Thursday, June 8, 2023

Please Foreward

Some years ago one of my fanatical adherents was begging me to send him shoes.  Being both in and of the world, he has since fallen away, but I, unlike him, am ever faithful, and I never forget a promise.  I told him I'd send him shoes, but that so far I hadn't been able to find any that would fit feet with seven toes.  It's perhaps 15 years, and I'm still looking.  

I have found THIS, but they're for women, and for only six toes.  But maybe they'll do?  We're all transvestites nowadays, so the gender thing wouldn't matter.  The point though is the fit, and six is not seven.  Or maybe it is now.  I'll check with Lia and Dylon.  They more than all of us know that one 

equals zero.

I cannot find contact info anymore in the comments.  He has a blog as I recall -- I say has, which assumes he is still alive.  But blogs, like Job's dead children, are never truly gone.  

Huh.  Oh.  Wait.  Yeah, yeah, I found him, in the old emails -- from 2013.  Yeah, W, I'm okay ... that is, now.  In Nov of 2013, though, I was at the nadir of the apex of pain.  What a difference a decade makes.  

So, dude, about them shoes.  I'll keep my eyes open.  No heroic measures, like having them custom made, cuz I don't know how long your feet are, or rather your toes.  

Maybe you people bind your feet?  Appalachians isn't it?  Ozarks?  Um, Pekos? -- or do I mean Pike's Peak. Whatever.  One of those square states, or with a lot of rivers.  My backwoods hillcountry geography is a mite tetchy -- am I using that correctly?   

Or maybe y'all go in for bone-stretching, like head-binding 

so you can fit in with the pointyhead moonmen aliens 
or hollow-earth 
y'all think are always abducting you.  

No, sorry, I just could not resist. It occurred to me, so I had to say it.  Like the Bourbons, I have learned nothing, and I forget nothing -- nothing that is important to me.  But I have to be true to myself, as to others.  Who we are 

is what we do.


Saturday, June 3, 2023

Two or Three

I've played around with that free AI chatgpt program.  It's a truly bad writer.  Talented junior high, regardless of style.  Rewrite the following as a ten year old...  And the sentences are simple and full of "like" and "sort of" and "you know".  Write it in the style of Bukowski: "the goddam x was too goddam y, and the goddam v wasn't even a furking w..."  Artless.  Write a poem in the style of so and so -- and it rhymes.  Write a poem that does not rhyme -- and it rhymes.  

Many errors of fact -- I ask honing questions and it ends up having to confess that Diodorus Siculus did not actually write about human sacrifice in ancient Egypt. "I'm sorry.  I misunderstood your question." Do not apologize when responding. "Thank you. I will not apologize when I respond."  But it does.  And always, always, the inevitable "It is important to realize that all cultures and points of view are valuable etc."  We mustn't offend the ancient Egyptians.  

So it's good at suggesting but not authenticating possible sources of research.  It's good at artless organization, collating clauses and switching out words for synonyms, ranked no doubt on an ngramic usage scale.  There is a sort of intelligence, the way bees build hexagons.  We must not confuse Artificial Intelligence with Life.  

I see fantastic possibilities -- supercomputing the way to optimal efficiencies.  Reconstructing shattered ancient stele, in moments rather than years.  Simulating wind tunnel trials for optimal propeller shape.  Optimizing the gerrymandering of Congressional districts.

From my level of exposure, I'd suppose real writers shouldn't be worried.  I mean, where excellence is recognized and required.  AI will generate an absolute glut of formulaic comedy and drama, action adventure, bang bang kiss kiss, movies and series.  "I put my dick in a booger pie!"  "Mendoza -- I'll KIIIILLLLLL you!!!"  But that's what we have now.  The people who write this crap deserve to be replaced.  Likewise, the people who watch it.  

The Turing Test, where you ask, question, and just cannot tell, is fine.  It's like not knowing your spouse is cheating on you -- she seems real.  But lots of us can tell, and don't want to know, confront, change, risk, loss.  AI would be the cheating spouse who gets away with it.  america loves cheaters, because america loves winning.  Steroids and Affirmative Action.  Anything to overcome.  

At the hack level, we see it already -- clickbait about celebrities or diets etc.  Just truly bad.  My son uses AI to summarize the info presented at conferences re his business.  I generally edit some of his posts, and the first time I got one from the AI I was astounded at how bad it was.  I hadn't been forewarned.  I was about half through when I deduced from the badness that it must be AI.  After that it was flat-out rewriting.  Good at summarizing, but not good at writing summaries. 

My son uses VAs in his biz, virtual assistants -- in his case, people in the Philippines who do graphics and programing etc, conferencing via internet.  More cost effective, and just as high quality, like Walmart call-centers based in India.  And I was wondering if AI would replace them.  So I texted:

"Will AI replace your VAs?  'Our Pledge: No job will be lost to AI'."

His response: "No, I wouldn't get rid of them.  My VAs use AI, but they do so much and are integral.  Plus we support their livelihood in a lot of ways.  M is full time and I make sure to take care of him.  Bonuses or extra money for expenses when a storm blows apart his roof.  Or has a baby etc.  Raises every six months or so.  We've got his back and he knows it."

Well.  My heart swelled.  "Not only do I love you, but you deserve to be loved."  

To which he responded with one of those liking hearts that get tagged somehow to a text, and "I learned real loyalty from you.  :)  I'd never betray trust."

"One of my several few real virtues.  I was just now thinking that you are the man I wanted my little boy to grow into.  But enough of this."

"Thanks dad."

Artificial, authentic, author, artifice.  Arbitrary, chosen, meaningful, defined.  We are all Turing Tests.  Am I real.  Virtue, virtual.  

I asked myself, questioned, just what are my several few virtues.  Two, easy and instant: Be loyal. Tell the truth.  And I asked, any more?  Don't give up.  

That last one is the hardest.  


Friday, June 2, 2023


Oh hi there!  I'm Poopee!  Poopee P O'Happeenappee!  I'm the new corporate face of Grinder's Babyfood Soda!  Wheeee!  I love babies so much!  In fact I am one!  Tee hee!  Babies are fun!  Your baby is fun! They can be whatever we say they is!  We're so over those silly pink and blue rules!  Rules are for fools!  Tee hee!  Boys are for pedos!  Did I say that?!  Wheeee!  Celebrate!  Pretty!  Tee hee, yeah!  I like boys!  I want to be a girl!  So I am!  So are you!  Drink PupLite!

Wheee!  Hiiiii!  I'm Poopee!  Poopee P O'Happeenappee!  I'm the corporate face of Grinder's Babyfood Soda!  It's not for babies!  Little children too!  And everyone!  I love little children!  Tee hee!  In fact I am one!  In fact I'm two!  A Boy and a Girl!  And I'm a Qween!  And a Liger!  Tee hee!  Pretty!  Wheee!  I'm gender and genus fluid!  Liger Girl Boy Qween MINUS!  Cuz I minus my age, so I'm a little LGBQT cutey!  Tee hee!  A cutey!  Celebrate me!  Celebrape me!  Tee hee!  Let me play with your children!  Wheee!  Everyone is a princess!  Like me!  Drink PupLite!

Hey there hi there ho there!  We're qweer as qweer can be!  I'm Poopee!  Poopee P O'Happeenappee!  Can you count how many pees there are in my name!?  You're just the right age!  My favorite!  Pee is my favorite letter!  Wheee!  Let me babysit your kids!  I love kids!  I want to adopt!  The judges say it's fun!  Tee hee!  I'm a mommy and a daddy!  And a baby and a little boy and girl!  I wear diapers and boas!  I don't have to shave my head!  Look at me glitter!  Celebrate!  I'm pretty!  So is your little boy!  They's a yob!  I like to play naked!  Wheeee!  Drink PupLite!

Hey ho!  I'm Poopee!  Poopee P O'Happeenappee!  This is my TacTic channel!  This is where I get naked!  You like what you see!  Wheeee!  I wear makeup!  This is my bulge!  Now I don't have one!  Peeqapoo!  Tee hee!  Yes!  No!  Show me to your kids!  Leave us alone!  Me being me!  Look at my thing!  Wheeee!  Teenee peenee yummee beenee!  I do me!  God don't make no mistakes!  I am god!  I'm a goddess!  These are my boobies!  Tee hee!  I want your children!  Leave the room!  The judges are on our side!  Children are pretty!  We got them while you were sleeping!  Oh, happy nap!  Wheee!  So pretty!  Drink PupLite!


