim seeing Adrenaline and asked for another ear piercing. I’ve had piercings and tattoos done there. I talked about Erin and learned that Bill had left and has his own tattoo place in Maple Ridge.  The piercing went well. Sharp pain and then done.  

I walked all along Granville and turned back to Pacific Centre. There I stopped at B2 Shoes.  The beautiful sales girl dress in blue helped find me some sandals as well as half boots for the scooter. She brought me a whole selection. Two pair worked.  I’m normally not at all a shopper. This day I really enjoyed it. It was just such a change to be so amongst so many people after the last year of isolation. I loved people watching. Vancouver women in summer are a real treat. The men not so much. 

Back at the Vespa I put my shoes in the box, suited up and headed down Georgia.  I took Prior out to Commercial and found a parking place at one of my favourite cafe’s.  I was tired. An expresso perked me up while I wrote a blurb about the Art Gallery and uploaded some pictures to my blog.

Were it not for my eccentricity I might have stayed on the couch today. Playing dress up got me out.  Anonymous mostly with masks and just invisible old I enjoyed participating in the city. Also some time alone without Madigan whose now 11 months. Not such a puppy that he can’t be left alone a little bit.  

He was certainly glad when I got home. I change to tshirt and shorts. Lick would have it Emory and Bella were out being walked.  Madigan did two tours of the park.  The heat and humidity was telling on the fur coated friends when we came in

Now it’s movies and left overs. What a great day!  Thank you Jesus! 

Vancouver Art Gallery

I love the Vancouver Art Gallery. I didn’t care what exhibit was on. I was just so glad after Covid lockdown to be out enjoying our beautiful gallery.  It’s so inspiring.  Normally I go to the gallery for an exhibit.  

These were a potpourri of the galleries holdings. Mostly black, Asian and aboriginal art. I really liked Manuel Axel Strain. I loved the Christie Brinkley photo montage.  Yaimel Lopel Zaldivar and Betty Murat’s works were fine indeed. Jan Wade ‘sSoul Power was poignant.  Asian art as well with images of dragons and Buddha.  

I really enjoyed the Emily Heath pottery displayed in a room with Emily Carr paintings on the walls. 

The Vancouver Art Gallery always has the best presentations.   So thankful that the gallery is open again!

y

Decadence

I am so relaxed. Just delighted. Pampered.  I’ve just had my hair done at Chatterers and it’s so becoming. Sharon, the stylist is herself so beautiful and inspiring.  She even expressed joy with her final creation and the other stylists shared their appreciation.   I actually feel attractive. 

“You’re beautiful!”  The large and bold cursive writing is there on Chatter’s wall. Who am I to argue?

I am wearing a Papa’s dress I bought yesterday from the truly engaging Fijian shop owner. He clapped when I walked by there today after time in Chaterer’s. I’ ve a necklace from my Reitman’s another favourite shop. 

The mineral and jewelry lady who makes her own creations sold me a necklace and a bracelet which I’ll wear some day I suppose.  “These go well with your skin and eye colour”, she said, making a sale.  Who am I to argue with a creative beautiful young woman.  I’d bought amber stud jewelry there when she opened. “The amber is from Poland, “ she said. “It’s natural not factory made.”  I love Amber.

I do enjoy this self care and shopping day. After years of using weekends to cram in study halls or work late on call at hospitals and offices, it’s pleasant play.  Asked if I miss my sailboat this week. It’s up on land right now. I said, I don’t miss the constant grinding and painting every weekend, the diesel maintenance and myriad of other maintenance activities. I was forever doing repairs and improvements to radar, rigging, and Hamm radio.  At the time, I loved it.  Now I prefer my camper. The week of swimming each day, walking the dog, skooting about on the Vespa, reading in the lawn chair and barbecuing steaks was thoroughly fulfilling. Choosing a different bikini for morning swims was about  as challenging a decision I had to make each day.

