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Transsexual love poems

The notion that you can be whatever sex you want to be is rooted in the notion that all truth is created by language.  All you have to do is declare black white, and voila, “reality” has been altered.  It is a magic spell  As I said some years ago, the “vibe” of Deconstruction is that of men in thick robes waving braziers of thick incense over a mass of people crowded into an old church. It is mysticism without spirit, a mystery bred in fear which never left it.

I was contemplating this morning the change in sexuality since the 1960’s.  Is there any more Mick Jagger in contemporary sexuality, when the most advanced tell us that it shouldn’t matter who has male parts and who has female parts?  I use Mick specifically because he was, and presumably still is, bisexual. He was willing to fuck anyone, but ONLY IF HE FELT LUST FOR THEM.

We are not being told ugliness is beauty, and beauty ugliness.  We are being told our every last natural impulse is fake, and the political demands of the moment the only truth.

In my mind, nothing further from natural love could be imagined.  It is the logic of the machine, where all parts accept their role in the whole without question, where individual volition and choice don’t matter, where “freedom” is merely a lie from yesteryear, and the manic compulsion to treat people–including oneself–as objects the only truth.

On his own account, Mick couldn’t get no satisfaction, even thought he tried, and he tried, and he tried.  But he no doubt had some really great sex.  What is there now, when so many people think playing dress-up amounts to a type of sexuality?  Sex in such a world comes to be, or so it seems to me, not a personal act but a political one.  Everything is political.  This is the main feature of the totalitarian mindset.

Fucking is natural. What we see on display today is not.  Everything, in all spheres of our lives, seemingly, is moving us steadily away from life and nature as they are, into manufactured realities on untold danger.  Opportunity, too, perhaps, but what we had was already enough.