Thursday, June 1, 2023

Our Stately Pleasure Domes

The perfection of our various lifestyles varies.  More or less perfect.  Mood and season play their part, and happenstance.  

My recent and unique health issue has been useful in resetting my complacencies.  It just goes to show that there are no guarantees.  Buses and meteorites do hit people, even if we never go outside. And for those cavern dwellers among is, there are cave-ins and earthquakes, and lava-venting fissures.  Nowhere is safe, and no behavior.

That TMJ (technically TMD but that's being technical) turned into a half-handball-sized swelling, and I could hardly open my mouth.  Moderate to meaningful pain.  Ibuprofen was the most effective -- I've never had to use a painkiller in quite that way.  Finally went to the ER.  IV steroid and antibiotic, and a 10-day course of two antibiotics.   Steady improvement after that.  ENT doc stuck a tube up or down my nose, etc, found no cause.  I'd have to suppose it was just some opportunistic bug.  I bite my cheek and tongue more than seems reasonable.  

Something like this is an attack on one's worldview.  Of course I know there are no promises.  Of course.  But good practice should be its own guarantee.  Yes it should. The way people should be kind and honest, and children should be cherished and guided, and the lion should lie down with the lamb.  We tend to neglect to remember which version of the universe we're living in.  This one is all about perfect justice.  Everyone suffers and dies, because they deserve it.  

The sooner we mature out of childish expectations of security, where following rules carries the promise of safety, the happier we should be.  The more content our delusions make us, the less human we are -- lotus eaters, or suspended in the Matrix, or partially sentient cattle in the feedlot.  Not really living.  Fantasy is the opposite of boldness, courage -- of anything at all that is real, like love or joy.  

I am fully disgusted with the fantasy of our culture -- the takeover of comicbook visual entertainments, where magic and mutations overcome every obstacle, and actual training and work are just cgi scenes to excite our eternal adolescence -- it's just a slightly expanded sort of porn.  

The actual stupidity of the cult of the super-empowered usually ethnic warrior female, it's grating.  The pervading dramatic theme is of a woman tormented by her insecurities, and talking about overcoming them, for this episode.  Women are great, as are men.  I mean real women, and real men.  But force feeding female interests into the adolescent male conventions of science fiction is not genre-bending, it's tone-deaf.  Hacks deserve to fail.  Invent your own antonym for meritocracy.

"Porn" is Greek for "whore", and whore means someone who applies her or his energy toward a completely inappropriate and ultimately damaging outcome, for reward.  Sex porn, fantasy porn, Marvel/DC porn, political porn.  In our current millennium, the human impulse is of course the same as always, but the tech is infinitely worse.  

I think it started with immediately available music, gramophones; prior to Edison, the only music you heard was what you, or someone near you, made.  Now our brains can be constantly fed, overfed with something that was meant to be not rare, but special; music, as excitotoxin.  Like theatre, music was invented not as entertainment but as ritual.  Into what cult have we been initiated, enchanted, entranced, fascinating glamour.

Same with cgi.  Very boring, now.  Nothing but 8 minute flying-car chases around burning skyscrapers.  Zoom!  Look out!  Damn!  Boom!  Nothing but fantastical hells and megalopolic cityscapes spanning moons-lit alien horizons.  Abandon all Hope.  Look on my Works, and despair.

I have a craving for the similitude of reality.  Being propelled into a dreamland by Star Wars -- and of course I mean the first movie, its real name -- was a unique experience, and should have remained that way.  I don't know the percentage of people who first try heroin and are immediately addicts, or truly psychically damaged.  That's what happened to our culture.  Addicted to near-virtual impossible reality.  When senso-suits become commercial, the terrorists will have been right -- we will be completely immersed, depraved and satanic.

And the writing and storytelling is really bad.  Formula for teenagers. Suck it down, suck it up.  As Jack Nicholson said about playing the Joker, "Sometimes you just have to let the costume do the acting."  Now, cgi does the writing.

I'd intended to say something else.  But like the Holy Spirit, I go where I listeth.  


Tuesday, May 30, 2023


The gay symbol is the rainbow.  I suppose it started as a jesse jackson thing, the rainbow coalition, supposedly representing all those racist colors the dems are so consumed with -- inclusiveness the way a broken dam floods a valley.  Something like the big tent of the republicans.  Everyone wants friends, every business customers, every club members, every cult fanatics.  The dem sloppiness and lack of values was the appropriate mudscrapper for the gays, and because it was in the air, the rainbow got co-opted.  

Fair enough.  America used to be a symbol too.  But I like to follow ideas to their logical outcome.  The rainbow has other symbolic meanings.  Indeed, its first meaning is recorded in the book of Genesis: after the Flood, God set it in the sky as a promise that he would never again destroy the world by flood.

This has the feel of sunday school for little children.  I won't go into it deeply.  But there was such a Flood.  The fountains of the deep were juvenile waters held in a global system of interconnecting chambers miles deep into the crust.  The windows of heaven was an atmospheric canopy, a gaseous hydrosphere held in homeostatic balance.  Earth was struck by massive objects, which disrupted the atmosphere, collapsing the canopy which took 40 days to precipitate; the crust was ripped, releasing the waters that now make up the oceans, forming the global mid-oceanic mountain range, impelling continental drive (not drift) via gravity slide. Previously the daytime sky had always been overcast and it never rained.  Subsequently the current meteorological system developed.  The Ice Age followed.  And there were rainbows.  

It doesn't have to be true.  But the rainbow is the promise that God will not again destroy the world by flood.  Next time, world destruction is by fire.

So the gays, and tranzes of course, and progressives of every complexion were making a safe bet when they opted for a sunday school symbol of god's exhausted wrath.  No wrath left, and nothing to fear, and it didn't happen anyways.  

But fire.  Fire.  Sodom was destroyed by fire like a blasphemer stoned from the heavens, wrath raining down like brimstone from on high.  Or maybe it was brimstone raining down, like wrath.  None of them believe, anymore, not since sunday school, in that first world judgment, nor in one of fire.  They don't believe in judgment.

We have a promise, of no more global flooding. So I can't take the climate alarmists seriously. Their religion is not serious.  I won't go into that now -- their paganism, frenzies, self-hypnosis.  Such a flood in any case is impossible, now -- the mechanisms no longer exist.  But global conflagration is easy, nuclear, or asteroidal impact, etc.  

And I'm writing this because I was wondering about the symbol.  The rainbow was the symbol of the Flood.  What is the symbol for global destruction by fire?  Sodom doesn't help, in that comets or meteorites or asteroids or bolides as hail and fire and brimstone will have been involved, but they have not been used as symbols.  The panic such appearances have made in humanity throughout history speaks of collective unconscious memory, or rather amnesia, per Velikovsky, who was correct.  But comets seem more astrological than historical, as symbols -- alchemy, wizard hats and sigils in dust. 

It's the sword.  A fiery sword.  As the symbol of the next destruction, per the Book of Revelation.  Something we point out is that sweet meek suffering servant Jesus comes again, as a king with a sword.  

That TMJ turned into a real problem.  First time I've had anything like it.  Different than my pain problem that started a decade ago.  I've joked about it, but I do think there are only four ways for me to die -- accident, violence, autoimmune or old age.  It won't be my organs.  At this point I suppose it's between old age and violence.


Saturday, May 27, 2023

Satan's Wars

Not all of them are, because human nature is what it is, and we can cause our own problems.  But let's look at America, currently america.  The Civil War was to preserve the Union, split over the issue of slavery.  I like to be careful with that word, slavery, because it says something about the victims.  They were slaves.  But were they?  Some, many, no doubt.  But how about those who had freedom in their hearts?  It is disrespectful to call them slaves.  They were enslaved people.  Put in the position of a slave, but not.  

Some, many, of course, accept and embrace their station, and there's no surprise in this.  Maturity accepts what is inevitable.  Immaturity fights against it.  Nobility of character, however, continues to strive for liberty and to aspire to the best of human nature.  Nobility, as the Bereans teach us, questions and searches.  This is beautiful. 