I’ll be bow hunting next month. The following week I’ll likely introduce the new bird dog to his destiny. Grouse shooting and his job is to find the fallen birds. His predecessor actually retrieved them after watching the old guy struggling through the thick bush to get to him.  

There’s a repetitive ennui quality to my life that’d relieved by cross dressing.  I would hardly be moved to leave my home and couch au drab but if I dress up it’s suddenly an adventure. At my age I’m invisible regardless of gender.  My beautiful hair and French cut nails, so thoughtlyh selected jewelry and carefully applied make up are wasted on the men. “I’m happy to be a lesbian, “ I shared , “Women at least appreciate the effort.”  We celebrate the woman who donns leathers and rides a motorcycle. Now I do appreciate the rare woman who smiles with appreciation.  

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”  

I looked into a trip to Thailand for a partial sex change. I could have the much needed face lift and breast augmentation for the price of a new motorcycle all while being cared for in a luxury spa.  It really did appear tempting.  A new face and identity and new adventure. I keep hearing Donovan singing, “the doctor bit was so far out, looking through crystal spectacles I believe I had your fun.”  Epistle to dippy.  I suspect I’m weary. It’s a very goof thing I no longer drink and especially don’t smoke dope or drop acid. It’s one thing to wake up in Margaritaville with a new tattoo. It’s a totally different matter waking up with an orchiectomy.  What if I’m just weary?  Weary of caring for ex wives, women, men , children, bureaucrats.  

I’m certainly blessed to know God.  I’m thankful for the worship circles and meetings and the folk who seem to know the ‘self’ I see as me, not the clothing or persona.  

It doesn’t matter much today.  I’m happy.  ‘Don’t worry, be happy!” The popular island song parroted the words of Jesus. Do not be afraid.  “I love you.” God says.  

I can honestly say I’ve done this today, ‘for me’.  The popular phrase of post yuppie narcissism.  

I laughed when my biker friend Bob, trying on a short skirt, said “You know if I wanted a man or a woman I’d dress like I am…..when I dress up I scare away 90% of either sex, “ It just think it’s a selector for the unconventional,  At least I’m not a ‘furry’.   I could be a Trekkie and wear Dr. Spock costumes. God forbid I go to all the troubles golfers do to have an excuse to dress funny in public.  

Thank you Jesus!  

No tormented mind today

Today my mind is not tormented. My heart is not twisted. The betrayals and lies and abuse of psychopaths and sociopaths does not haunt me. I am free for days now of the past demons. I’ve learned to push them out. I squeeze fear and resentment from my mind like shit straining at the toilet of my conscience.  Then it lifts. Like old friends these voices of despair and disillusionment leave me. Lonely. I kind of miss the fear and rage. I kind of miss the need to prove I’m not that which you treated me like.  Your disdain and contempt no longer define me.  I have fought the wars. I’ve done the good fight. I’ve paid my dues and others too. I’ve cleaned up my mess and theirs.  Now I’m kind of lost.  I can’t rub wounds like genie kettles. I can’t make wishes on the past.  New adventures beckon.  I am called but only faintly.  The shadow of death is there as well. I’m surprised at the comfort I find in just getting through a day of work and then the weekend.  I long to lie in a lawn chair in the sun. I don’t need to write the great Canadian novel. I’m happy to drink coffee and not know what tomorrow will bring.

Today I’m thankful God eventually got me up. I hit the snooze button several times . A slow start. Madigan repeatedly pounced on my face and I fought him off to return to my dreams where I was hunting on a bicycle in the mountains. Getting a head of myself.  This time of year, August and Sept, so beautiful with the crisp air and gentle breezes and the foliage so colourful.  I long to be on the water. I dream of sailing. I am preparing to see my yacht. Considering trading for a smaller one I could solo sail.  

