Saturday, August 14, 2021

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!  







Thursday, August 12, 2021

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. 




Wednesday, August 11, 2021

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

Monday, August 9, 2021

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. 


Sunday, August 8, 2021

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?







Saturday, August 7, 2021

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.