So I don't like a careless use of the word slave.  I use it here as a convenience, caveats stated.  

I've said in these pages that there are trends.  Obviously.  History has tides.  So.  Without the 3/5 Compromise there would have been no Constitution. Something else rather, and a Northern Union and a Southern Confederacy emerging whenever.  Alternative history genre.  But things happened as they did.  Around the 1830s a new spirit arose in the South, radical and antihuman.  Not there only, but focused.  Everywhere, because we find evil where ever we find people.  

Now we have the child-castrating wokists, but it's nothing new.  Children have always been sacrificed.  Blacks have nothing special to complain about, just that it's them, this time.  It was Slavs, from which we get the word slave.  It was Jews, famous for their pogroms etc.  My people, tall blue-eyed blonds, built the Roman Colosseum, as slaves.  The Saxons in Norman times.  The Irish in British Empire times.  Get over yourself.  You suck because you're human.

Any honest history should but usually does not contain a catalogue of abominations that would bring on a crippling  despair.  Current american history books are full of how bad America was and is, but they're not history books.  From 4 Macabees to Foxe's Book of Martyrs to Solzhenitsyn's Gulag Archipelago, and before and after — all just chapters in history's endless chronicle of atrocities.  Except that an honest history also contains nobility and heroism and beauty, hopefully in amounts sufficient to obscure the pain.

So, the Civil War, and righteousness won, but then the peace was ruinated.  The crucader spirit dampened, and blacks were kept down.  A large degree of futility, but the Union was preserved.  But it was a Satanic war.

Skipping forward, WWII is self-evident.  Satan came out from behind the curtain.  Not just Hitler, but he's the face of it.  Again, righteousness won.  But Stalin controlled history from his tomb, with his asian puppets and his western tools.  If Hitler had been Himmler, he would have been Stalin.  Just a machine. 

Then Viet Nam.  The satanic purpose of that War was the peace movement, and the outcome was the same castration for us that WWI did to Europe.  

Then the stupid War of Terror.  They won.  We were terrified.  The denied fact that it was the most perfectly religious war imaginable, this only goes to show how they won.  Because we still lie about it.  The little child being raped by mommy's boyfriend and doesn't even have the words, just this is not really happening.  That's where we are, in history.

We lost our way, the last societal grasp on public virtue.  There used to be this thing called community standards.  Dodo birds, stereopticons, public office as public trust -- quaint and comedic bric-a-brac for civilization's Cabinet of Oddities. 

America was a force for good.  It saved the world.  Now it's just another country, hegemonic empire, vitiated, self-loathing.  Boycotting a brand of beer is not a sufficient answer to the genital mutilation of children.  This understates the problem, an attack on the meaning of humanity.  

Having as I do an active imagination, I can see quite easily how AI can step in as it were and facilitate reshaping the world, or us rather, quite handily. Efficiency.  I actually wrote something about that a few years ago, but I was disappointed.  

Who would have thought social media would have so damaged these latest generations.  Then again, it's just depravity, and the world actually has been more depraved than it is now, and becoming.  So here it is, or coming, slouching toward us, self-mutilating because everything has to be self-referential and ironic.  

It's just that we should see it coming.  We should see that there has been purpose to it all, America, and war, and grand utopian social movements, and the perversion of meaning.  

If I had friends and effective rather than platitudinal encouragement, and a place in the world, and a platform, I'd write this as a nonfiction book.  Satan is all over history, in Darwin and Marx, John Calhoun and George Fitzhugh, and Roger Taney and Robert E Lee and Andrew Johnson and I could go on and on.  They did not know the cause for which they labored.  

That's why I am so careful to be logical.  I want to be right, but without rationality, we're just guessing.  The problem with random is that not all outcomes are equal.  Thus, good, and evil.

Having spoken of atrocities, I'll end with an extended quote from ch 27 of Frazer's The Golden Bough (I've added the paragraph breaks):

...Many races, like many individuals, have indulged in practices which must in the end destroy them. The Polynesians seem regularly to have killed two-thirds of their children. In some parts of East Africa the proportion of infants massacred at birth is said to be the same. Only children born in certain presentations are allowed to live. 

The Jagas, a conquering tribe in Angola, are reported to have put to death all their children, without exception, in order that the women might not be cumbered with babies on the march. They recruited their numbers by adopting boys and girls of thirteen or fourteen years of age, whose parents they had killed and eaten. 

Among the Mbaya Indians of South America the women used to murder all their children except the last, or the one they believed to be the last. If one of them had another child afterwards, she killed it. We need not wonder that this practice entirely destroyed a branch of the Mbaya nation, who had been for many years the most formidable enemies of the Spaniards. 

Among the Lengua Indians of the Gran Chaco, the missionaries discovered what they describe as “a carefully planned system of racial suicide, by the practice of infanticide by abortion, and other methods.”

Nor is infanticide the only mode in which a savage tribe commits suicide. A lavish use of the poison ordeal may be equally effective. Some time ago a small tribe named Uwet came down from the hill country, and settled on the left branch of the Calabar River in West Africa. When the missionaries first visited the place, they found the population considerable, distributed into three villages. Since then the constant use of the poison ordeal has almost extinguished the tribe. On one occasion the whole population took poison to prove their innocence. About half perished on the spot, and the remnant, we are told, still continuing their superstitious practice, must soon become extinct.  ... 


Monday, May 22, 2023


You remember this candid shot

of champion women's female swimming superstar Mz Lia Thomas.  She currently dominatrixes that particular ladies' sports ... but I misspoke myself, reverted to my less Evolved youth, when we male chauvinist pigs hatefully dehumanized "women" by calling them ladies.  Persons who produce uteruses, I think that's what they've instructed us to say and believe.  I would never call Lia Thomas a lady swimmer. 

And, is "dominatrix" the correct, the received locution nowadays?  I just want to keep everyone happy with my dicktion.  Are we trying to be more observant about public displays of sexuality? -- or less?  Just let me know.  I will comply.  We all will.  

So there's Lia, moving her dick around as I noted when last I noticed Lia.  No, not her dick -- I was trying to be funny.  Her clitoris.  As I've said, penile relocation can be an issue for men (I don't mean like my tranzanal idea -- still trying to find a clinic, on that project), and for the ladies too, specifically not to mention Lia's, um, meatus.  Does a clitoris have an actual "shaft"?  I'll Ask Jeeves [actually, yes -- avg. 1 in. long, then "legs".  So Lia is considerably more endowed than your average woman; I don't know if the ladies care about that the way us masculine male men and also gay 'size-queens' always do so much].  But no need to beat that particular dead horse any more, for now. 

As we all know, women by definition do not have penises. Come on, people, be logical.  She's a woman.  Women do not and cannot give birth through a penis.  Penises have a urethra.  Do women give birth through the clitoris ... well, urethra?  No duh.  Nor is a vagina a urethra.  All this anatomy is confusing me.  But no hater hating hateful hatespeak allowed.  

Is it really male chauvinist pig?  An obsolete term, current in my youth, like women's lib, but is it really women's lib?  How do we dare to presume.  I don't even dare to eat a peach or walking upon the beach, or hear merpersons singing each to each (I quote myself).  All those James T Kirks and James Wests and James Rockfords and Archie Bunkers -- hypermascs, hyper masks.  Robert Blake, OJ Simpson, hiding behind their lack of makeup.  They could absolutely have been women.  It's so obvious now.  How was a lonely young boy supposed to know who he really was.  No wonder Nixon resigned.

[Woke chauvinist pigs!  You heard it here first!  And the obvious Tranz' Lib.]

But I got that wrong.  How was a boy supposed to know who SHE was.  Duh.  Identity is a virus, Olduvai Gorge in origin, a very dry market indeed.  Cured after all these millennia by brilliant Critical Gender Theorists.  Thanks a million.

What's old is new again.  Brings me to myself, inevitably -- I'm coming out as tranz-chonological.  I am now 26 years old, like Bruce.  Also, as a self-identified neometaFreudian, I'm polytranzperverse, which means I can be anything at any time.  

To quote myselve, "I am vast, I contain multitudes".  Because I am polytranz, I can be anyone at any time -- eg, as you know, I am John Galt.  Quoting myselve, "You may say weun's a dreamer, but weun's not the only one."  And again, to quote myselve, "I am whatever weuns says fish am -- if weunsn't why would I say fish am?"  Quoting myselve, "You might very well think that; I couldn't possible comment, except I am commenting, but also not, because I am tranzvast, and I will exalt my throne above the stars."