I waffle about a sex change. The adventure of being a transexual is the alternative to sailing the Atlantic. I’m more afraid of the sea than the surgeon.  I have been enjoying leisure so long.  I don’t push myself as I once did, My back hurts from morning to dusk, certain movements verboten.  Yet if I take an anti inflammatory I’m fine.  My stomach isn’t rebelling. I speak of this nonsense but it makes it difficult for me to consider pulling down sails in a blow or taking in lines on a close haul.  I like my camper. I’m looking at another electric bicycle, this one smaller and folding and easy to store. The last was lovely but huge.  I do enjoy the Vespa but when I rode my Harley I was cock of the walk, manly and that brought on fear because the authorities are humiliating men in gangs of beta boys. I’d rather be a sissy than stand again at the Alamo.  There is no love for old men. The old are punished for a good life and the looters are celebrated.  

There I go into self pity and despair.

I thank you Lord for the sun and warmth this morning. I thank you Lord for the amusement I get watching Madigan explore, his nose sniffing everything as he looks about on trails hearing things before I do.  I like the technology. I like keyboards and showers. I’m blessed with so much comfort. I’m reading funny books and watched a funny movie.  I’m thankful for wide screens and computers.

My mind is wolly today.  Two cups of expresso and I’m still a little sluggish.  It was wonderful to walk the trail and watch the river.  These are the good days.  I have had so many good days. I’ve known such wonderful blessings. The lord has been so good but my ‘search engine’ defaults to negative, a broken google, that extracts the hurts and wrongs of the past. Those men who back the lying psychopathic women who hurt so many people and suckered these ugly old looser Beurocratic men with the tease and they served them in their war on good and truth to maintain their addiction to drugs.  It is the past. It intrudes on my day. I don’t want to be a man and do good anymore where the government rewards the lying skanks and punishes men who do good.  I don’t want to retire in a world where their are such evil bureaucrats waiting to attack men just doing their jobs, just getting by.  Evil kafkaesque count of Monte Christo Nuremberg politically abusing smegma. I’m supposed to forgive them and let them go. Leave them to the retribution of their evil deeds and let God do what he will.

Yet I suck on that bitter tit and play the scenes of crucifixion over and over again. Where is the risen Christ? Where is hallelujah,  Thank you Jesus. Thank you lord.  Praise and thanksgiving.  I love life and it is so good today with the past yesterday.  Today is okay. Today is a blank slate to paint a celebration of today and tomorrow.  

Bow hunting is the next event. Then wedding, Then winter retreat.  Maybe Mexico or Aberdeen in the new year.  There are possibilities. With the world in crisis it’s impossible to predict next year. I can pray. I can pray for peace. Peace and peace of mind.

Thank you Jesus. 

Everyday I call to you, I listen

Everyday I call to you, I listen

I make a space for you

I quiet the thoughts with prayer

And listen to my breathing 

Feeling it go in and out

Like tides and seasons

I thank you for my breath

This breath of life

I wait for you

I share these moments with you

An invitation, a welcome

A hope, a prayer

Meditation, listening for God

God, the creator, omniscient, omnipotent

The fabric of existence

The breath of life

The peekaboo of existence,

I dance with you my love

I play with you my father mother

Creator, lover, friend

I am here. 

Thy will be done

Guide me. 

Reside in me.

I am he, blessed spirit

I am one

We are 

You and I

I

Thou

All the names are yours Lord

This is none but you

You are god and you are Good

Let me be more aware of you

Awaken my consciousness of you within

Open me to your constant play

I breathe in

I breathe out

Sitting 

With you. 

