I who may well be...

Musings from the perspective of a human being who may well be not locatable completely within the usual categories of male or female or gay or straight or transsexual or intersexed or exploiter or exploited or supplier or consumer or performer or spectator.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Jesus, Rules, and Love

This is a cc of a letter sent today to SMH , in response to a minister, in regard to homosexuality, claiming that we cannot pick and choose which Biblical rules to follow, :

Obviously, there is a lot of old guff in the Bible, but Christians are not asked to pick and choose; We are simply commanded to love God above all, and to love our neighbour as we love our self.

When the authoritarians quiz him on which technicalities should be used to punish people, Jesus notes that the Sabbath is made for the people, not the people for the Sabbath.

Please, stop dissing gays and transsexuals and intersexed people and other non-strictly-heterosexual people. God made us and loves us too, and every thing we lovingly do.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Boycott Singapore's Optus

In light of Singapore being the major shareholder of Optus, and Singapore's insistence on killing that beautiful boy, I have just switched from Optus as my phone and internet provider. It took half an hour, but I believe I have a moral duty to refrain from sponsoring murder. And I pray that somehow his life will be spared, but the future is shaped by many different wills, and the outcome is not up to me alone.

The war against drugs is a war against people. Not a single cap of smack sits on death row. Not a single joint has been strip searched by the pigs. Not a single pill has lost custody of its children due to incarceration. Not
a single vial has been roughed up and interogated. And world wide drug use has been diminished not one whit. It is not a war against drugs; it is a war against people.

You may well argue that substance addiction causes problems, but you can't claim to really care if your response is to make the problems worse. Losing your life to a brutal regime is a lot more harmful than maybe turning up for work too hungover too often.

Please, even in this ecumenical world, let's agree on some basic standards of how to treat humans. We'd all be happier if "Do not kill" was observed not only by individuals but also by states.

Friday, November 18, 2005

I've Lived So Long I'm So Bent I'm Straight

Yikes! My attempts to be part of gay sexual culture have thoroughly disabused me of the notion that I can still be a guy, or pass as one without acting a part that is purely superficial. Yesterday morning I woke up with the awful thought that I was going to be forever sexual unfulfilled because I was Nothing in Particular (but sung to the tune of "Simply Irresistible"). I backed off from adding any more negative thoughts and set my subconscious free to find a way to me feel better.

A short time later, in the process of relaxing in my morning body movements, I had an epiphany: I'm just the same as every other woman my age. I am not significantly different, in terms of sexual attributes, to any childless post-menopausal slight-breasted woman. Just by living long enough, I have acquired gender normality. I've lived long enough to be just like any other crone. So I'm not fertile; many women my age aren't. So I was once a man, but that was so long ago, I've been a woman longer than many of you have been a man or woman. I stopped being a man in 1985, twenty years ago.

Now I meet with many young people who also had a different form twenty years ago, but one doesn't judge people by what shape they wore in their last life. If the human world could be cut in two, I have to concede I belong in the female side. I've been reluctant to place myself there, because gay men look like they are having so much fun, and I once belonged there, and I still feel empathy for queens, and I know that it's not a huge step from a femme queen to a versatile queen to a swinging bi guy to a straight man, and I really like that I know that all human beings are the same kind of being, with any gender differences being fluid and on moving spectrum, which changes aspect according to the viewer's angle and perspective... sort of like a rainbow... But while I have knowledge of this rainbow, I am not separate from it, and while I may have had some unusual experiences, so have many others, and uniqueness does not separate one from humanity. In some senses, I am a normal heterosexual mildly nymphomaniacal woman. In some senses, I am a gender-transgressive queen. And a quean (the Scottish word for an untidy woman, which I celebrate with domestic ferality). But, my historical peccadilloes notwithstanding, I have simply lived long enough that I am now a straight woman. With the same right to have the same opportunities.

And I’ve lived so long that there now an extra twenty five years worth of attractive young men since I started fellating them at nineteen. And more; even straight men are looking after themselves now. That may be an age thing too; the gay scene invents the sexy trends, the youth culture picks it up, and nowadays young folk generally look like the cutting-edge gay kids of my youth.

