(no subject)

Woke into one of those moods today, from a dream that only sort of brushed up against trans issues, and then only externally oriented (explaining to people I knew my internal processes of deciding I didn't like a specific writer, independent of personal, familial, or trans connections). I don't believe sex=gender, but I'm having a hell of a time stepping through the prefigurative gate, because that's a default for almost everyone with whom I come into contact, will ever come into contact. Maybe I'm insufficiently psychopathological (as my therapist suggests), or maybe I'm just too weak of will to turn my back on pressure, expectation, judgement and penalty on most social fronts (as all too many people have suggested).

I deny myself many things because I don't want to fuel the misconception that I'm a transsexual. I honestly don't think it's transphobia on my part, but it's a doubt that creeps in, a lot. I tend to think, in what feels like more rational moments, that it's idealism on my part; if I'm going to be punished or shunned, I want it to be for the right reasons, damn it. It feels like it doesn't matter, though; I'm suffering, and will suffer, because of the rules for people who are assumed to be male (and therefore, men). Plus, I resent like hell the reinforcement of the very things I hate that seem fundamentally inherent in the transsexual social artefact.

I'd bomb the fuck out of the social connection between sex and gender, but that's an impossible nihlistic fantasy; there are no ideological bombs with enough force to do the job, and I have little to no faith that gradual erosion will make any difference in my lifetime. I'd drill and cut into my own brain if I knew that said action would erase those connections on all fronts for me personally, just to buy some freedom in ignorance, but that, too, seems impossible.

Just... fuck. My language sounds academic and removed when I'm most upset, which gives a sense of distance, of lack of immediacy that I think belies what I'm trying to convey. This shit is right now, up in my face, unrelenting, and impossibly to get around.

maybe rock 'n' roll can save my soul...

(from rockihoroscope.com)

One more thing: Glamorous, iconic Neptune in your Aquarius midheaven, the spot where your reputation is made, is supported by the life-giving sun this weekend. Rock star.

If only. Fucking stars...

(no subject)

Lately I feel like there are many attempts at communication, at transmissions of meaning, but I'm just missing it all somehow. I try, but I don't understand, and it makes me despair.



For probably a long time now, I've been very focused on trying to make things right, or more right, for myself. Sometimes, this can probably look like being blind to others, or at the very least not taking proper note. The intent has been to hopefully be able to make things right for others by making things right for myself first. I mean this more than the old Bobby Darin line, "You can't please anyone until you please yourself", though I suspect that's true as well. It's been far too easy to use proximity to others as something with which to beat myself because I'm uncertain of my own place in the world, amongst them. It's easy to dismiss relationships, or kindnesses or offers of aid, with things like, "Oh, sure, they like you now, but if/when there comes a social discomfort in knowing you publicly, it won't be there; don't count on them/know it's all contingent on not shaking the boat". That's not to intentionally diminish what people offer, but it's a mean spirited method of self doubt, if not actual self hatred. The problem is, I'm not sure it's working, this undertaking. I don't feel particularly close to knowing how to live, and I don't feel like I'm capable of exerting any force directly or efficiently, for myself or for others.