Thank you

Gratitude

Thank you God for this day.  Thank you God for waking me. Thank you for Madigan who after the alarm went off, as usual jumped on my face. His puppy greeting. Thank you for the morning tussle getting him off me. Thank you for the snooze bar and all technology that adds to my life. Thank you again for my wakening. Thank you for again the tussle with the dog. Thank you that my back was less sore with weather changes.  My body the barometer. Thank you for indoor plumbing. Thank you for my dreams. I live in two lives. This incredible dream life of adventure and peninsula and sailboats and rooms and wonderful people like a conference or resort and this life I’m now in. Thank you for my trailer , this remarkable compact so comfortable mobile space that’s luxurious and spacious than my yacht.  Help me to continue to reduce what I need to essentials.Help me get the stamina and drive to attack the storage locker again.  I feel lighter when ever I let go of the past. Help me to pass it on to those who would enjoy today what I loved yesterday.  Thank you for my boats and vehicles and motorcycles. Thank you for my rifles and tennis rackets and golf clubs and all the tools I’ve had for doing carpentry, building and repair. Thank you for the education in diesel maintenance and all the lessons in repair and maintenance. Thank you for my academic learning. I always have a fond feeling for libraries and places of books . The internet is not the same. The selection is not as broad and the finds not so exhilarating, God, please guide my search and show me the way.  Help me today know ‘thy will’ and give me to the power to carry it out.’  I know it’s been wearying in my work these months, depressing and soul destroying, such despair and anger and sadness. Help me to resist being pulled into the doom and gloom that grabs me by the heart and twists me. Help me to not lose touch with you in the darkest places. Help me protect myself emotional and physically.  

Protect me,

Protect me from enemies,

Protect me from mobs

Protect me from the Godless.

Protect me from the love less

Protect me from fearful,

Thank you for all the blessings of this life , all the fond memories, of family and friends, and times that have gone before. Thank you for all the institutions and educating, teachers and mentors and associates.

Guide me Lord.  

Thank you. 

Hallelujah!!!

Madigan not only ate the left overs on the paper plate, but he tore up the plate.  I’ve vacuumed up his left overs, again. Thank you for Madigan. Lord I know he’s a puppy and one day he will be like Gilbert, more serene and a stable companion,. But right now Lord he’s a darling though difficult delight with endless enthrusiasm, love and surprises. 

Commercial Drive. Alive on the Drive

I’ve finally made it to Commercial Drive again.  It’s always a joy. It’s my favourite place in Vancouver to people watch. The whole smorgasboard of characters walks by. I’m at Fet kitchen waiting for a Benny.  Madigan is tie to the chair and not at all pleased with restriction.

We came from church, Lighthouse of Hope in New Westminster.  We’d aimed for the St Bartholomew Church Service at 10 but weren’t ready to go till 11.00.  The in person services were returning after Covid. I really wanted to make church. It was the ‘event’ of the day.  We did it too.  

Lighthouse of Hope is a really inclusive community church. They accepted Madigan and me.Metta was a lovely greeter. The church was having it’s first in person service.  Madigan was at his first church service. He was unwashed. A total barbarian. All He wanted was to play with me. Even Jumped up on my lap. I’d brought a chew but he was just full of beans.  Possessed, in church parlance. The virtual bit was a problem with the feed freezing like my video does when the satellite doesn’t have enough band.  Then the acoustics on the the sermon was problematic.  Despite putting in my hearing aids the masks made some of this garbled. I loved the message though. Reminded me of the problems UBC had with it’s virtual seminars at first.  

The good news was the slides were excellent. I enjoyed the choice of scripture and the 10 minute breaks when Madigan napped and I could pay closer attention. There was a break at 1. I’m not certain it was over but I chose that moment to escape with the Beast.  I’ve diagnosed his condition Disruptive Puppy Syndrome.  It was good to be at church.  Good to pray with other Christians. Thank you Lighthouse of Hope

Now I’m on Commercial. Fets Whiskey Kitchen. There’s stalls with plexiglass dividers for individual and group dining on the street where parking was.  There’s a smorgaboard of eye food walking by.  Some eye candy, some main course. Commercial is the best people watching in Vancouver.  Every shape size colour age and type is represented.

 I ordered bacon bennies and gave the bacon to Madigan.  He’s energized by all the people and excitement. He even barked at me to give him more bacon.  The lovely young waitress gave him water. He had a long drink then tipped the bowl.. It’s plastic and I know he’d like to chew it.  He’s tied to the chair and can’t reach and destroy.

