Wednesday, August 19, 2009

I read today of a Rumanian production of FAUST about to open in Edinburgh.

After I got past the irritation of seing my FAUST not being mentioned in all other recent productions - that old sense of being airbrushed out of history - I saw something else:

Mephistopheles is represented as a hermaphrodite: with breasts and a codpiece.

I thought: that's me. Have I turned myself into some cultural representation of the alien, evil, and strange?

And thought again of the stushie that's been caused by some cheap pornographer taking upskirt photos of a singer which, allegedly, "prove" she has a penis.

What kind of cultural place are we in?

Well, this afternoon at least, I was in the peace of a deep magical wood.

And the peace stayed with me as I cycled back to this place where I'm staying, reflecting on the power of surgery.

Of the fact that I took a decision, as consciously as I was able, which means I am no longer at the mercy of whatever quirk of fate gave me a man's body but a woman's sense of my identity.

But have chosen who I am. And feel at peace with that.


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