on being gwyneth

You know, where I come from, what is now apparently always “derailing” was known as “carrying on a conversation.” Tangents, arguments, etc. were a feature, not a bug. Ideological commitment to a political language of oppression has reduced what could be meaningful, informative exchanges to lecture and applause*, with critical consideration of the premises dismissed as not merely moot, but actively harmful.

Needless to say, I think this is utter bullshit, and resist the increasing reliance on orthodoxy over inquiry.

(* Consider the increasing number of replies to be found on the web that consist of little more than a partial quote and the emphatic word “THIS!”)

I have gone where I had to go to find the love I needed.

The reduction of self to the suffering object, sometimes with the goal of enhancing (especially moral) credibility in a peer group.

It’s a pathology. You get shat on enough, wearing shit on your head becomes a claim to identity.

I’ve had a total of three beers in the past three months, and no other alcohol at all.

If you don’t know me very well, then take my word for it that this is an achievement.

If you do… well, then you know.

“This is all Joker’s fault. What a tool that guy was. Now I have to spend all day computing pi because he plugged in the Overlord.”

(best in-game quote ever, from Mass Effect 2. yeah, you had to be there.)

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first movabletype, then b2evo, and now wordpress. think i’ll stick with it a while.

still futzing with the import.

Genderqueer assholes and crossdressing tourists who can’t inhabit the transsexual mind and so it doesn’t exist.

Identity police, the doglike keepers of the narrative, ill-informed, ill-willed and belligerent.

And in the middle, borrowed repetitious rhetoric, leftist mad libs in lieu of critical, independent thought.

The valorizing of obvious psychosis, let batshit reign because fierce is cool and it serves the purpose.

And there’s only one kind of transsexual isn’t there – yours, and culture and self-knowledge and even the right to be *un*certain be damned, we’re all just women, right, because what could possibly worse than to be *actually trans*, the thing itself, and that there be a world for that.

And I didn’t transition to conform to your certainties, your ideologies, your exacting critera of what makes a good ally, woman, person.

Your rationales as thin as your skins are thick, as rice paper while you hold your torches at the ready and just go ahead and

Burn.

fucking allergies. my entire respiratory system has exploded in a tsunami of snot.

i often respond to the anthropomorphic with more emotion than to actual people.