The cappucino’s are excellent. The peach cobbler and ice cream arrived and is delicious.   The sun is playing peek a boo.  A cool breeze then a blast of heat. 

I’m so thankful for Commercial.  So many fond memories.  I always think of George and Suzanne when I’m here.  I remember holding hands and reciting ‘God I offer myself to Thee….’

Guess who got all the bacon?

Agency

The question always comes back to agency.  Am I the singer or the song? Am I the hammer or nail?  Is it free will or determinism?  Fate or destiny or what?

Confabulation is the ‘story’ a man with alcoholic Alzheimer’s will make up to ‘explain’ something, The judges wife gave her husband an empty bottle when he asked for another beer.  He said ‘it’s empty’.  She responded ‘you drank it.”  The Alzheimer’s cured his alcoholism, she’d say. This only occurred because his condition made him prone to confabulation.  Maybe this is a story we make up to explain the phenomena of life?

I’ve argued I’m the ‘gnat on the elephant’s ass who is always screaming ‘right’ ‘right’ and when the elephant eventually turns ‘right’. I take credit with my gnat buddies bowing.

I’m the kazoo in the symphony of life. I don’t even know how to read the music.  Does the butterfly think the philosopher or the philosopher think the butterfly?

Functional MRI studies show that the brain fires “berfore’ I’m consciously planning an action, Like confabulation, the action precedes the idea.  

The dichotomy is that this life may be scripted.  St. Francis called his body. Brother Ass.  Asked if he’d be coming along, he ‘d say ‘Brother Ass willing.”

Yesterday is a memory. Tomorrow is not yet come.  The collective conscviousness, all the myriad of dreamers in the muldimensional reality all deciding anf interacting collectively. I could very well just be the voice over on a cartoon called life.

Denial of death is coupled with denial of birth. I exist but I don’t know except by hear say or speculation my origin or departure.

The ‘games’ that are being played are as close a proximity to the ideas of existence in the sci fi fantasy world of computer games.  This is dungeon and dragons on steroids.  Maybe a critical mass is needed for an ‘event’ to occur.  We don’t know how many synapses must fire before a muscle mass reactions. There’s all that ‘kindling’ hypothesis to deal with. Just as we’re thinking the brain is n organic quantum computer there’s the energy matrix to consider. All is energy or thought and matter is just slow energy so time becomes the critical factor. It’s all relative.

There is one God.  

 

Cross dressing

When I cross dress I feel like a different person. I’m not.  I believe as Jung did that I am always the ‘self’.  I believe the ‘self’ is a part of the ‘over self’.  This ‘higher power’ as I call God is the creator and I am a co creator in the drama of my life.  I see my self expressing different roles.  

I also believe as I learned in acting school that I am many expressions of self. When I put on a business suit and go to court I am playing a particular role.  I am not that ‘person’ anymore than I am the ‘person’ who is the sailor or the hunter or the physician.  I have had several very powerful identifications. I have had these amazing roles in my life.  

I played a girl on stage as a teen and later as an improvisational actor I played many female parts, but more in humour like Benny Hill and Monty Python. I miss that time. Older I remember the sheer fun of association and creation and the celebration of creativity and spontaneity.  

I’ve been a physician more than 40 years. I certainly felt the role of surgeon differently than the role of psychotherapist. I enjoyed most the psychotherapist role which was very ‘feminine’ in the traditional self.  Activity and passivity have been generalized as masculine and feminine.  Whole fields are defined in this way. Ivan Illich wrote the amazing book Gender which predated all the Marxists oppression garbage. The reductionism of Marx is so painfully passé yet people persist in promoting his angry binary bias.  Illich made it clear that people mostly liked their ‘roles’ or ‘accepted them’.  

