Monday, May 18, 2009


I'm not very well adjusted. We'll take that as a given. I do though attempt to conduct myself appropriately, in public. I think I'm getting better at it. It goes in cycles. In any case, my viewpoint about a lot of things is likely to be unconventional. Take dykes, for example. Lesbos. You know, wannabedudes. I have mixed feelings.

I will admit that I have a problem with them, lesbians. More than with gays. There's a joke reason for this, which is actually true. Gays like me. Lesbians are palpably hostile to me. No lie. Well? I'd rather be liked than disliked. So the gays have that in their favor. Is this wrong of me? I want to be kind and generous and all liberal and stupid, the way intelligent and enlightened people must be.

There are all the social problems, from both of those, uh, species, in terms of tearing down universal civilized standards of normative human conduct. Gay "marriage" is an offense to intelligence and logic and God and semantics and the Constitution and the values of decency and common sense and honesty and so on. The conduct itself, at least from the male side, is extraordinarily unhygienic. And male sexuality, made exponential as it must be by a lack of female participation, is guaranteed on the whole to be as slutty as possible, limited not even by hormones, given the exciting new developments in pharmacology and electronics. So there's that. I don't want to run the permutations. From the female side, it's more a matter of balance and energy -- more philosophical. Men need women, and women need men.

Which brings me to the point. I've never heard of them, but Cynthia Nixon is marrying her girlfriend, Christine Marinoni. Nixon is one of the Sex and the City chicks. Well, she's 43, so maybe biddy would be a more appropriate term, to maintain the poultry imagery. Should I care about this? I don't. This is a crime committed by society, corporately, not by individuals. We do what we can get away with. If everyone agrees that we're allowed to, well there it is. Right and wrong doesn't matter, where society is concerned. Society doesn't deal with absolutes.

As for Nixon, I don't know which one she is, but here's a picture of her and her betrothed:

Who am I to intrude upon their happiness? I did not seek them out though. They pushed themselves forward. They have taken great pains to insure that their happiness is not private, but that I be made aware of it, and had better approve of it or be a bigot. Very well. I am a bigot. Not just biased in favor of my values rather than theirs, but disinclined, unwilling to be convinces of the rightness of their cause. Their happiness is wrong, by definition.

I don't care about that. I can't even arrange my own happiness. My thoughts here run to a more objective standard. Look at the dude on the left. That must be Marinoni. Notice something a little off, there? Something a little imbalanced? Fashion is always almost arbitrary. What is a tie, anyway? What is its function? A sort of scarf? A leash? A noose? Its only purpose is one of communication. It tells others what we want them to think about us. Marinoni wants us to think she's a dude.

But she has no penis.

Some dudes don't have a penis. Accidents happen. However we want to define what is biologically male, though, Marinoni does not qualify. So why is she dressed up that way? Is it satire? She's a very humorous fella? More like farce. She's not gender bending, she's bent herself. This is not me, laying on invective. This is her, playing a sexualized form of childish dressup game. I'll be the mommy and you be the daddy. But they mean it, these gays. That's what's pathetic. And society is colluding. That's criminal. Morally criminal. Society has the primary function of protecting itself. Marriage is its primary tool. Destroy its institutions and it dies.

Marinoni is not blessed with classically lovely features. We can do some instant cheap analysis and suppose that her adolescent reaction to not being pretty was to flee emotionally from those callow youths who rejected her, toward the more tender acceptance of her female teen friends. Or maybe her father molested her. Or some other easy, ugly explanation. No matter. Most of us have pain and rejection in our past. Her response to the relevant challenge seems to have been that she became a bull dyke. Why should I care? Because I've been made to know about it.

Be happy. And be polite. Be homosexual. Don't be gay. The difference? One is a private behaviour. The other is a social and public policy movement. Yes, it's about pretending. Pretending to be polite and normal, even when we're not. I'm not. I pretend, as best I can. Not about being a bull dyke, or not being one. But you know what I mean. You smile even when you don't feel like it. You shave when you don't want to. You bathe. You make an effort to make other people's lives easier. It's called manners, and manners are always a compromise, or almost always. We use them, if we were taught properly, as a habit. We need them when we don't feel like using them. That's when they're needed most. Because regardless of whether or not someone else matters, we act as if they do.

I would not be rude to Nixon and Marinoni. If they asked me, in such and such a fantasy scenario, how happy I was about their gay marriage, I would say, as politely as I could, that there's no such thing, but that I hope they can find happiness. They would be offended by my not joining in on their pretend childish tea party, but I'm not good at pretending, and I'm not going to lie, and I can't be silent, since they demanded as it were an answer. So the fantasy goes.

It's all a compromise. I can't impose, and I won't be imposed upon, beyond the limits of my conscience. Our culture is moving down the bridal path of gay marriage, and that is just another symptom of the inevitable degeneracy that destroys civilizations. What, you thought we'd last forever? We can't help but have emotions about it, one way or the other. Some stood by and approved of the Crucifixion. Some, otherwise. It is by disagreement that we discover who is right.

That's all. It's not about hate. It's about common sense.


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