I just have to let go of all my history with straight men who were yukky or homophobic or transphobic or just boring old sexist pigs, and accept that the guys of today’s generations are generally okay people. And let go of my fears and insecurities. And accept that I am an older white woman with wrinkles and a passion for mostly younger men who don’t look like my dad (hairy) or brother (fat). Ah yes, I have accepted the superficiality of my sexuality, but if the look or feel or smell or taste is wrong, it can’t be put right, and it’s time to move on. And hey, I've got some special things to offer; a yoga-toned flexible mind and body, sexually uninhibited, able to take responsibility for my own desires, and comparitively free of breeding baggage and the standard bullshit of people who replicate sexism or gender warfare or their parent's dysfunctional relationships.

I’ve lived long enough to become Maude. Now, where’s Harold?

Friday, November 11, 2005

Apocalypse Now

The signs have been mounting up for sometime, and maybe this is a result of conscious intent on behalf of the lunatics running the USA, frothing at the mouth for middle east confrontations in the somewhat insane belief that they, the tyrant inheritors of the Puritans, will be God's special chosen people come Judgment Day. Of course, one of the signs of the apocalypse is not simply the return of Christ, but also (according to Mr Nazareth as quoted in the gospels) the arrival of many false messiahs claiming to be Christ, and, according to Revelations, one big Anti-Christ fooling us into believing they and their side (and only they and thier side) have God's blessing.

So, if Christ correlates to Unconditional Love, and the return of Christ means that all of us wake up to the Unconditional Love within us all, then maybe the Anti-Christ is.. umm, what's the opposite of Unconditional Love ("I love you no matter what you do") ... Is it Conditional Love ("If you love me you'll...")... or Tyranny ("You are loved as long as you are one of us and conform to our rules)....

Yeah, big surprise, the anarchist thinks that the Anti-Christ is Tyranny. Noticed any action from Tyranny lately? Sedition laws, you know, the sort of thing used to nail Jesus up? Any threats to the freedom to associate? Any danger of innocent people locked up without charge or trial? Any moves to force unmarried mothers out to work rather than allow them to collect the thrashings?


Well, there you go, I may simply be delusional, and maybe George Bush, Blair and Howard are on the side of the Angels, and the AntiChrist's picture is on CNN with a big "Muslim Terrorist" label. Forget loving your neighbour, it's too dangerous, trust the authorities, make sure you're wearing your identification number and conforming to security measures. Be sure to dob in your neighbours if you think they're growing dope; it's a very short way from bucket bongs to backpack bombs. Be suspicious of people with differently coloured skin or funny clothes. Trust the government; it's doing the best that rank terror will allow.

Or, maybe you can see that War IS Terror. That freedom cannot be imposed at gunpoint. That a shortened life of freedom and love and integrity and creativity and joy is worth infinitely more that a long dull secure cowardly and obedient existence lived in thrall to earthly authority. That loving your neighbour, your enemy, and your self, is the antidote to the Anti-Christ of Tyranny, xenophobia and fear- and war-mongering.

That's where I may well be. May you be well, too.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

A Eunuch Sex Life

For those who disdain matters of the fundament, please consider yourself fairly warned by the plain title. This post and comments are about the sex life of a human being. If this is disinteresting or repugnant to you, just don't read it.

This disclaimer is probably only regarded as neccesary because of the programming I've inherited from my own parents, who were raised with very reactionary principles aimed at controlling human nature in service to authoritarianism or a diligent breeding program; I've never really been able to identify the supposed beneficiaries of conventional sexual morality of Great Britain/White Australia circa 1950-1980. But a repressed human is easier to subjugate and control. On the other hand, a human free to maximise the power of their libido can seem terrifying to uptight conservatives. Perhaps I am only free from the limits of my sick and perverse conditioning (as I now judge the repressive sexual slavery beaten into children as "morality") because I have removed the prime physical location of these proscriptions, that is, I have removed my genitals.

For those seeking salacious stimulation, well, I hope something erotically postive happens eventually, but the purpose of this blog is to truthfully explore, and frankly, there's not been much sexual satisfaction in the last few years. However, you may find my adventures amusing, instructive as cautionary tales, or of obscure morbid interest.

