From: M. Taylor Saotome-Westlake Date: Sat, 21 Jan 2017 03:24:47 +0000 (-0800) Subject: I'm just so sick of being lied to X-Git-Url: http://unremediatedgender.space/source?a=commitdiff_plain;h=90d9bac146a523b27b73051f863eb8da6d7e096b;p=Ultimately_Untrue_Thought.git I'm just so sick of being lied to Maybe don't finish or publish this one. I just—I just can't --- diff --git a/content/drafts/im-sick-of-being-lied-to.md b/content/drafts/im-sick-of-being-lied-to.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a894257 --- /dev/null +++ b/content/drafts/im-sick-of-being-lied-to.md @@ -0,0 +1,32 @@ +Title: I'm Sick of Being Lied To +Date: 2020-01-01 18:00 +Category: commentary +Tags: autogynephilia, discourse +Status: draft + +> I said, "How do you lie about the world? And how do you make yourself believe it? How can you see the whole truth, _know the whole truth_ ... and go on pretending that none of it matters? What's the secret? What's the trick? _What's the magic?_" +> +> My face was already burning white hot, but I leaned forward, hoping that her sheer radiance might infect me with her great transforming insight. +> +> "I'm trying! You have to believe I'm trying!" I looked away, suddenly at a loss for words, struck dumb by the ineffable mystery of her presence. Then a cramp seized me; the thing I could no longer pretend was a demon snake constricted inside me. +> +> I said, "But when the truth, the underworld, _the TOE_ ... reaches up, takes you in its fist, and _squeezes_ ..." I raised my own hand, meaning to demonstrate, but it was already clenched tight involuntarily. "How do you ignore it? How do you deny it? How do you go on fooling yourself that you've ever stood above it, ever pulled the strings, ever run the show?" +> +> Sweat was running into my eyes, blinding me. I brushed it away with my clenched fist, laughing. "When every cell, every fucking _atom_ in your body, burns the message into your skin: everything you value, everything you cherish, everything you live for ... is just the scum on the surface of a vacuum thirty-five powers of ten deep—how do you go on lying? How do you close your eyes to _that_?" +> +> I waited for her answer. Solace, redemption, were within my grasp. I held my arms out toward her in supplication. +> +> Walsh smiled faintly, then walked on without saying a word. +> +> —_Distress_ by Greg Egan + +I just can't, can't, _can't_ get over the extent to which my observations of discussions of trans issues seem to be best explained by the hypothesis that _everyone is lying_. + +I know, that's not psychologically plausible. Which only makes it _worse_. The sheer depths of denial, mendacity, and cowardice from _incredibly_ smart and moral people whom I love and otherwise respect is just _staggering_; I _would not believe it_ if I didn't see it with my own eyes. + +People _agree_ + + +People will say, "You're wrong, _and_ it doesn't matter." Or, "You might be right, but it doesn't matter—we already know what the appropriate intervention is: transition." Or, "This makes sense to me, but don't tell anyone I said so." Or, "I disagree, and want to privately discuss the science with you, but if you successfully change my mind, I don't want anyone to know." Or, "Don't tell " + +The people you're afraid of