The 20th century has been an explosion of possibility.  Buckminister Fuller noted that a mere hundred years ago the vast majority of people had not travelled more than a hundred miles from their birthplace.  Television is only 70 years old and the birth control pill was only first developed in 1952.  Today so many people travel and those that don’t can watch tv and even National Geographic.  The differences and possibilities are now readily apparent to all except a protected tribe in the Amazon Rainforest.  Diamond’s ‘Traditional Societies’ is a classic text showing that the ‘noble savage’ was anything but. Life has evolved from taboo and paranoia and safety in the masses and sameness to embracing change in a way only possible for the elite of a previous era.  

The 60’s cultural revolution was a revolution of luxury.  The Australian ‘walk about’ is a middle class phenomena.  8 billion people and more and the ability to own a bicycle is a matter of security and possibility of wealth the world over.  In my travels I’ve encountered people who own only one pair of clothes.  Living is fairly good by historical standards but is still mostly about survival.  

Cornbury Society an old cross dressers organization on the west coast has been almost all heterosexual men who like to dress as women on the weekend.  The joke about golf is that it’s main attraction as a sport was that it allowed men who war the ‘suit’ a replica of old British Empire uniform, to get out of such clothing and dress ridiculously. Every sport has it’s own ‘dress’.  Golfers are the most ludicrous. But here are a group of men who have for decades skipped the hitting of little balls and just dressed as women. They could, for one, afford women’s apparel, the au femme, as well as the ‘au drab’.  Just as golfing is a sport for the wealthy like motorcycling, cross dressers as a group tend to be often ‘filthy rich’.  

All over any city there are countless thespian societies, amateur theatre groups who follow Stanislaw and Checkov and try not just to ‘play’ a different character but rather to ‘be’ a different character.  There are even Passion Plays with conservative Christians playing Mary and Jesus. The Cosplay and Medieval societies are booming.  The frontier day folk with their historical re enactment and the hobby gardeners aren’t much different from the ballroom dancers and the bowlers.  

There’s the ‘family’ role, ‘school role’, ‘work role’ and ‘social role’. The cross dresser has an au drab and an au femme role. The women who dress as men are now main stream. Few recall that women who wore pants were so outrageous in this last hundred years. Chanel’s pant suit was ‘shocking’.  Hillary playing to the ‘old ladies’ of her days politicized herself as a ‘pant suit’ Vice President. She epitomized the cross dressing female takin for granted today.

The “Mollies’ were the Irish revolutionary’s who dressed as women when they struck back against the British Empire oppression. Transgender Warrior, though painfully Marxist nonetheless gives some history of the gender wars,.

Cross dressing men are as likely to be heterosexual as women who wear pants suits.  The 10% political figure refers to the minority of individuals who define their sexuality as other than traditional or conventional.  The whole ‘Hair’ phenomena of my ear as ‘are you a boy or are you a girl, with your hair so long, you look like a girl.’  The music industry androgyny was celebrated by Bowie foremost but so many were ‘doing it’.  Long haired men and short haired women.  Cross dressing.

Today with the Transgender Movement cross dressing is just the mildest of ‘deviations’.  At the extreme men and women are surgically and hormonally doing all they can to be the ‘role’ of the ‘other’.

I do not believe God is male or female, whatever anthropomorphism we may use or how the Bible may describe the family. Yahweh. Allah, Krishna and all the god’s of man are like the story of the ‘elephant’ and the blindfolded wise man’. The elephant is all and none of the descritptions. That’s why we say God is ineffable. Qualities of God included omniscient , omnipotent, omnipotential, ineffable, immanent and transcendent.  The mystical classic of the west, is the God of Unknowing.’

Buber described awareness as I and It and that the greatest movement was from I and It to I and Thou.  Namaste , the “god in me salutes the god in you’.  The Self is neither male or female.  God is and isn’t. God of the Trinity has gender and family but Yahweh, “I am that is who I am” is beyond gender for sure.  The Self is self.  That is the indivisible and infinite within.