A Tale of Lady Jane Beach

It's astonishing that someone who has had a broader range of sexual experience than anyone who hasn't been a young queen working in a gay nightclub, a tranny on the gay and lesbian scene, or a sex worker on the street, should discover how far behind they are the basic common sexual techniques of"picking up". I guess I've avoided this gap by having proscribed roles, such as the flirtatious glass collector, or the intriguing transsexual, or the professionally available sex worker, but I have never managed to get the hang of cruising.


Just sitting around, looking for sex, looking like you're looking for sex, realising that everyone else looking can tell you are doing nothing but sitting and looking for sex, but then, that's what most of them are doing too, and we are all vulnerable, all having to expose ourselves to the reality that some of the people we are looking at will look away, and some of the people we wish would look at us never do, and sometimes it's really hard to tell if you are being looked back at or if he's just looking around or looking at someone behind you, or maybe he is looking at you, and he is looking in your direction still, and you are trying to combine looking casually around so not everyone else knows you are staring at him, and looking at him enough so that if he is looking at you he knows that you are looking at him, and he stands up and he is half standing up, you're at a nude beach and while it's about twenty metres away you can just see, without making it too obvious you want to ravenously stare, more than half a stiffie, propping out the undies he's just put on, and your breathing changes, and you realise you don't know what happens next, and if you allow your body to move or stretch or relax everyone knows what you are thinking because your body language is big and girly and mercilessly reveals your most personal and intimate sexuality to anyone watching.

And you maybe get enough sense to think Oh so casually that maybe that's enough beach for the day, and ever so casually not looking at him get dressed, and notice he is sitting at the base of the stairs, and he starts up the stairs as you approach, and what happens now, isn't this what's supposed to happen next, but what do you do now, you don't know, there's no map, no guide book, no friends giving instruction, advice or support, you're on your own, entirely and absolutely, on your own with the most important and meaningful thing in your life at stake, and you are walking behind him up the stairs and hill, slowing down from your normal pace to keep pace with him, and you are raw and exposed and bursting with emotion, and you pass him and begin hyperventilating, your breath almost overwhelmed with the huge electric charge hanging in the air, and you pass the toilets, and is that where you are supposed to go, and you realise you have no idea what happens next, what to do next, you can’t just casually wander into the men’s toilet when you are habituated to the plumbing facilities more in line with your plumbing facilities, you don’t really want to be intimate in the ladies loo either, and you sense this is deviating from what normally happens in cruising on this beach, it feels like that dream where you are on stage and everyone is watching you and you don’t know the next line, and you can't talk to him anyway because you'd sound like a panting puppy, so you walk on, and you sit down on a bench hoping he might come and sit next to you, but after about five minutes an old fat man has perched nearby, so you return to the roadway, and that's the last you see of the tall slim delicious looking man.

And you tell yourself that you didn't blow it all by yourself, he could have said something too as you passed him, or maybe you should have glanced at him as you passed him, yes, that might have helped, but you were embarrassed by your panting and drooling and anxious look of hunger, but next time you can keep your breath under control enough to say hello, and you assure yourself that you'll be okay even if you say something and he wasn't interested in you in the first place, because you've done nothing wrong, and the knockbacks are not what counts, they just don't matter, they are statistically inevitable but of absolutely no harm unless you choose to be negatively focussed, and you realise you can do this, this terrifying thing absolutely on your own without a safety net, this matter of utmost importance without any idea of what's beyond the next step, and not a very clear idea of what the next step is, you can do this, sitting around and exposing your desire, exposing your raw hungry vulnerable humanity, and you can do more of it without fear, and maybe that tent-pole was for you, and you can cruise, and maybe one time not too far away you can pick up, and you feel more confident that can happen than you have felt in a very very long time.

The important step, I think, was recognising the panic, and resolving to choose a more useful response next time. There’s not much I can do if I have let my breath go and can’t speak. But I can notice when it is getting ragged, and reign it in. I know how to do this; I’ve done Pranayama (yogic breathing), I can do this. And not let fear of rejection keep me from living. Throw that dice, lose five out of six times, so what, there's nothing bet if you lose, and the more you play, the more you can win. Throw that dice, safe in the knowledge that you may not win everytime, but there's actually nothing to lose that you don't already lose by not playing.

And hey, I could do with more practice, but I have learned that I can cruise. And my homework is: more cruising practice.

This topic continues in my more personally intimate blog http://www.eunuchlove.blogspot.com