Real Me

When most people look in the mirror, what they see isn't very pleasing to them. A mirror shows you the reverse of your real face, so handsome people appear less so, features thought to be symmetrical are revealed to be slightly irregular, and so on.
For me it's different. The man I see in the mirror is overall quite satisfactory, with hair that goes in the right direction and a passably good looking face, albeit with a big nose. You can see the problem.

My birthday this year was better than any in recent memory for the simple reason that more people remembered. OK, I didn't get more cards or anything, but I had lots of birthday texts and messages, and it was lovely. But it also drove something home for me. Whoever I am as a person, most of me is virtual, and all things considered, that's the best place for me.

There's not a lot I admire about myself. It's no exaggeration to say I detest myself physically. I hate my horrible misshapen face, my awkward body that so perversely combines the least enviable attributes of my parents (my mother's skin tone, tendency towards weight gain and punishingly unmanagable hair; my father's nose, body hair, and total lack of physical co-ordination). Were I ever to come into serious money, a major priority would be cosmetic surgery, to have the deviated septum and fucked up teeth that have brought me no end of misery corrected- perhaps this would make a difference to my awful, droning voice, too.
Remember how a simple nose job completely transformed Jennifer Grey's face (and admittedly ruined her acting career, but that's hardly a worry for me)? Oh God, how I'd love that, to be unrecognisable. I wouldn't hesitate for a second to shed this hateful skin.

In that sad, creepy way common to men like me, I find myself staring at the beautiful people. Well, OK, the women. I try not to, I really do, but I forget myself. I live in awe of the graceful, the pretty, the ones who sparkle. I've never known the company of a girl like that and I never will. No girl I have ever liked on a personal level has ever returned my feelings. I'll never be touched by that girl, I won't make her smile on seeing me. Nobody smiles when they see me. I'm a weirdo with the face of a weirdo. People react to my presence with aprehension and actually, I don't blame them. I do the same to people like me.

If not my appearance then my manner keeps people away. I'm a hopeless conversationalist, my thoughts never successfully manifesting themselves as coherent sentences. Rather I mumble a lot, I'm always thrown and go instantly blank whenever anyone asks me anything, and my rare attempts at small talk somehow transcend the usual standards of inanity, usually resulting in excruciating silences and people who can't bring themselves to look me in the eye. I spend a lot of time brooding, and not self-consciously, but from anyone elses perspective, I'm just the oddball not saying anything, which probably nudges me into the realm of the slightly intimidating. People who do have conversations with me find me tedious, repetitive (my appalling memory doesn't help) and rather baffling.

If only there were compensations. Though I'm bright, I'm not brilliant and God knows I'm not educated. Nothing I have to say ever inspires anyone. I've no special talent to speak of and the list of things I haven't experienced or cannot do is endless.

None of this is relevant to virtual me. Most of my friends don't have a real sense of what I look like because there aren't many photos of me, and those that I let people see are the best of a bad bunch. It goes without saying I am not photogenic. Most haven't heard me speak, or at least not much. Some don't even know my real name.

Online I can be witty, because I can think about what I say before say it. In real life, I have to repeat most everything that comes out of my mouth for clarity's sake, which always ruins the moment when I try to be funny. Online I can be sincere, compassionate and even wise, because these are the better facets of myself distilled, removed of impurities, given shine by dint of a lack of context. People online tend to like me and enjoy my 'company'. The vast majority would never choose to spend time with me, or make the effort to know me. In the same way most of us immediately throw walls around ourselves when encountering the emotionally guilless, the vulnerable, the childlike, the lonely elderly who greet you like an old friend, most people won't let me get close because, damn me, I can't help but wear my heart on my sleeve.

I try to mask it with fashionable cynicism and affectation, but the plain truth is, I have always desperately wanted people to like me, to want me, to embrace me to them. I can't help it. I've always felt so isolated and so... 'other'. That's the only way I can quantify it. I'm different from everyone I've ever known and you cannot imagine how much I don't want to be this way.

If, as I have long suspected, I suffer from BPD, then I am a textbook case. I live in extremes. When people upset me, the rage is overwhelming, when I am slighted, it cuts me to the bone. I am incapable of forgiveness. But I also love the people I call friends, hell, I love the people who are nice to me in work. I can't feel things in moderation, it doesn't just doesn't compute. That's why I really don't care if I've never met some of my friends in person, they're still as dear to me as if we'd grown up together or lived together for years. Nothing matters to me more than their safety, than keeping them from harm and helping and comforting them in any way I'm able.
There are times I wonder if I'm just incredibly selfish, that maybe I just need to be needed, to feel like I'm worth anything. After all, I did spend the better part of a year lavishing my time and money on a homeless girl. Oh, what a saint I felt. Oh, how noble and enlightened I was. I was actually shocked when it was spelled out to me I was being conned. It wouldn't have shocked you, or anyone with a lick of sense, and it sure didn't shock my mother, who at least did the decent thing by spelling it out to me gently. I'm still furious about it now and I'll probably still be in 20 years time.