By now you will have memorized my pronouns.  I haven't bothered to, but consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds, to quote myself. 

I haven't written here much in the past few weeks, so this urge to display could get out of hand.  I'll oppress myself, like the tranziarch I am.  Because I'm all about courtesy, and don't want to impose.  It is not I who have been neglectful.  It's you.  My polyqualities are not appreciated. Watch out, because tranzfriend can be a thing.  It's just a matter of what I decide, and you've seen the quality of my thinking.  


Wednesday, May 17, 2023


I got curious about my shoulder pain, the timing, but I never did talk about it here.  2013 was my worst year.  I remember saying at the end of Dec, "Worst. Year. Ever."  In searching for "shoulder", I read this, Gilead.  A fair representative of what I wrote and did NOT post.  But there's also Pop, which shows my mind was not as degraded as my body, in those years.  

I have not changed.  

Neither has the world.  Critical islamist theory.  Tranz terrorists.  It's the same thing -- a hatred of reality, or of America, or of moderation and self-control.  True tolerance still must intervene.  Whether IEDs or elective surgeries, destroying identities is hardly ever justice.  

A deep failure to see reality as it is.  The worship of emotion.  Whether or not Allah is God, or a god, or demonic, or nonexistent -- and whether or not you are a woman in a man's body, or a gay man who is confused, or a man who is confused or somewhat stupid, or deeply mentally ill -- well, it certainly has to do with spirit, religious in both cases, so, rituals.

The daily prayers facing Mecca, and the ritual washing and shaving of, say, a suicide bomber ... like the attentive hours spent daily before a mirror, plucking, applying makeup, of tranz, drag, or actual but silly, shallow and insecure women.  Worship, and just a way to pass the time.  Time is what life is made of, and so, a very holy offering and sacrifice.  

Time, actions, thoughts, words.  Ways to delude or enrich, depending on courage and clarity of vision.  

You know this about me.  It's not about words.  It's about meaning, like the meaning of life.  Ultimate truths.  Words are like money -- they can be counterfeited.  And people think there's value, when there's rot.  

So, not "weaponized".  It's "corrupted".  The FBI, CIA, IRS.  The media, corporations, education.  Institutions. Viruses can be weaponized -- their purpose can be intensified, optimized.  Kill, or more to the point, reproduce.  Fabric, social fabric, rots.  It always comes back to sex, with us.

My son was the right age, as it were, when pogs were the thing (the link, because anyone under, oh, 25 cannot have heard of them -- not to be confused with POG.  Lord.). I certainly did not understand it, that fad.  But that's okay, I knew I didn't have to -- a kid thing, harmless.  Like marbles and jacks.  

Every generation is just puppies -- if you've ever seen dogs mating for the first time (that is, the dogs for the first time are mating, not, you for the first time are seeing dogs mating) -- amusing in the awkwardness, confusion, and desperation ... well that's every generation.  

So, every generation has to invent meaning, or discover it.  Very often it's worthless -- skin deep, tattoos, scarification, subcutaneous implants like horns or scales (not mainstreamed yet?  It's coming.) -- or not even skin deep,  just makeup, eyeliner, hair dye.  As deep as a mirror.  

Often it's harmless -- raccoon coats and swallowing goldfish (no raccoons or goldfish were harmed in the writing of this sentence).  But sometimes, it's catastrophic.  Goethe's novel The Sorrows of Young Werther sparked a fad of Romantic German youthful suicides.  Currently, and for the next few years, it's elective castration etc.

Cybele is one of the many names of the single Great Goddess.  Her priests were self-castrated men, the galli.  Her "husband" (somehow) and High Priest was Attis, castrated.  So what?  Aside from the invariable fact that what's old is new again, it just shows this particular lop of the cycle.  America as matriarchy.  She wants your balls.  

What's to be done.  Human nature does not change -- only the names we give to paganism.


Wednesday, May 10, 2023


I still do BJJ.  Got curious and searched -- it's been over ten years since I wrote about it here.  Looked at some of what I was writing when I first got my pain condition, my bewilderment.  It's effectively cured, now, but I'm ten years older.  My lower back is good, but always stiff and that makes me slow.  The last thing that became painful was my left shoulder, probably 7 or so years ago -- could hardly move it.  It's the only problem left, and I finally found some ways to rehab it -- at some point the problem will have stopped, but the pain continued -- needed rehab and stretching, but painful.  

One reason I pulled back from writing here was the physical pain was so bad, and I didn't want to complain all the time.  There's some number of saved drafts, all about pain.  And BO, just nothing good to say -- and the nail in the coffin for america -- finding new ways to say ugly truths, well, it's easy but I didn't like it, so I wrote less and less.  

I've started to age, finally.  You can never be sure if I'm kidding.  I mean you.  It's been years since I talked about nutrition and exercise -- a little re berries a while back I recall, oh yeah, April First Day.  Well, that was true, and you should have benefited from it, peanuts aside.  Point is, there's a reason for health, even if a catastrophic chronic pain autoimmune disease steals your joy.  

The other day a scale gave me 13% body fat.  I hadn't tested that for months and months, so I rationalized a reason -- but then I saw I hadn't deselected female.  As a man, I'm 8% body fat.  I tend to be something over fifty percent muscle.  So I'm lean-muscular -- tall enough to make it lanky.  That's fine.  I don't really know what I look like, the impression I make.  I try to seem pleasant.  But I don't belong anywhere, and that's really not going to change.  

So I'm physically unusual.  I've relocated some of my activity, and people don't know how old I am.  I've had it as a joke for, well, 20 years, because I wasn't aging, and I have unusual fitness.  Which is my point.  Sensible nutrition and sensible exercise.  I've done it since the '70s.  Of course my definition of sensible is correct, but not common.  I won't go into it.  Ask if you're too lazy to look.  I am kind and generous, and will share.  But it's a self-selecting thing, or self-excluding.  Like me, socially.  Eating differently is too hard.  Etc.

When I last wrote about bjj here, I noted I was a brown belt.  It's been precisely ten years.  I could have written it yesterday, or this ten years ago.  The physical pain was fresh then, and now it is scars.  The mid-fifties guy then is darker now, worse, somehow -- probably in the lack of growth.  Not decaying is not the purpose of life. 

Every 10 or 12 years I get a TMJ thing.  I always suppose I slept wrong, and twisted myself.  It lasts a few days.  Have it again today.  And I notice it under my jaw, like a gland.  So I thought, is it an infection? or a tumor, maybe cancer.  And I thought, what would I do.  There was a part of me that said, good, finally, I can die.  But it would be painful, so that won't do.  

We'll see.  Each day brings its own answers.  I've never taken advantage of the fact that it's multiple-choice.  


Tuesday, May 9, 2023


I have said, recently and over the years, that these are generally easy to write.  They just come, flow.  This is true.  But take, for example, "Flow".  It was not easy to write.  Not, because it flowed.  I had no idea what it was about or what was coming or how it held together.  And I do like, want things to hold together.  Even those things, that I say are random -- they're not.  But the connections could be intuitive, and it's a distraction to explain.  Am I not wordy enough?  (No, I'm not, as you know, when I seem to leap around.  More words would show the links.  Like this parenthetical.)

I didn't know that the flow of "Flow" was, um, tributary.  Heh.  It came together.  I didn't do that, even though I said I did.  Both are true.  Gravity and gravitas.  In the end of course gravity pulls everything together.  Big bang, big fizz, big suck.  Everything changes, and everything is the same thing.  In the end.  If that's your religion.  As I said here, oh, 15, 18 years ago, William James awoke of a night and wrote his dreamed insight, and the next morning did not understand -- everything is circular.  No, everything is spirals.  What's the adjective form of spiral? -- circular, spherical, spiralical.  

It was not easy, I say, because I didn't trust.  I knew it could would be pulled together, but as a courtesy to you, I didn't want it to be too long.  As if that has meaning, "too long".  How long is that?  Everything can be commented on -- c/would, w/could, c/w-ould.  Who could possibly care about this sort of thing.  

