The current preoccupation with gender puzzles me. For some reason I am so deeply offended by the foppishness of "non-binary" that I can't shut up about it and I am starting to push people away. Not that I ever have to deal with it, except for the walking-into-a-telephone-pole experience of "they" used for one person/
The current preoccupation with gender puzzles me. For some reason I am so deeply offended by the foppishness of "non-binary" that I can't shut up about it and I am starting to push people away. Not that I ever have to deal with it, except for the walking-into-a-telephone-pole experience of "they" used for one person/
I'm male, and gay. I identify as neither. I feel no noteworthy camaraderie with other men nor with other gays. Asked to describe myself in five words neither would be in the list. My gender congruence (I refuse to use "cis") wouldn't be in the top hundred.
And as I get older and my libido dries up, I identify even less.
"I'm male, and gay. I identify as neither. I feel no noteworthy camaraderie with other men nor with other gays. Asked to describe myself in five words neither would be in the list. My gender congruence (I refuse to use "cis") wouldn't be in the top hundred."
I feel exactly the same way. Sex, sexuality, the colour of one's skin, I can't imagine how empty a person's life must be if these are the most noteworthy aspects of who they are. Or rather, I can't imagine how limited their imagination must be. *Everybody* is more interesting than their genitalia or skin tone or who they like to sleep with.
I see this as an expression of emptiness. People who have little sense of authenticity try to make up for it vicariously, with membership, with belonging. My father called these people joiners with an unmistakable tone of derision.
And, this is a theme I keep returning to, our entertainment-driven lives are not fulfilling. Cinema, television, popular music are wastelands and do I need to say anything about social media?
I used to go to the annual Street of Dreams exhibitions in Seattle; gaudy overly ostentatious houses where every single one ended up in a room with a giant television showing sports. The emptiness was palpable.
Even a wealthy person could feel the emptiness; now imagine someone with no noteworthy achievements or satisfaction, what does he have to make him feel valid? His white skin, or his gun, or his allegiance to Donald Trump.
The current preoccupation with gender puzzles me. For some reason I am so deeply offended by the foppishness of "non-binary" that I can't shut up about it and I am starting to push people away. Not that I ever have to deal with it, except for the walking-into-a-telephone-pole experience of "they" used for one person/
I'm male, and gay. I identify as neither. I feel no noteworthy camaraderie with other men nor with other gays. Asked to describe myself in five words neither would be in the list. My gender congruence (I refuse to use "cis") wouldn't be in the top hundred.
And as I get older and my libido dries up, I identify even less.
"I'm male, and gay. I identify as neither. I feel no noteworthy camaraderie with other men nor with other gays. Asked to describe myself in five words neither would be in the list. My gender congruence (I refuse to use "cis") wouldn't be in the top hundred."
I feel exactly the same way. Sex, sexuality, the colour of one's skin, I can't imagine how empty a person's life must be if these are the most noteworthy aspects of who they are. Or rather, I can't imagine how limited their imagination must be. *Everybody* is more interesting than their genitalia or skin tone or who they like to sleep with.
I see this as an expression of emptiness. People who have little sense of authenticity try to make up for it vicariously, with membership, with belonging. My father called these people joiners with an unmistakable tone of derision.
And, this is a theme I keep returning to, our entertainment-driven lives are not fulfilling. Cinema, television, popular music are wastelands and do I need to say anything about social media?
I used to go to the annual Street of Dreams exhibitions in Seattle; gaudy overly ostentatious houses where every single one ended up in a room with a giant television showing sports. The emptiness was palpable.
Even a wealthy person could feel the emptiness; now imagine someone with no noteworthy achievements or satisfaction, what does he have to make him feel valid? His white skin, or his gun, or his allegiance to Donald Trump.
Or his fictitious gender identity.