Monday, 5 December 2016

Yuletide greetings.

Soon be nobody left now that Leonard Cohen is gone too... Someone else who had to deal with depression and his music soothed my troubled soul. Just sad to see that he got dragged back by religion towards the end after saying that he had tried many but cheerfulness always broke through. The year that a rubbish cover of his Hallelujah got to be the christmas number one song with another version I do not like also near the top and his own much better version somewhere in the top 40, I smiled for weeks.

Enough of that, no videos, I know that will loose readers faster than a post about US elections, so here we go.

Once you consider yourself transitioned you finally can start to discover yourself. All those years obsessing about, could I, should I transition, can blank you off from really knowing who you truly are.Then you start to wonder how you might have been if you had not spent so long conditioning yourself to survive.

I have always hated this time of year, not just because of the miserable cold and slippy walkways or the seasonal adaptive disorder which can push us in these high latitudes to a real winter gloom. What I have always hated is christmas. A fine pagan festival to welcome the return of the sun and lengthening days hijacked by illogical and oppressive religion and fairy stories
about virgin births and present giving. Now doubly hijacked by commerce trying to force everyone to over indulge in a glutenous orgy and waste funds which need to be borrowed to buy tat nobody really wants and in return receive tat you do not want yourself.

I grew up with mean selfish parents who were glad that my birthday was close enough after christmas to declare that only one decent present would come my way. What they could never know was that not only did they never give me one decent present, and not just because they could always fine a dodgy cheap version of anything, but that they could never imagine that their sensitive child wanted anything but brutish boys toys!

Even before I started going to school I was not able to show joy for any presents, quite obvious to us but a lifetime of wrong gendered presents is a lifetime of deep stabs to the heart and a lot of unwanted junk. I longed for a bicycle, even a “boy’s” one would have done, but they were as I said very mean and needed all the money they could get for spending in the pub! It was always a mystery as to why just about everyone else got a bike at sometime, even those who did not seem to have as comfortable a home as mine. Perhaps this year, in the spring I will buy myself one to explore the country lanes and tracks.


Even now I cannot reset my attitude to receiving presents, half a century of not knowing how to react. I have always loved giving presents, usually spending more than I can afford to get something that I would love to have received and can no longer afford to buy for myself… This year an invitation to a lunch party has arrived. At a time when others will be sitting down to their christmas meal I shall be with a large group of friends enjoying food and a little wine and best of all presence is requested but presents are banned!

Monday, 11 January 2016

David, my life saver dies...

Well the post about why I hate the christmas season and a lifetime of unsuitable presents increasing my dysphoria seems to have vanished! Just signing in her seems to have been made difficult by google who keep flipping me back to my everyday account... I have given up so many times when a post idea passed through my head, today I have persisted.

This is a sad day for many of us. Last year saw the passing of so many who had enriched our lives but this years list has started badly.

When I was living as a miss-assigned boy the presence of the Beatles on the pop scene allowed me to let my hair grow without too much fuss from parents, school was tougher... When David Bowie arrived with his Hunky Dory album I was saved! At last, here was proof that I might not be trapped in that stagnant societal role of dull male conformity. here was colour and the freedom to flounce even if the world could only see you as a strange boy. Those were the days of lyrics printed on the LP covers or as in this case on an LP sized sheet inside the sleeve. They would be poured over to decipher if they could be applied to your own situation and wow did they allow a shiver of self identity. Those words set me free and trapped me. I refused to conform so was always an outsider, once free i could not hide away.

Changes:

I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned my self to face me
But I'v never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much to fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

I watch the rip lets change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence
so the days flow through my eyes
But the days still seem the same
And these children that you spit on
a they try to change their worlds
are immune to your consolations
They're quite aware of what they are going through

Don't tell them to grow up and grow out of it
where's your shame
You've left us up to our necks in it
Time may change them
But you can't trace time
Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace I'm going through

Pretty soon you are going to get a little older
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

The words stay the same as time passes and interpretations shift but they still churn my insides...

My copy of The Man Who Sold The World is not my original with that iconic portrait of Bowie reclining in a gorgeous dress, a heart breaking picture if ever there was one. The track which always got me was "After All"

Please trip them gently, they don't like to fall, Oh
by jingo
There's no room for anger, we're all very small, Oh
by jingo
We're painting our faces and dressing in thoughts
from the skies
From paradise.
They think that we're holding a secretive ball.
Won't someone invite them
They're just taller children, that's all, after all.
Man is an obstacle, sad as the clown, Oh by jingo
So hold on to nothing, and he won't let you down,
Oh by jingo
Some people are marching together and some on
their own
Quite alone.
Others are running, the smaller ones crawl
But some sit in silence, they're just older children
That's all , after all.
I sing with impertinence, shading impermanent
chords,
With my words
I've borrowed your time and I'm sorry I called
But the thought just occurred that we're nobody's
children at all, after all.
Live till your rebirth and do what you will, Oh by jingo
Forget all I've said, please bear me no ill, Oh by
jingo
After all, after all.
Going to show my age now, looks like a day of spinning those LPs and shedding a tear for the one who helped free so many of us who felt themselves to be outsiders...