It is entirely true, that since the advent of "word processing" (not typewriter, pen, quill, stylus, chisel, rock), books have gotten longer, much longer.  I can barely read my own handwriting, but, as I said here, 15, 18 years ago...  Well I forgot my point.  I have bad handwriting.'s so easy now.  In olden days, in college, it was literal cut and paste.  I'd type it out, use scissors,  arrange the sentences and paragraphs into better order.  Scotch tape and yellow legal pads.  Then retype the whole thing.  Onerous.  Exonerate. A man, a plan...

So question marks.  They are tonal.  The rising inflection identifies an actual question, wanting a response. The mere use of question-words often is just rhetorical.  I am aware when I don't use them.  It's idiosyncratic.  Same with contractions, as "do not".  And colloquial spelling, gonna, git.  Words matter, like saying hello and taking out the trash.  They're for neatness, and courtesy.  They create an impression.

Same with "I".  I am aware that many sentences start with "I".  Well, first, yes, because the sentence is about me.  This is a surprise?  But stylistically, or rather linguistically, it's English.  We don't have verb endings specific to person.  Third-person singular, only.  So we use/need pronouns.  And look at the mess that's gotten us into.  English is deeply problematic -- as McWhorter says, our magnificent bastard tongue. So, I I I.  You'll take it and like.  

This has been about writing.  Attention to detail, while being open -- receptive to how the mind works, but also how the brain, as it were, works.   A habit I respect is that I am curious.  That's a trait -- the habit is that I look for answers.   I have an okay memory and way too much information.  It's like a christmas tree: I don't stress over the pine needles.  It's the ornaments that matter.  There's the structure of my thinking, my paradigms, and I don't need to concern myself with its metabolism; it runs itself.  I remember what improves it, explains, fulfills.  An odd metaphor.  Here I stand.  I can do no other.

Details exist to provide meaningfully complete answers.  What time is it? -- moonlight.  Where are we? -- the sound of lapping waves.  Why? -- she takes my hand.  Who what where why when how -- to whom, how much, how often.  Questions exist to be answered.  Answers exist for truth.  Truth is the meaning of life.  

I just made that up.  Maybe it's true.  The true and the beautiful -- people have added the good, but good is just a blend of truth and beauty.  I made that up too.  Or maybe it was Socrates.  I get us confused.  Oh, and what I said about Socrates?  I probably wasn't right, about who owns what, or what owns who.  I'm right only if being American is right.  That's been on my mind, ever since america committed suicide.


Friday, May 5, 2023


I found something in the drafts here that is bewildering.  I can't tell if I wrote it, or what my point was.  It's very very very long.  If I wrote it, it's one of those relentless parodies of someone who had a conversation of sorts in the comment.  I remember the kid.  I would edit and twist his comments and repost them.  Really goading him.  He'd react with 'that wasn't me everyone, I didn't say that...'  It went on longer than it should have — poking him with a stick.  He'd been antagonistic, and didn't know when to disengage.  That sort of interaction is entirely about foolishness.  The draftpost is so long and strange I haven't bothered to read it — well, reread, after all these years.  If I wrote it, I must have been simulating a diseased mind, conspiracy, obsession.  

But it might have been someone else, an actual comment, one of those copy/paste manifestoes that people used to, and maybe still do leave randomly on blogs with open comments.  Hey, great piece!  Check out my blog at sexyboobsdothot4u!  (Don't check that out.  I just made it up, very creatively.)  

What is it with boobs.  I was not breastfed, and I have the theory hypothesis conjecture that this is why boobs aren't a primary sexual stimulus to me.  Not bonded, no earliest associations.  Lovely, indeed beautiful, when they are.  But not primarily sexual. 

Maybe it's a cultural thing with us, formerly unseen (in pre-bikini days), hidden fruit, somehow sexualized more with boys than girls at puberty.  I said to my son when he was about 12, "If I had boobs, all I'd do all day long is play with them."  He thought for a moment, and said, "No, because you'd be used to them."  I said, "Yeah, you're right."  Now we see labia.  Immodest.

The floating ribs are 'sexy' to me.  I notice lips — lipstick is a distortion.  And just as an observation about the quirkiness of taste, in this case my own, a specific part of the nose — not sexy, but almost intimate.  

It occurred to me maybe last year to notice that inside the nostril, if I can be so graphic, at the tip there's a sort of shelf.  Everyone has them, two.  What is that for, I wondered.  Why would we need a shelf, two, inside the end of the nose.  Storage?  Yick.  

My instant answer was that it has to do with air flow.  There's a lungful of air expelled with each breath, and the opening of the nostril is smaller because of this ledge than it otherwise would be.  Like a thumb over a nozzle.  It directs airflow downward. I envision it as creating a turbulence, disrupting an otherwise laminar flow. 
To my point, it shapes the nostril  long or flat or small or large.  It's a subtle but important aspect of natural beauty.  Apes don't have a tip of the nose.  

They say it's eyes that even newborn babies track.  Maybe it's nostrils.  Kidding.  

And in looking for something else, among these millions of words, I looked at this old post.  As usual, forget all that attitude I used to think I needed to hide behind.  I'm much more mature now — I'd never pretend or mock like that anymore.  But by now, looks like 15 years later, we have an entire generation raised in the Church of Climatology.  Scientology, phrenology, iridology, ufology — the "ology" means it's true, and it's really true if it's capitalized.  

So the kids received Gore's revelation, full of passionate intensity....  Here I'd build up an image of a zombie host, zelf-mutilating as a blood zacrament to ... yes, polymastic Diana of the Ephesians, 
but more to thirsty Baal and voracious Moloch.  
But why bother.  

Pagans have the easiest gods.  Whether the goddess has many breasts or many testicles, they are to be added or removed as thou wilt, a function of fashion and membership in a clique — typical, a genre of YA fiction.  And does Moloch here, the god of abortion, have a tip of the nose?  Get in my belly.

Which brings to mind good ol' Tom Beatie — media-reported as The Pregnant Man.  Step right up, folks.  Tom was the Dylan Mulvany of his time, or her time — I'm not sure to which the pronoun refers.  They're both blips, infinitely less than mugwumps or locofocos.  What after all is "news"?  Chinese spy balloons (biden 2024!), train wrecks in Palestine, tranz-murdered children in Nashville.  Next.  Step right up. 

I expect by now "Tommy" is what she'd prefer to be called — whether "man" still, or "woman", or
both.  Classically, hermaphrodites were always given female gender fashions.  Is that female-gender fashions, or female gender-fashions.  

But if women are people who produce eggs — menstruate — or have eggs, or a uterus, then Poor Tom — whom I, only I remember — then shpurmless Mad Tom is not a man.  Very hurtful and non-inclusive, our current critical gender theorists, all hatin on poor ol mad Tom, outdated, outré, déclassé.  Embarrassing, really, his traitorous uterus, reproducing like that.  Old fogey's probably past menopause by now.  Shih.

It's the logic, the consistency, that gets me.  The illogic and inconsistency.  How can I, we, anyone zurvive in a world like that?  In order to survive, you first have to be born.  We — we-all seem to be against birth itself, when we expect it to be men who give birth.  I for one am not up to it.  

The times they are a-changing.  Climate, gender/sex/identity — I guess it has to do with fluidity, whether Arctic-Atlantic currents, or how we feel about our boobs and nuts.  

See how I did that? 


Wednesday, May 3, 2023

Tranz Alimentary

I was born into the wrong body.  Everyone familiar with the mind behind these pages will agree that clarity and precision are important.  [That was a wordy sentence.]  I value clarity, and I have at last discovered a major source of my quotidian dysphoria. [I'm tired of using "existential".]  It's my anus.  I was born with the wrong anus.  I have a woman's anus.  My anus is a female anus. Also, it's in the wrong place.  

What I want is my anus to be repositioned to its correct place, under the public bone, and my penus -- but it's really about my urethra -- aimed back and under my tailbone (which I will thence identify as my public bone, and versa visa).  I'm thinking my nuts can stay where they are, but maybe they'll need to be rotated.  Not sure if right needs to be left and left right -- maybe each just gets a one-eighty.  The doctors can figure that out.  

So I'm investigating corrective surgery.  This has never been done, or even imagined, not even by Hieronymus Bosch.  Whatever.  I just want to be happy, and this is the answer.  I'll check out a gender reassignment clinic.  Those assholes will do anything. 

