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Tag Archives: confessions

Of course, she didn’t want to be a boy. She wanted to be allowed into the world of boys. But she didn’t, couldn’t maybe, ever see that she would do it as a girl. And for her, that world she thought she saw and envied would be a very different world than the one boys are made to live in.

I guess for one she didn’t want her nipples to be squeezed when puberty began making them tingle.

Yes, they did it to me.

And yes, it hurt.

And yes, it was meant to hurt, it was done to me only because it hurt, and it was normal. It was normal to do something just because it hurts. Not that i care too much about nipples, anyway, it is just that this violence was banal. It was not important. My world growing up was full of normal, unremarkable violence. The world of boys is made of this pointless, purposeless violence, this mean teasing.

I am pretty sure the world of the girls is as vicious as this one, as cruel and relentless. It is just cruel in different ways. But it is also much, much more comfortable. And girls don’t, can’t maybe, ever see how much.

Only boys take first steps, only boys ask girls out. Girls can’t, it seems, aren’t allowed. Or maybe (you have to be really inquisitive and throughout in your questioning to find this out) it does not work for them to ask boys out. Except, you see, it does not work for boys, either. But boys are made to stand their frustrations and the countless rejections up to a point where something happens, even though most of the times they are being turned down in the most humiliating ways – since girls think they are all contemptible jerks that deserve it. In Game Theory we learn that exchanges are usually initiated by the more needy side. Boys flirt and brag and get pushy just because it is the only way they will ever receive any kind of attention. But girls still see it as male privilege.

And thus they lock themselves up in a sad game of egotism and meddlesomeness, a cage of which the only way out is pain – they create for themselves a circumstance where from time to time a boy has to come around and slap their faces just to make them feel alive, and even this turns into a form of protection. Their denial of violence is the hallmark of this privilege, and it ends up reinforcing the thorns of their cages.

Girls are protected. Sometimes they are overprotected. And sometimes the overprotection can be a pain. But.

The world of the girls is not a bad one. If it was, someone would have done something about it a long time ago, probably even a man, since girls are usually too lazy – already number one, so why try harder, right?

Boys are not protected, they are left to themselves to face risks, they are even lead into risky behaviour and risky business, usually faster than they are prepared to. But taking risks is the only way to win big, so it might seem, from very far away, that boys have it all. That is just because boys hide their failures and their suffering. Boys don’t cry, they say, some even say that the thing that sucks about being a boy is not being allowed to cry – but really, boys just hide their tears because they have so many of them.

She didn’t want to be a boy. She wanted to be a manly girl, a tough girl. That is a big privilege, a much bigger privilege than being a boy.

[in reply to private feldman]

Acceptance and understanding do not sense make, it is not like everyone is right and you see their points of view, it is more like they are all wrong, and their lives are just gonna keep on being wrong, and they simply will not see, there is not in them the ways to realize, and they are hurting you and not realizing, and they’d probably hate to know, but if you said it to them it would just cause more problems, and of course this is so, you can accept, and you can see, but this is not like school, where tests do have a right answer, this is like multiple choice where all the answers are incorrect, and it doesn’t make any difference, and if it did, if you went and tried to change things it would be not the world, it would be artificial, it would make even less sense, and everything is very much perfect because the need to make sense gets fainter and fainter…

Day before yesterday i was having some coffee at the best cafè in town, and an olg man came in, ordered 3 coffees to go, chatted a little with the attendants, and left. He was an old, businesslike, conceited little old man. He hauled around the heavy arrogance of a fake power, a power that (who knows) he might even have but is still fake in that it is more important to show it than to use it. The weight of a lifetime of morality and harshness bogged him down (and he likely took it as raising him above the chaff). The lightness of his thin frail bones shone him a mysterious beauty (and he likely took it for his undoing). He reminded me of my father, with all the ambiguity this image had to me, with all the pain that this memory entails. And the memory of my father is still the memory of not being good enough, not being accepted, being left behind and him giving up on me. And this memory is also my shyness, this abandonment the reason i don’t feel worthy of love, the reason i don’t pursue my desires, that my passion always needs to be justified and rationalized. This is the broken sword of legends. And it is pain.

With tear in my eyes i post this on facebuk, and 16 random people “like” it!

Last post was the 500th of this blog. An old sports magazine had a cartoon of a cat saying that reaching 500 issues was easy, he dared them get to 5000. Because years back the same cat had said 50 was easy. Actually i was supposed to write something about all this on post 500 proper, but i got sidetracked, and i confused the day the rant about presence was supposed to air, which is ok since that text is exceedingly decent to my usual standard, therefore here we are, a 501st post called 500 is easy. Which is not particularly easy, it turns out.

The plan was a very bland, composed, politically correct, presence-managed, and easily readable announcement that thet Temporary Referential fanzine had reached number five and was finally available in good revised PDFs and also collected in a fabulous comemorative pack (costing all of 5 dinheiros).

But then a fabulous dirty-faced girl told me she was in crisis with her blog, that she had been writing for the wrong people, and you know it kinda got me thinking… So, while i do think, i’ll just leave it like that.

Also: If you do have some of the zines but not all, you can go print them, but you can also SEND ME AN EMAIL (the address is down here somewhere) telling me exactly which ones you lack.

Now excuse me, i’ll check out Fernando Gonsales as he premieres Vostradeis, an old favourite of mine. Till
next time.


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