It’s so far a delightful series. “I’d like to meet a man who wants a relationship not just a one night stand for sex.” Says one who pines for ‘love’. . They sound like any young man or woman I know these days. “I’d like to have childdren’ says one. So say the young men and women who pine for families and the evil 50’s destroyed by the Marxist feminists. I always fought for choice. Never though mothers were ‘oppressed’. I never saw or heard the world that is depicted by the college sociologists of today who celebrate communism with their limited Tolken minds. Post WWII was the greatest time for the most men and women in America, victors, with technological and sociological advances like nothing ever before.
Women had choice. Women began cross dressing in the 20’s . The whole Hillary Pant Suit expression began with Chanel in the 30’s. Men continue to wear the male attire , the military suit variation that was the garb of the British Empire in the 1850. Men dress for war at formal functions. Women in 4 inch, fuck me shoes, and jewels and taffeta and lace are dressed as Trophies, the way Veblen saw them.
You can’t question women today. You couldn’t question men in the 30’s.
Lister says Freud called female sex the ‘dark continent’. Which she says was good, ‘since he was lost and terrified of the inhabitants’.
Today women are more ignorant of men than men once were of women
Girls and mothers. Only grandfathers and grandmothers speak truth but only the grand children listen.
I cross dress. Today at the end of a long medical profession that began as a spiritual calling and was celebrated by a collective oath taken with Dr. Arnold Naimark perhaps the last the great profession, I made a pledge and signed a covenant. I bowed. Then one day a decade or so ago when Canada’s leadership became godlesss and the religion of aetheism , called communism took over, I began to be called a health care worker but I didn’t have a Union. I never had a union representative. I had an ‘association’ and as doctors we were overnight ‘stripped’ of all we held true. The elite doctors made a dirty deal for pieces of silver with their masters, administrative doctors who forgot their oath or were too young to have taken it. I’m the last of a breed of ‘physicians’, ‘clinicians’. The Knights Templar of Medicine
Before I was a doctor, before I gave my life to duty and service I was a dancer and actor and wanted to be a writer, a play write actually. I was a poet at the time. I performed on stages, developed an improvisation team that toured, acted main stage, danced on TV, trained with the world champions in London and loved. It was only later I’d become an ‘intellectual’. It was in those days I ‘sang the body electric’. It was later I’d become a monk. It was later I’d turn from God and turn back from God following the women I worshipped and living hedonistically and epicurean.
Today I’m spiritual
I’ve done a masters degree in religious studies and theology. It turned out my divinity degree was lost when the university that bequeathed it was de certified. I loved the irony of that. I had a life long medical degr3ee but at the time my ‘subspeciality’ degrees were being marketed with a shelf life. The money squabbling university was no longer granting permanence but selling crackerjack temporary diplomas so that educational suckers would be hit three and four times . Once you were hooked on the university they could squeeze3 you. I was teaching at the university at the time I became skeptical. There was something truly mean and cowardly about the slavery of the student debt. I didn’t have debt though every women I met I met wealthy and left a pauper and yet women were always portrayed as ‘victims’.
Toxic masculinity because the halcyon cry. A woman needs a man as much as a fish needs a bicycle, Dead beat dad’s. If I , an egalitarian, said have the evil things about women as women say about men publicly I’d be in jail. Play boy is faulted and Hefner a war vet discredited while 50 shades of grey becomes the women’s mainstr3eam best sellers nore pornographic than the Penthouse letters of old.
Vibrator sales and ‘erotica’ flourish. Pot becomes legal. Trudeau an alleged Sex Offender buys off his students he abused and lies and lies and does more and more drugs but at least Clinton said ‘I didn’t inhale’. Obama admitted that he did cocaine as the black thing to do. Now we’re into hallucinogens and the Brothers comic predictions have come true.
