Wednesday, August 12, 2009

There's no question about it: we eunuchs have had a bad press.
We are a byword for frustration and helplessness.
Because we have lost our masculinity: and masculinity, as we all know, stands for everything valuable in the world.
It's strange, really, to have had to go through the process of castration to discover what crap this all is.
I suspect that, for all the discomfort and pain, I feel better than I've felt for years.
And aware of so much that has been hidden from me for years.
In the room of this writer's centre I am staying in I found an old iPod. Actually a very impressive iPod, 30 gigabytes, much bigger than my 8 gigabyte effort. Even if she is in the most elegant pink.
And He , this left behind iPod, contains one thousand eight hundred and twenty six songs, which I am listening to with the randomising music thingmi provided by Apple Incorporated, and I have to say they are utterly excellent.
Jimi Hendrix, U2, INXS, Beatles, Stones, Van Morrison, Bob Marley, Ali Farka Toure, Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton... in a very real sense all the rock greats are here.
I am most seriously impressed. And they all sing of the most amazing and profound and impressive dramas they are living through. And then suddenly, in the midst of this extraordinary outpouring of masculinity, it's Joss Stone. Who I hadn't heard of before, but unmistakenly female, and she's singing utterly and totally in relation to some man, presumably one of these, who is utterly and totally in the centre of her world.
“I've fallen in love in love with you. Please tell me what else is there to do.”
Well actually quite a lot, dear heart...
“My beating heart wants you
And my open arms need you
Please stay. Don't you please ever try to send me away..”
And I feel so shocked.. I've always known this with my head, that the music business is irredemiably male centered, but I've never felt it before quite so shockingly and directly and unmistakably in my body.
I go out for a walk.
I write a lot each day, that matters a lot to me, but also I have to walk, and I can walk, free from pain in a way I never could when I had these massive and heavy balls clanking between my legs...
I walk along a forest path after passing some beautiful isolated houses and remembering how years ago I had these crazy fantasies of being taken in and somehow having to wear female clothes.. all that dreadful forced feminisation stuff, as if there was no other way of overcoming the utterly unbearable and intolerable guilt...
And how absurd, how difficult to feel the fear of leaving behind being the centre of the universe.
And surviving. Of course.
A skirt is a delightful thing to wear in the heat, but perhaps not so wonderful on an overgrown country path, as it picks up every burr and thorn that seems to be going.
But I'm not complaining. What a journey this is.. what a story of discovery.

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