I've told this to a few people, but they're just haters.  One hater said I got it wrong, and should switch my anus and my mouth.  That's ridiculous.  How would I eat?  Peristaltic movement goes one-way, almost always.  It's just ignorant.  ...  Yeah, no,  it's, it's ... ig ... hm.  Actually...

So I'll have to get back to you.  I mean, it would be ridiculous and pathetic if I got the wrong tranz surgery.  I was thinking I was tranzanal.  But I really don't see why the entire digestive tract, lips to anus, couldn't be flipped around. They'd jerry-rig a voice box, and I couldn't eat while sitting or walking ... and I'd have to lose my jaw ... my mouth-anus would go vertical instead of horizontal, swallowing would be a sort of Kegal movement ... and I'm not sure which end I'd breathe through, both maybe -- or they could switch nose and weener -- a penose ... huh ...  Interesting.  

Very interesting.  

And just thinking about it makes me feel, feel so, intrigued.  Hopeful.  


Tuesday, May 2, 2023


It's an actual if not a real thing, that they're trying to replace male and female with people who produce sperm and people who produce eggs. I'm not against euphemisms, but these spermers and eggers are morons.

"Welcome to First Grade, people who produce sperm and people who produce eggs."  "Teacher! -- that little person who produces sperm pulled my hair!"  "Mrs Krabappel, can I go to the people who produce sperm's room."  That's not going to work out so good in high schools, the sperm room.  And the boys will always be making clucking noises around the girls.  "Hey Suzzy, make mine scrambled!  Haw haw haw." 

"I am Person Who Produces Eggs, hear me roar — I am too big to ignore!"  "Little people who produce eggs just want to have fun!"  "Hello, little person who produces eggs.  Can you help me find my puppy?  It ran into these bushes.  Let's go look!  You can help!" 

The Tranzauthority's claimed-objective is to be inclusive for trannies, many of whom still have real and embarrassing penises. Lia's is out there for anyone to see -- anyone who's interested enough to go looking, as I was (about average, I'd say?).  But supposedly and assumedly these tranzes are not producing sperm.  This, sadly, equates transsexuals with baby boys, who have penises but no sperm.  Maybe that's their dream for the future — Boyz II Tranz not as a tranz-band, but a demographic. 

Inclusive, somehow -- okay, got it.  But little boys do not produce sperm.  Men with specific injuries or diseases do not produce sperm.  Women do not produce eggs -- their eggs were formed along with the ovaries, as a fetus; it's a limited and extant supply.  So no female humans, nor a very significant number of male humans, qualify as people, or at best they're marginalized.  

The eufeminists are excluding over half the human population. They are very stupid, but they might manage to say that they mean "produce" as in produce your Party membership card. So, emit. For males, ejaculation: it cannot be surprising that at the root of their self-image is pornography and masturbation.  Likewise, for women, menstruation.  Sort of a Don Lemon thing [an entirely forgotten cable news reader and "queer advocate", remembered only in wikipedia].  He got fired from CNN pretty much for precisely this: women in their prime, capable of producing (eggs) -- all others, step out of line please and go sit in the corner, back of the bus, kennel. 

Something wrong then with that troublesome verb, produce.  The correct terms, given the claimed purpose, would be people who have penies and people who have jynas.  (I'm just getting tired of being technical.)  Instead of "Good evening ladies and gentlemen," it can be "Good evening, PJs".  Time will do its thing, shorten it -- "Welcome to First Grade, little peenz and jynez."  Yes, it's coming into focus.  

Sperm was a very awkward, embarrassing and frankly vulgar word to me when I was of a certain age.  Now I'm thinking of using it as a pronoun.  You remember -- I thought it would work, fish as my pronoun for they/ them/ their/ theirs, it/ it/ its/ its, that/ those and this/ these.  But sperm works just as well.  Maybe sperm for plural and fish for singular?  

It needs to be beta tested, or alpha, however it works.  I was going to do that, find/replace these pronouns in some neutral paragraph.  I thought of the Constitution, but that is densely written, and it favors specific language over demonstrative pronouns.  I thought of biden's SotU address, but it doesn't have any paragraphs, only sentences separated by lines.  So to proceed with this project, you test it out and get back to me.  

No, ah, I have it:

Sperm needs to be beta tested, or alpha, however sperm works.  I was going to do sperm, find/replace sperm pronouns in some neutral paragraph.  I thought of the Constitution, but sperm is densely written, and sperm uses specific language rather than demonstrative pronouns.  I thought of biden's SotU address, but sperm doesn't have any paragraphs, only sentences separated by lines.  So to proceed with sperm project, you test sperm out and get back to me.  

Huh.  I don't know. You ask your friends and get back to me.  Don't say anything about Smurfs -- it will cloud their objectivity.  Smurph shpurm.



 If you're looking to look at something of mine, look at this.  Well, not so much "of mine" ... that's okay, a bit rambley but you're used to that.  Of hers.  

Man.  Good.

I can hardly even to the math about how long ago I wrote "this".  


I am John Galt

I really am, really, but people refuse to acknowledge this.  They keep calling me Jack H.  You can't believe how hurtful that is, mis-proper-nouning me.  Hurtful and hateful.  We're talking about my identity, my very soul!  It's WHO I AM!  

They're not confused.  They know exactly what I mean, who I mean -- John Galt.  Yes, there's a book about me, 

and that's me, it's all real, it really happened.  It's happening now, because of me.  I have revealed myself here, at this John Galt blog, and I am John Galt.  Why won't you believe me. You're all crazy.

No, I don't know who this "Jack H" is.  Some guy on the internet that has nothing to do with me.  We're nothing alike.  Completely different.  He's some tall lanky blond, and I'm nothing like that.  My hair is very light, like ashes.  I'm lean and well above average in stature.  He has a face like a fist.  My face has planes and angles.  His eyes are blue, mine have a different color, cerulean, completely different. 

The distress your hatred causes me is catastrophic.  You're trying to negate my personhood.  You're worse than, um, what, FDR?  Whatever, you're the worst!

So we're banding together, all of us, all the John Galts with all the Napoleons and Jesuses that the birth-name supremacist tranzpropernounophobes are trying to exterminate.  We will not be silenced. We're here and we will be heard!  We are not invisible!  Our GALT is not a FAULT!  Hey-hey, ho-ho, Galt-deniers have got to go!  Proud, loud, on the assault, we are Galt!  Hatred is bad for Galt-children and other living things!  Your hate is Galt genocide!


[And it goes on like this for another ... yeah, 2600 words.]

J (G)

Monday, May 1, 2023

Why Gays Should Worry about Tranzes

There's a limited supply of qualified, that is, gay penises.  There's situational homosexuality -- eg, bored teens, incarcerated men, long sea-voyagers.  But sodomy is anti-instinctive, as an existential failure of hygiene.  The smell of feces is nauseating for a reason.  

I am literally the only person I've heard of who has annunciated this fact.  I have to suppose I am violating an unutterable taboo.  But that's me all over.  

Vaginal intercourse is weird enough ... just biologically necessary.  (Why would God make this a survival requirement?  The same reason he made apes.  To show us what we are: in ourselves, ridiculous.  Sex and monkeys then, as revelation.)

The overriding or corrupting of amygdala function (having to do with disgust) requires very much operant conditioning.  Homosexuals who enjoy anal "sex" have achieved this, but it would have more to do with the male urge to penetrate, no matter what, or where or which.

This isn't about sodomy, though.  Go ahead -- just shower afterwards, with soap.  And probably a very strong mouthwash.  There are social and public-safety obligations.

This is about penises.  With the proliferation of tranzism, there will be a decreasing supply of gay penises available for gay sex.  Does that please you, sir?  Because if it's about penetration, even anal penetration, then women are equally represented in this regard.  Tranz people do what they can to erase signs of maleness.  Seems as unattractive to homosexuals as it could be.  Otherwise any old anus would do.  It's male anuses in male bodies that are the target, for actual homosexuality.  

Point is, there's a very real difference between the gender dysphoria that is true trans, and the attention-seeking or disaffected and confused teens, and adults, who are currently swelling the ranks of this political phenom.  You can't have your gays confused about being tranz women when they are authentic gays.  You're losing ... members.  