I like the term role. Others call it personality. Some have described it as ‘dissociative’.  There’s even ‘multiples’.  We offen talk of the good and bad self, the child who is mischievous. That’s not the entity or being.  When I meditate I know I am and that process isn’t gender biased

Yet when I dress and act as a woman I become a part of mysel. We’re actually all have the X chromosome.  We begin as children in a feminine state if anything , men become more differentiated as male at adolescent.  Remove the testosterone producing gonads and men revert to female in so many aspects.

My friend laughs about aging saying that as women and men move into their sixties their hormones move more to the centre balance so little old men and little old women often look little different.  Gender defines the young but the old are more defined by age and capability. My friend in a wheelchair never became an ‘invalid’ or’ wheelchair’. He was so much more and indeed argued stridently that the wheel chair freed him to become more his self.

I like breasts.  I expect if I was Buddha as a young man surrounded by buxom brown skinned princesses naked from the waist up I’d never want my own breasts. But in our nuclear family society and the individualism of this modern culture I like the look of breasts.  As a former dancer and gymnast I’m fascinated by how they affect my carriage. I have to stand more upright .  Posture is so affected by many factors. There’s no doubt despite the 19th century legal system that 4 inch heels are ‘fuck me’ shoes .  As my very stylish friend now in her 70’s has always said, if you have to walk in 4 inch heels you are definitely doing something wrong as a woman.  I loved the classic “Naked Ape’ which pointed to the ‘red lips’ and butt pushed out to accentuate the sexual provocativeness of the female.  The woman in ‘sensible shoes’ is not the girl of the ‘slut walk’.  

Communication in the grossly outdated courts is not just ‘written and spoken language’ which the courts actually handle well. Psychologists and sociologists and psychiatrists however are much more evolved as are anthropologists in the study of ‘communication’ between men and women and groups.  4 inch heels and public stripping are definitely sexual communication of a sort but ‘broadcasting’ doesn’t mean that I want a ‘specific response.”  I might hold an open house to sell my property but I don’t mean that the Hell’s Angels are invited to use the place for an orgy.  Communication is multi factorial and beyond the limits of the present binary legal political scene which has failed in terms of family and marital courts abusing generations of children and now continues to mess up with the whole ‘gender expression’ issue.  

I am self. I have expressed my self as a male self most of my life.  I have expressed my self as a ‘physician self’ for 40 years. I’ve expressed my self as a hunter and fisherman for over 50 years. I’ve expressed myself as a blue water sailor for some 30 years.

I wore women ‘s clothes and presented in public ‘au femme’ for some 40 years off and on.  I attended the famous ‘drag queen balls’ a few times a year. I invariably saw Halloween as a chance to dress in female apparel. When I lived in Mexico I wore a sarong. I’ve worn kilts for 50 years. I’ve danced the woman’s part and the man’s part and played various roles. As a writer I’ve written the woman’s part and the man’s part. As a psychotherapist i have always considered the person from their perspective.  Psychological mindednesss is the ability to tolerate the tension of opposites. Thanks to Transactional Analysis I’ve utilized the child within as a well as the parent and adult within to work wonders with patients. I’ve been pained by the rigid roles of those who have become their ‘position’.

I’m facing retirement and seeing so many of my friends either dying or retiring.  So many are leaving  the ‘rigid roles’ that they tolerated so many years but with wisdom and age realize were killing them.  Administration and government which divides itself into ‘parties’ is always ‘partying’. They’re worse than my drug addicts.  The ‘government party’ which all it’s hypocrisy and virtue signalling and lies is anathema to the soul of most.  These ‘roles’ are ‘unhealthy’ and people who must interact with those who cling to a role o any kind experience ‘toxity’.  There’s little transparency or honesty in those arrangements.

