Greetings

and
 

To you all
 

 

Politics: Sleight of Hands, Swindlers and a General Inability to Accept reality

The title says it all.

Even before Donald Trump made "fake news" an household locution and made it patent for all to see, politics has always being about framing information to further an agenda, ignoring reality - eventually, even actively working against the acquisition of sound data about, well, anything - when it comes in the way and don't give a fuck.

You want a "progressive" example?

Progressives are very inclined to accept the importance of nature in defining one's gender when it comes to trans people - something in their biology made so that their physiological gender does not match their mental structure, so transitioning makes them happier, "more whole" persons. There is little doubt that nurture has, for most of them, little to do with their decision (- cough - or I would be a woman, now - cough - ) as only a small minority of them could count  with even a moderately understanding family.

But, when it comes at discussing the evident distress of many men in accommodating a host of social alterations that makes them feel useless and rejected, lo and behold: it is just that these schmucks have not been educated rightly, and a simple application of the right psychological mumbo-jumbos will solve the problem and make these men - well... - like women.

The fact that normal men go around with ten to twenty times the testosterone levels of women, and that this affects some psychological traits beyond the obvious physical ones (*),suddenly seems completely lost to them.   

(*) there is a fascinating interview to a transsexual man in  NPR, in which the guy recollect the effects of testosterone on him during and after the transition from "her" to "him", that I suggest for you to listen; It is illuminating.

You want a  conservative example?

Take the progressive one that I made, and reverse the relative position of men and trans people and you gets it.

 

 

 

Note: this was written in 2019 but I felt like I was obsessing over stuff that, in the end, is not really my problem - after all, both left and right assholes want me dead for offending their crappy values. In days like this my sympathy for Pier Paolo Pasolini goes up to 11. A pity we will never meet (I am pretty sure the dude is up in Heaven, where I won't likely set foot).

Teo

Teo has lymphoma.

He is the cat that owned me the longest, seven years going for eight, so I am going to miss him quite a bit.

Shit, anything gets me crying these days - What a super-hyper-mega-sadist-dom I am.

A Dream

The dude is me, the place is my dining room.

The woman is the [now unattainable?] dream.

 

(To be honest, a couple of women did want her place in the past, it's just that drawing is easier than living and has less constraints. ie I AM lazy.)

African Women

I know, she is a black lady - from actual Africa, if I remember well. 

Is it in bad taste, drawing her in bondage regalia? Maybe. 

Then again, I am not American. A lot of what would be uncomfortable sub-text for a U.S. citizen is a lot toned down when seen from my Italian Hikkikomori vantage point.

What I know of African women is from the ones that I met. On average, they are nice people that treated me fairly - which may not actually apply to my mother, I can say after enough therapy - and whose only grating characteristic was, usually, an excessive desire to save my soul from hell - when they discover that I am agnostic.

So, to my eyes they are simply women whose physicality I really like and, me being me - ie screwier than a corkscrew, this is my way of showing it. 

It is not like white women are treated any better, in my drawings. 

Ite, Missa Est

It's Love When

 

 

As a side note, things haven't improve from  when my mother had to touch with her own hand to be sure she was not dreaming me doing nasties with my girl friend. 

My mother got a stroke, and so now it is even less likely that she will ever recognize that I actually am a man - instead of some kind of asexual child - and one that likes women, too.

Don't think about it too hard.

 

I am alone, lonely, unhappy and miserable lately. More than the usual. And I have no one I trust to talk my shit to, too. If you read this, I will deny having written it.  

Aerostatic bondage close up - Sketch

Marker sketch.
 

A Van Full of...

 

This is - gasp - a pencil sketch.I did it for someone, as a preview for a possible "commission".

The ladies should be... the female cast of Farscape, but I do not think that they would all be into this kind of role-play. 

I think that the van is, really, a 3rd series Ford Transit, while it should have been the armoured car of Section 9, from Ghost in The Shell.

 I should do more stuff with traditional media...

Small truths

 It is a long time that I do not write here.

The only person that knew that I had this blog, in my immediate acquaintances, came to me to let me know that I was writing some pretty uninteresting crap. Well, the odd science fiction story that I was trying to write, really. 

The truth is - I am not very sure of my abilities, nor have any reason to be sure of them, so it does not take much to demoralize me.

And... I couldn't read the screen any more. My sight went down a couple of pegs and, suddenly, my writing screen became too small, till I decided to buy a better screen. 

The thing that I use to draw is still usable, because I am at less than arm's length from the surface,  but it makes for some pretty horrible headaches  if one uses it to write. Ergonomics is such a fickle thing. It does not take much to let one aching because of strained muscles and ligaments.

And I am not so young any more - aches stay with me, now, much longer than they used to.

Another truth is that I feel a desire to write only when I feel particularly bad for myself - I am back at it, it means that I have hit the bottom and started digging - again. 

I wish I was a happier person, I wish I did not wake up each morning vaguely deluded that god - or the Universe - have not sent me a nice, fatal heart attack.

But I do not know how to become such a person.

I suppose that I should drop my bitchy drawings and get a day job, but it terrorizes me. Also, questionable in taste as they may be, I still can hope that some day my drawings will resurface from the mists of the web, and lighten up the days of some "fan", long after I will be gone.

They don't pay my bills, but I feel that they are a better shot at "immortality" than whatever 9-5 job I could get.

Also, I am not sure that NOW will be the best time for a new start in life.

Maybe it will.

Bah, this is not even a "rant". 

Just a very whiny whine.

I am sorry, folks. 

Vices

I do not smoke (tobacco), and I never did.

Simply put, when it was time to learn it, I was near asocial and had no friends to introduce me to that stupid habit.

Today, I suddenly realized that the same could be said about marriage.

Getting married, being married... 

Regrettable habits, I had no friends to show me when it was time to pick them up. 

And now it's too late to start.