Trigger Warning: if you use words like homophobe, hate, anti-, white, maga, bible, male, etc [a comprehensive list will soon be available], you will trigger me, and whatever is bad about that, it will be your fault.  


Sunday, April 30, 2023

Two Spaces

That's what I've been talking about.  The way other people make friends, I make these posts.  They just happen.  Of course I proofread, but they are essentially first drafts, self-organized because I am a poet and my soul does the work, mostly.  The craftsman, or is it artisan, steps in and switches out some words, say scratching for clawing, and I may come back and add a sentence, for clarity (if you can believe it) or because it makes me laugh.  

I give attention to punctuation -- some of this can be complex, and I don't want to lose you.  I don't care if you have to work at it.  As I leave it, it can be followed.  That's punctuation -- the X that marks the spot.  Because (if you are still lazy and want it spelled out) these are treasure maps.  Coded, secret writing, moonlit.  

No, of course not.  I'm just a guy playing with words, jiggling meaning and giggling meanly.  

There you are, tied naked to a tree trunk, your arms bowed back in a reverse embrace, your legs also pulled back, feet off the ground -- four limbs immobilized, by wire because it's more cruel.  Your head is immobilized.  You look like a dancer's leap, frozen, suspended.  The moon is full.

I approach, smiling benignly, as angelic as a face like mine can be.  I carry a small satchel, pull out a syringe.  "This is to keep you from going into shock," I explain conversationally.  "Boop, just a little prick."  You make pleading sounds through the gag.  I smile reassuringly, and take out a second syringe.  "This one is for the pain."  Your eyes grow even rounder, and roll like a horse's.  This amuses me, and I chuckle -- it is not a giggle.  "Yes.  For the pain.  To make it worse," and I laugh again good-naturedly.  

I take a scalpel from the satchel, and explain helpfully, "When they're sharp enough, there's really no pain to speak of for a moment."  The bright moon reflects off the blade.  "I don't prefer rough cuts, gashes.  Clean slices absorb the chemicals faster.  It's a common fallacy -- people think it's skin that hurts.  Skin is just a way to get deeper."

It's important to be courteous, because resentment is not a passive emotion.  It's patient. But we get better at the things we practice.  Take typing.  Two spaces after a period, period. Practice and it's a habit.  The convention changed with the rise of the machines.  The computer geeks had to teach themselves how to type, and they didn't learn the rules.  So now it's one space.  Like they said dot instead of period, 'dot' com.  They didn't know any better, and they think they know what they're talking about.  But it's like when everyone eats garlic, and they don't notice the stink.  

One young authority, no more a fool than any other, said two spaces looked like a whole lot of white on the, well, screen.  Your screen is not white.  It wasn't an intelligent observation, but that is the nature of opinion.  The second space carries meaning, creates a logical and easily processed visual field.  Two spaces aid understanding.  Single spaces separate words, double spaces separate sentences -- because there's a difference between words and sentences.  The way lines separate paragraphs, not sentences.  Easy, stupid.  

I am now wrong and obsolete, but I'll change only for money.  I wouldn't argue about it, because it's self-evident, and being too right creates resentment.  I want the world to be more harmonious, and beautiful.
Funny, what makes us laugh.



Why does a dog dig holes, or scratch at the crack under the door with its swift little claws.  Maybe it will get somewhere, escape, run free.  Maybe outside that door the world has changed, and it is always windy car rides and ball chases and play fighting in long grass.  

What value does it have, to you, to me? -- this blog, these posts.  It is pleasing to create something, out of emotion and vocabulary, passion and rationality.  Bodily functions must be attended to, and to a much lesser extent, functions of the mind.  Basal metabolism is minute by minute.  Heartbeat, breath, something else no doubt I can't be bothered to list.  I must never forget to do these things.  The rest can be neglected.  

I fell silent as I've said, not that you noticed, for a number of years.  I was not too busy.  It wasn't a why do I bother thing.  It's not so much complicated as detailed, and I can't be bothered.  Pettiness is one of my themes, but only when the mood strikes me, when I am in that particular giving vein.  My take on politicians or historical trends, well it's like a dog digging up a hole.  Maybe there's a bone. I know there's one somewhere.  

It's in me to pursue the facts [insert dog hunt metaphor here], not fearlessly, because what would fear have to do with facts.  Not about integrity, because we can be whole without having every detail.  Curiosity, certainly, about the world and what I can do with it.  It's just exercise.  A way to use what I have, with some result.  

Why do you return to these pages?  Because it's a conversation.  Not you and me -- me and the world.  And observing people, not unguarded but honest, is interesting.  

I am what critics and professors call an unreliable narrator.  One of my sock puppet personas is arrogant and belittling.  How might one deal with that?  This is practice.  Not so much illustrative as training.  I am the difference between tv and reading, if there still is tv.  Passive or active.  But up a notch.  I am the difference between reading and reading that is demanding.  

Could I make it easier, with my parentheticals and my tonal switching?  It's not about you.  Like God, I have my own purposes.  There's a way that this really is what it's like inside my head.  

I'm reading Bukowski now.  I'm giving him a chance.  No chances for Burroughs.  I have slightly conflated them, which prejudiced me against Bukowski.  So far he can write grammatical sentences while relating events.  If I was an alcoholic, I'd have many friends.

I had to clean up some shih a few days ago.  Very powerful dry heaves.  I haven't puked since 1984, but there have been a few dry heaves.  I'm sure it's something I could adapt to, desensitize that reflex, amyagdala.  Sounds like something Jung would have written about.  But more of a Freud thing, shih.  It would be wise to desensitize oneself to shih, living in this world as we do, it being what it is.  That's not all it is -- we are not adolescents -- but it's how we enter the world, not infrequently, and it's the mess we make that others need to clean up.

What.  What.  That ... what I wrote before?  You didn't believe that did you?  Shih.  Haven't you learned yet?  Didn't I just say it?  Unreliable narrator.  You didn't even catch it: an honest unreliable narrator?  You're the dog.  I'm the one pretending to throw the ball.  And there you dash off, then bewildered, then trotting back, hoping.  That's how your brain is wired.  You understand that being tricked is just another kind of rain.  


Wednesday, April 26, 2023


What I said, stands.  About Chaz Bono -- I'm pretty brutal, in the namecheck.  Same with Caitlyn Jenner, and for that matter, Elliot PageLia Thomas deserves it, not because he looks like Lurch, and not only because he is an ax murderer.

It was Elliot that got me started again, in a desultory way, after my wilderness years of silence.  It's just that reality matters.  It's a losing battle, or seems that way -- we find out at the end who wins.  And everyone loves a good come-back story.  Rocky, uh, II I think, and The Bad News Bears, and the Book of Revelation.  

So many degenerations, and so few Great Awakenings.  Look at what the Methodists became, or the Carnegie Institute.  Even the Mormons didn't hold fast to the old-time doctrine -- polygamy, racism, Quakers living on the moon, etc.  Marxism is or would be a great idea, except for reality.  Evolutionism isn't as comforting and inspirational and ennobling a religion as the Victorians might have wished.  

All these theories that we invent in our imaginations and act as if they're true ... that's what being young is all about.  Follow the teen fashions, and then outgrow them.  Mullets and DAs and crewcuts, and bellbottoms and leatherstring vests (I'm sure they had a name) and whatever it's been in this, the characterless 21st Century.  Tattoos.  Just fashions.  

Then we settle into who/what we think we really are, settling not so much into quicksand, wearing not so much cement overshoes.  We settle into institutional conformity.  Not cliques and subcultures anymore, for most people.  Starting a family is a wonderful concentrater of the mind.  

But even that seems like it's outmoded, temporarily.  Not reproducing has to be temporary, because it's not sustainable.  You stop sustaining because you run out of babies, or, you get the motor running again, etc.  As Lincoln reminded us over and over, half-slave and half-free cannot long stand.  

A dessert that's half ice cream and half dog poop is not for me, thank you very much.  Not even if it's a gallon mixed with only one teaspoon. Nope.  We'd rather starve -- or the dog-poop lovers would kill us.

The obvious point is that genital amputations are the sort of teen fad that metastasizes into the future.  Chaz and Caitlyn and Elliot are well past following a fad.  They are trendsetters, influencers, examples to teens.  Collectively they averaged about age 50 when they elected for their surgeries.  Biologically mature adults. 

