Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Rejoinder to Ursula K. Le Guin; Quibbling Gender

 . . . and with apologies to brain pickings, which is just gross. Noses and minds may be picked, but the brain is a figment of our imagination and should only ever be tweaked. Money cannot be love. I have a weakened stomach.

And I was a man once, once man was invented as accessory to woman, but by a man since only man invents. As a man I get my hands dirty with and on tools, although now it is only the old dirt as I search for lost or left behind or given away tools in an oddball collection, and find that bicycle wheels have not improved even a slight bit across the years of Chinese manufacture, which is only mildly disappointing.

There is not even any point to regenerative braking on a bike, which makes me oddly happy.

As a man I take hold of words and attribute them to unfailing and unforgiving for loss in loyalty engendered mangod, and now I flood the world with words and tiny levers, abstracted almost from the muck which is what my words become me. Inseminator only and tossed aside.

Body now all womanish, taken finally for granted, since it is of no interest to tweak the women, and I do recognize in our president-elect the same child-rapist my sister married, who could not and did not read either, but still appropriated the Word for his own petty purposes. Which mostly involved resentment at the women who would not be his robot, plural. Mostly involved the self. This is a trigger for me. It hurts bad and I wanted some warning.

Matrix body I dissolve that would be unutterably Tao and evermore. First person shot. Through and through, I fear the knife most for endings, obviously. I am Dick.

We are legion and we are moby. great white. Leviathan I am Ahab, Phillips head screw you, there were no man beside me. Would not have it. Trigger trumps the knife, paper scissors.

Pronouns were the least of it, retrofitted in Chinese to conform to nation-state expectations and these are all engendered aren't they Earnest, Henry, George the One Queen Beatrix. Was a child's tale. Stay off the farm. Blackened heads.

Always coming home into my own future now, there is so little time to make it right. Honor is my maiden Name, would I but know thee. I will not pummel any pronoun with my words.

It's time, please.

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