I am self and I like to wear breasts,. My favourite book was the Lazy Cross dresser,  He used breastforns because it made the clothes hang better I think it’s a declaration, Beyond long hair the breast declare one as ‘outsider’ and accepting of it.  The female equivalent would be the “cod piece’.  We are a matriarchal society.  Imitation is the sincerest form o flattery.  The women are wearing pants and the men have long hair. Next the men are wearing breast forms and we’re waiting for the women to catch up and start wearing cod pieces,  The lesbians and an unknown number of heterosexuals have made ‘strap on’s’ a highly lucrative market. The ‘porn industry’ so abused by the ‘respectable women’ has now a ‘competing ‘erotica’ market which is loosely ‘female porn’ by no better name.  Euphemism is all the rage today.

I understand though why so many women are thankful to take off their bras at the end of the day.  The equivalent for men is the ‘suit’.  The ‘ work role’ is represented in the clothing.  Communication is in dress.  I liked my white lab coat which I wore for many years,  I so enjoyed Carl Jung’s book on Symbols. The Mao Jacket by artist Sui Jianguo is the latest of military symbolism .  I loved the ‘make peace not war’ era yet Freud was right when he noted that ‘sex and agression’ were the issues of adults. I like that Jung noted that Integration was more an issue for the older.  

I enjoy a retired artist friend whose daily change of clothing is outlandish.  Fashion is wild. Andy Warhol was right when he made of the statement of ‘20 minutes of fame’.  We actually have an idiot PM who is as much as putting his feet on the table at international conferences to have his socks discussed.  These are bizarre times. War and Rumors of War.  

Klinger was the MASH character who wished to be sent home from the war as insane so dressed in women’s clothes.  Today when women do anything traditionally male they are celebrated but when men ‘imitate women’ they continue to be ridiculed. It’s as if the ‘feminism’ of today is merely “imitation of men’ , flattery of men, not at all ‘egalitarian’.  In traditional society the ‘mother;’ was most elevated as was the ‘father’ whereas in the Marxist anti family world, their roles are reduced to being ‘breeders.’

I think of myself as transgender.  I’m what Malcolm Gladwell has called the ‘outsider’. My IQ once was what ‘alienated’ me.  I felt one of when I became part of a high IQ group and now I’m alienated by my ‘gender expressioon’ though their are indeed millions of transexuals and perhaps a third of all adults who don’t fit that more rigid definition of male and female. All power to them. I certainly enjoyed my successful years as an elite cisgender male.  I’m an old person now.  I find suits and other military masculinity heavy. I miss sailing where I had no use for a bra and was satisfied in either torn sailing shorts or a sarong and sandals.  Even wearing a sarong causes judgement in Canada and that wearied me because of the virtue signalling. I mights as well present as a Rocky Horror Picture Show transvestite since the ‘acceptance’ and those who go to ‘heaven’ is so narrow. As a dog owner I’d long ago decided I didn’t want to go to a heaven that didnt welcome dogs.  Thought there’s a stairway to heaven and a highway to hell I’m not wanting the heaven’s of some people who though I admire them and their ‘tribes’ don’t really want me.  

As an English Canadian who stopped speaking French when Quebec instituted French only communication when English Canada had established French and English communication, I’ve accepted that I could never be the ‘head’ of my own country where. I was born and raised and lived too many decades .  Similiarly I ‘ve found myself asking where can I be the leader, not that I want to be the leader, but what organization would allow me to be a leader as a man who wears a frock.  I understand my female colleague who feels that way about her feeling excluded as a woman from leadership in some organizations.  I believe in meritocracy and don’t hold with identity politics at all. But I do believe in inclusivity socially. I don’t want to support an organization that wants my death as just one minor concern.

That’s my issue today.  Where am I welcome. That’s what I want.  It’s not like I voted for our present PM.  Yet I’m treated as ‘less than’ by those who voted for this evil elite ignorant fraud and traitor. Just a thought. An opinion in a time and world that is regressing and devolving to the censorship of totalitarianism.  It may be that all men are wearing bras and all women cod pieces next year, No progress there. I love this middle place which makes me such a target of the left and right.  

Time to walk the dog.