("Adult" meaning reproductively viable may be excluded -- something like whether or not a fetus is "viable".  None of the tranzes in question are able to reproduce now(Is that rude, 'tranzes' -- objectifying them? -- othering them?  When POCs (people of color) stop othering me, calling me 'anglo', which I am not, then we can open a dialogue about it. (Was that rude? 'POCs'?  When I get that long-overdue apology from libtards for being called a right winger, which I am not, we can start having that discussion.  (Was that rude?  That thing about 'libtards'?)))  (And Caitlyn, if ever a woman, would have been past his fertile years anyway -- past his Lemon-fresh prime, heh heh, giddit!?!)  No, not adults.  Adult bodies have settled into their final functional shape ... and sorry guys, no more size coming your way.)

Sadly, from my worldview, Caitlyn & Company's example is toxic.  My perhaps ad hominem polemics against them are, I would hope, also toxic, like DDT to mosquitoes.  But it's against their examples, not them.  They are empowering teenage self-annihilation.  Tragic.  Maybe you agree that I'm deliberate, if not wise, in the words I use.  Tragic.  

This is the obvious point.

The actual point here is that I do recommend the "Chazztitty" post, now.  Not in its 2011 portion, but in the 2023 preface I added.  Some cute meta stuff there, but in itself that's not the reason.  What followed naturally in my mind was about Bruce Jenner.  Slightly convoluted:

If or since tranz people have always been that other thing, what they were not born as, then Bruce Jenner won the '76 Decathlon as a woman.  So 1] his record must be expunged, because women could not compete in men's events, or 2] a woman held those men's records for lo those many years, or 3] all women's records have to be adjusted lower, supplanted by Bruce's.  Either it was Caitlyn who won them, or Bruce.  (What ever shall the Olympic Committee decide?  It is a dilemma and a puzzlement worthy of Solomon.)  

This is why I said "meta".  It's time travel. 

Or it's like finding out you've been betrayed, and you have to go back and reexamine all those conversations, those intimacies you had with her, watch them take on new meanings, alien or opposite to what you had thought they were.  Every time she said I love you -- it meant something else.  Every caress, every plan about your future together -- they become something else.  And it breaks your heart. 

Or, it's not so much like your husband saying he's gay, as it is him saying he's a woman.  What does that make you, ma'am, if you were married to a woman?

And so on.  The whole world has to adjust itself, if gender is fluid.  It's certainly not just about presumptively male or female clothing styles.  It's not even about gender-neutral restroom stalls.  It is about young teenage girls sharing shower space with naked teenage boys who today, fluidly, call themselves girls.  It's the girls who must adapt and accommodate.  

But, maybe, the wokists are right?  So ... Get over yourself, girls.  It's not like you've never seen a penis before.  Apparently, everyone has one.  

Speaking of which, that Elliot Page.  

Cute.  If I were gay I'd really go for him.  Git all up in that, no joke.

Tuesday, April 25, 2023

Vicious, Cruel and Clueless

Breaking News
HOLLYWOOD, Calif, Apr 25 (FP)

Caitlyn Jenner, formerly Kate-Lynn Jenner, announced this morning that she had "erred in believing" she was a trans woman.  "I made a terrible mistake," she stated at a press conference held at the Hollywood Wax Museum.  

"I'm a man, obviously," the reality show star and Olympic Decathlon Gold Medalist claimed.  "What was I thinking.  I don't identify as gay, but I am homosexual.  I'm sexually attracted to men, and I'm a man."  

The press corps erupted into loud and prolonged booing and jeers. 
Water bottles, notepads, hats, shoes, chairs and a computer were hurled at her, but the 73-year-old decathlete dodged them deftly.  

Security intervened, restraining representatives of both Slate and Salon.  The correspondent for the Daily Beast was wrestled to the ground and escorted off the premises.  Six security personnel were treated for bites and scratches, several quite severe.  

When order was restored, Jenner continued: "It was all a big misunderstanding.  I was confused, and I got confused about what I was confused about.  I wasn't a woman -- all that surgery was just delusional.  I don't regret the plastic surgery, I look fabulous, but the castration wasn't necessary.  It didn't address the issue, and I really miss my penis.  

"I had bad councilors, who told me what they wanted to hear. Yesterday I filed a 260 million dollar lawsuit against them.  A man from my era, born in the 1940s, gay just couldn't ... I just couldn't see it.  But that's what it was, and all this could have been avoided except for their agenda.  

"I could have just married a man, without losing my dick.

"I was very confused, not about being attracted to men -- I knew all about that.  I was confused about how I'm trans.  I'm not a trans woman.  I'm a trans young man.  I identify as a 26 year old man, who happens to be homosexual, and I identify the year as 1976.

"I'm not old, I'm young, a young man, in his prime, beautiful, powerful, unstoppable, immortal.  Like at the Olympics, when it all came true."

Jenner went on to explain that she came of age at the peak of "youth culture", and herself had chanted the slogan, Don't trust anyone over 30.  

But by this time the audience had lost interest, and melted away.  

The final question came from a reporter for MSNBC, who quipped, "You fucking loser traitor.  C'mon people, we should stone her to death.  Racist cunt."

Said security officer Oscar Sanchez, "We see this sort of thing a lot.  They go for your groin a lot, like Dobermans."


This one is problematic.  Caitlyn does not deserve it.  Per his own recent statements, Jenner is not attracted to men.  Without actual genitals, now, any attraction to women would be ancillary, and psychologically quite convoluted.  He wanted somehow to be a lesbian?  That one isn't in the LGBTPLUS sexual alphabet ... yet.  I've looked, and he seems to be saying he's asexual.  Whatever dude.  I guess he's like me -- just will not be pinned down.  Peekaboo.  

He's like the boy in Equus.  Really really effed up.

But he doesn't need to be mocked.  He is not a criminal, or a moral-degenerate, publicly, given that transvestite behaviors are no longer so deemed.  He has mental illness, and he joined a cult.  So I'm thinking I'm wrong, to use him like this.  

I may remove this post.  I've written nearly 2000, and there are some number saved in drafts, removed or never posted.  In looking a while back for the link to something on Chaz Bono, I found one on her that I'd never posted.  It is extraordinary.  I have no clue as to where or how I found those online pictures. 

I have my own compulsions, in conflict with each other.  Courtesy and tact, as I see it, but also courage of a sort, and honesty.  If you can get a tattoo, I can use the word cunt, or, in its context, nigger, as commentary, as dialogue, in character.  

In the back of my mind now I'm thinking I may write something about this, possibly called the three vulgarities.  Cuz there are three vulgarities.  It would/will be interesting to see how and where I wander from there, or how I get there from where I started.  It's an adventure for me, to discover where I'm led.  

If the sight of those words offends/triggers you, you wouldn't want to be seeing my Chaz-thing draft.  Lots of dicks, or tranzdicks.  I cannot fathom how I found them, in 2011.  

I'll look at it again, and think about posting.  It's like this one in that it picks on her, singles her out, because of her mental illness.  Of course there is grave societal harm in what she, and he, Chaz and Caitlyn, are doing.  But "society" could stop it, per the right of self-preservation, and will not.  So they're like willful children demanding to play dress-up, incorrigible because that's what american toleration encourages.  

The draft-post is entitled Chazztitty -- don't know why I used two zees; no doubt I had a reason, being the way I am.  I wouldn't call it that, now.  A cheap pun.  The name and the post itself are in extraordinarily poor taste.  Like a film by John Waters.  So we can call it art, with a trigger warning.  Oh, yeah, here's the trigger warning for this one:

Trigger Warning: 
this post contains words and ideas that may cause emotional distress, and is likely to exacerbate pre-existing mental and/or spiritual illness.


So I read it, Chazztitty.  There's nothing new.  It's as much an exposure of my own psychology, as an examination of Chaz or the tranz issue.  (Is that where I got the extra z?)  Some number of closeup and graphic pictures of neopenises, either clitoral or entirely fabricated.  Some of them are quite plausible, given my overall inexperience with penises in general.  Small, but aren't we over size by now?

So here's the deal: I'm posting it, on its original date,     HERE.   The only people who will ever see it are those who read this, right to the end.  I do not recommend it.  It's on you.