I used to do guerilla theatre, improvisation theatre in the community, doing comedy routine with my other performers. I dressed in all the costumes. Even played King Lear. I liked uniforms once. Loved my college professor look with tweed jacket cordoroy pants and leather elbows.
Today I liked best my cammo gear I wore hunting when I whispered in deer and touched them in their sleep, stalking and going about a night learning to walk and follow my cat soundlessly in the night. Today I prefer roaring about on my ATV. I liked the leather look riding my harley in uniform to Sturge3s.
I loved sailing in the tropics dressed only in canvas shorts or a sarong. I loved nude beaches. I loved to ‘sing the body electric’ .
I loved all the passion and the sex and all the work when I was young carrying women across thresholds making love to them held up in my arm against walls. In fields, in 4 poster beds, in 5 star hotels and in sleeping bags on the side of mountains. I loved the girls. We had such fun. We still do but they’ve only so late come to own their anger and their fear and their shame. They still blame their parents. Having lost fathers the single mother children blame the single mothers who claime that they did the work of two but it’s still about control,
Like suicide, I can’t control anything I’m out of control but I can kill myself and “I’ll show you’.
The symphony was so uplifting. Hesse and the Glass Bead Game. I was transported. Dissociative divine experience. Uplifted. Tzaichovsky. Otto Tausk a delight. The music heavenly and I touched that spot in my heart where God speaks.
I’ve saved or interfered with thousands of suicides and now my aetheist consumer colleague does euthanasia for gre3ater pay and status and I’m not supposed to resent or envy. I’m still a wage slave but I don’t believe the MAID Doctors or the Abortionists do Buddhists Right Living. I’ve killed. I’ve done abortion. Women aborted my baby. I’ve been gagged and raped and beat and locked up and punished over and over again till I laughed at my own pain and self pity Poor me I screamed and then I knew
The story of Jesus is God came to earth and the government killed him. God sent his son to visit creation and the government and the church killed him. We crucified my Lord.
I’m aware when I spear the side of god or hammer nails.
We’re all afraid. Jesus said do not be afraid.
I’m less afraid dressed as Klinger, I’m old. I’m enjoying looking on Both Sides. I miss being a hippy. I miss the adventure. I’m facing the great adventure of dying. God’s waiting room So many of my friends and family younger than me have died in the last few years. It’s hard to keep up with grieving. My priest friends death hit me. Covid. And the government keeps lying and the propaganda keeps spilling like bullshit and I don’t trust the Who, the UN or Tam or Fauci. Trudeau is a sick sick boy whose mother was a drug addict and whose father was a communist. Aetheism.
I just feel that aetheist don’t feel the ‘flow’ m the interconnectednessm the transcendent walking in the fore3st. I felt it last night in the forest. Fairies and mystery and the presence of God and hobbits and Fay I’m Fay. I’m touched. One tenths of my patients diagnosed psychotic were having a spiritual awakening. I struggled to sort them out knowing the money was in putting them all down and keeping the factory going. I didn’t like the one size fits all of the institution. The psychiatric hospital was just a female designed jail. I worked in both.
I’m afraid.
I pray. I meditate, I walk about nude i swim naked I wear women’s clothes. I miss the tropics. I want to move south. I want the sun. I am in pain. Joints ache. The family arthritis’s. Traumatic Arthritis . All the assaults. I miss my boat. The gentle sway of waves and tides. I’m on the hard earth,
I am at an age where testosterone and estrogen are changing. Male menopause. I like skirts. I’d wear kilts more if they were lighter and in lace and satin I asked the clan for a polyester kilt and they told me they had a table cloth.
I am today actually okay. It’s a lovely day. My dog’s hair cut has made him young and frisky. He’s a character. I’m preparing to meet family again. The struggle of that. Drama of the Gifted Child. I would take a space shift to Mars and become a Martian than live a totality of life, like a high school reunion. My dream of showing up in a red dress, Fuck You and 4 inch heels. What is it about drag queen and their mockery. I just want to slip away in androgens. I’d like someone to care for me as I’ve cared for them. I want to reincarnate as a dog.
