I have often regretted my speech, never my silence.
and in the Xenokratian fashion of meaningful solace I masticate my words away and swallow them often unvocalised
as I stumble upon a thousand and one transman blogging about the very same subject not affecting anyone else but himself and the question of this self-centered pastime remains
thousand and one night
thousand and one dream
thousand and one word splattered across the flickering computer screen
stinging eyes
are we doing it for ourselves and our own narcissistic need
for the good of the community and those about to decide to transition or to educate the hetero-normative society who really doesn’t read our blogs and lest it cares about our adjustments, awkward predicaments, daily struggles and small victories and minor disappointments and steps forward and I could continue and waste another thousand and one word in a meaningless verbal diarrhea..
I am a word salad chef crafting my masterpiece
colors and shapes and tastes
tasteless needless indigestible meal possibly causing caustic heartburn for some
and should I vanish from this virtual spot the space will be not lost but claimed by another faceless blogger
‘hi, can I talk to you?’ I receive yet another airspace message
virtual nothingness leads the ready to transition upon my profiles..
‘sure.. hit me up’, I shrug
‘I want to redo myself, I want to look like a man. Where do I start, how much? How shall I tell my parents?’
.. sweet sixteen
there is the purpose to my word salad servings
‘would you look after my things, please’, he asked me
he donned a matted beard, self cut hair and wore a patchwork of stained ill-fitting clothes
he did not smell bad across the table and it surprised me and perhaps it shouldn’t have
he carried his life in his backpack and I was entrusted with it until he returned, I presumed, from a bathroom
I nodded my ‘okay’
he could have been anywhere from 45 to 65 years old
we spoke for about a half an hour
discussed philosophy in the day to day base of human misconceptions and relations in between the real and surreal and imagined and virtual and digital and unreal and mistaken reality and true illusion and meaning of time and its meaningless metering in order to place it under control, indefinite periods and definite pauses, the continuum of experiences in which events pass from the future through the present to the past that can not be shared due to our own perceptions of each and every moment
he was an eloquent talker, sharp
people are predictable, boring and rarely surprise me
he did
the old scholar spoke Italian, Greek and Latin
nicknamed ‘Professor’, he taught history at the local classical education college some years ago, until he went bonkers and swapped his old life for the new one
he returned 20 minutes later with a trayful of cakes and sweets and biscuits
‘for you’ he said, sat down opposite and ordered a beer
I don’t eat sweets, I sipped my tea in the local pub populated by quasi Tarantinian characters
lack of false pride is a pure delight to encounter
a rough diamond, uncut and invisible, hidden in the dirt of everyday existence
blinded by commercialized spectacles of mass marketed visions
he claimed his choice to live on the road, and he endures the judging of the passers by who may be clean dressed in the latest fashion but devoid of moral values and empty of knowledge
there is no universal judgment day, he said, you are your own Lord
no one has the moral right to judge another
one does not have to agree with my way of living or being but one might respect me and accept me
it gets better?
perhaps
the judgment day is every day when you can help someone and instead you walk away because it’s easier
judgment day is every moment of every split second when we misjudge another human being basing on their appearance, differences or their variance from our own way of being
respect, humility and acceptance is missing in the ingredients of our immediate present and values have a twisted and somewhat false undertone
once we alone accept ourselves and love our-self enough to fight for survival without self pity drawing from strength that some forget exists
put the torch down, Diogenes, here is your man
there has never been a better time to be me than now