I’m afraid Aging. I’d rather sit in a pair of pumps, nylons and black skirt , white shirt typing in an office, I was called a faggot for working as an executive assistant in England using the first computers wrapping my brains and finger around the Olivetti and the ATV BBC scheduling. I was called a faggot and I was making more money than my friend made working on the oil rigs . I just was wearing a white shirt black trousers and black shoes and coming home each night to glory in sex with the most beautiful and sexiest woman in the world my dancer wife of the day. We went to theatre every week and bicycle and ate fish in paper wrapping. I read Hesse and Tolstoy for the first time.
I do the next right thing
I serve but my taxes go to pay terrorists and to buy the enemy coal mines for the war against our former allies. I’m in Nuremberg in my mind struggling with the Banality of Evil. The election could have been worse but it was bad enough. I am afraid. Totalitarianism and the reign of terror. The loss of rights. UN and Agenda 21. The WEF and Davos all are mechanisms to entrench the elite and hurt the poor and middle class. It’s Marxist. Elite and peasant Dictatorship of the proletariat The Supreme Court serves the clown wearig a mockery of the last supper sweatshirts. Forgive them for they know not what do. Some are sicker than others.
I would rather lie in the arms of a lover and feel protected. I don’t feel I can protect anyone anymore. My last wife stoned on coke and psychotic tried to kill me and I was only thankful she didn’t kill me and my dog. She was so insane. That’s not the story that was told. The government backed the lying crack head prostitute who prayed on my practice then lied to them and they used her as their Trojan horse to punish me and I really felt afraid. All of the false allegations and the courts revel in them.. It’s a story contest which the best dramatist making the best poor me story and the drug addicts and psychotic borderlines gas lighting but the old administrative grandfathers loins are hot with the hope that if they help the lusty young woman they were get the blows jobs her eyes promise. I can’t compete. I know too many who fucked their way to the top I was at the top when I was raped.
Rape is inevitable. So lie back and enjoy it. Days of fasting and deprivation. Alone in hurricanes. Igloos and polar bears. Nights of reflection.
A good life, An adventure story and a romance. A thriller. A western. And all the while healing. A good doctor.
Roles.
Donovan, “the doctor bit was so far out, looking through crystal spectacles, I believe I had your fun’.
I’m actually pretty happy. Life is good. God is good all of the time. I’m grateful for the depth and breadth and design of my life. This comic strip of reality I live in. It’s actually some days a novel or a documentary. More like I’m still playing the kazoo in the symphony of life. I dream of meetings with angels and god and family. Last night I was learning sewing in my dreams, repairing a patch on a sail. I had a new machine and there was no rust. Like the time I repaired the ham radio in Mexico or the days I overhauled the Diesel engine in the Hawaiian islands
Two new deep cycle batteries are sitting in the vestibule to be taken to the camper for the weekend hunt. I’ve work to do on ensuring the electrical system works with faults when I don’t have my generator along. I’m installing solar panels in the fall. Soon my camper will be as survival proof as my offshore yacht.
But am I ready for death. When i was unable to breathe, feeling my lungs didn’t work, when I still ed th panic liked I did when my scuba tank went 3empty and i had to rise slowly to avoid the bends and I lay there in Feb 2020 and prayed and stilled my heart and breathed and thought I was going to die not remembering a flu that was like this every before and day or so when by and my lungs released and the panic stilled and I breathed and I thought ‘that must be Covid’. But I didn’t feel prepared to leave. I didn’t feel ready to die. I dfidn’t feel fit . I have meditated more prayed more, talked more with God and done my work but reflected on my life
Keep the lamps lit as the master could arrive any day.
My dog needs me. I want to live to care for him till he’s 20 I cared for Gilbert, blind and back injured and I carry myself along and am my own mother and father, lover and friend..
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