I'm not sure if I have a point here or not. I will say though that the fear of our humanity diminishing via our reliance on computers feels more and more like just another science fiction dilemma based on a faulty premise, like the idea of atomic energy giving rise to giant monsters. What we failed to predict was how many dislocated souls in the world would, when give the choice of existence as an internet construct or running out the clock as a supporting character in their own life, take the virtual over the reality without a second thought.

I know my 'other' life- and if the internet has taught me nothing else, it's that everyone, and I mean everyone, has a secret life- is almost entirely artifice, just me staring unblinkingly at a bright screen and hammering away at a keyboard. The Other Me has no substance, and when the time comes, he will leave no imprint. That might bother someone else. But all I have to do is look in the mirror and... I'd rather be nothing.

Trek rebooted, BSG style

Since Battlestar Galactica was such a brilliant deconstruction and reinvention of the modern space opera, and a magnificent work of modern drama in its own right, it's clear a similar reimagining is the way to go for other iconic space series.

The sometimes-mooted 'reboot' of Star Trek- J.M Straczynski and Bryce Zabel approached Paramount with such a concept a few years back, which no doubt would have proved very gratifying for Straczynski, given how often he enjoyed denigrating the Trek franchise and offering his own work as vastly superior- is the obvious first step.

The 21st century audience has very different standards for what constitutes compelling, thought-provoking drama. They expect more; more action, more conflict, more realism. Here then is a truly 'futuristic' Star Trek!

The 23rd Century...

The United Federation of Planets - An interstellar evolution of Earth's United Nations, the UFP is a fragile alliance of over a hundred worlds brought together in the interests of mutual defence and exploration. Founded on the idealism and naiive dreams common to all intelligent races, the Federation is choked by bureacracy and constantly threated by in-fighting and tensions between the very different species who find themselves living side by side.

Starfleet - The military and explorative arm of the Federation, comprising countless light cruisers, frigates, battleships and the 'starship'-type vessels assigned to all high-profile missions. Starfleet is popular with the public but also controversial, often accused of heavy-handedness and of being far too inclined to respond with force to any alien lifeforms that don't fall into line with the Federation ethos.

USS Enterprise - The most advanced and powerful of the Constitution-class heavy cruisers, with a compliment of over 2,000 officers and crew.

The Crew:

Captain James Kirk - The Enterprise's brash, hard-living captain from a long line of career Starfleet officers. Kirk endured a painfully strict and desolate upbringing by his embittered father, who would never hesitate to use physical abuse to motivate the son he saw as feckless and undisciplined.
Having grown from a teenage hellraiser into a decorated, non-nonsense combat veteran and quickly risen through the ranks, Kirk is a fearless fighter and as callous towards the (very frequent) loss of junior crewman as to his countless female conquests.
Kirk abandoned his academy sweetheart, Carol, after convincing her to abort their unplanned child (or so he thought...). Now as famous for his womanizing and drinking as his military strategies, Kirk inspired the unofficial motto of the Starship program, oft-quoted by the Enterprise crew: "We come in peace- shoot to kill!" (Ideal casting: Eric Dane)

Cmdr. Jordan Spock - Aloof, ethereal science officer and Kirk's trusted second-in-command. Spock is the first child born of a Vulcan/ human pairing, barely surviving the first weeks of his life and now bound by a lifetime regimen of radical drug therapy to stabilise the two races' warring physiologies. Gifted with the telepathic abillities native to Vulcans, Spock's mixed heritage and sexual orientation make him a pariah on both of his home worlds. (Ideal casting: Cillian Murphy)

Dr. Joanna "Bones" McCoy M.D - Wry, cynical ship's surgeon hailing from the deep south. McCoy completes the triumvirate at the helm of Starfleet's flagship. Much given to cursing and provoking heated arguments with Spock, the twice divorced, chain smoking "Bones" is a woman haunted by past failiures and the spectre of the many patients she couldn't save during her wartime service on the front lines. (Ideal casting: Laura Linney)

Chief Engineer Roberta "Scotty" Burns - Excitable Scottish crackpot, Lt. Cmdr. Burns loves nothing more than to make dire pronouncements to her superior officers about the state of the ship's engines, only to perform a last minute 'miracle', such as effectively changing the laws of physics in order to save ship and crew. Unsettlingly inclined to drink on duty, a foible only just tolerated by Kirk, Scotty is also know for frequently waking up next to various Enterprise crewmembers, male or female, human or otherwise, with no recollection of the previous evening beyond gaudily-coloured alien liquor.

Comm. Officer Samara Ben-Uhura - Exotic, mixed-race lingust and head of ship's communications. Raised in Africa and a gifted singer, Uhura shares a deep bond with Spock, whom she sees as a kindred spirit, and a long-simmering flirtation with Captain Kirk. The very obvious physical tension between the two is an open secret aboard the Enterprise, and a constant threat to the careers of both officers.

Security Chief Roger Kyle - Blonde, palpably posh British tactical officer. Supercilious and deadpan, Kyle provides muscle to landing parties, along with a seemingly never-ending roster of faceless 'redshirt' officers, known for their very short life expectancies.

Navigator Dmitri Chekhov - The young, blue-eyed Russian Ensign struggles to impress the other brigde officers, all except for Spock with whom he enjoys a secret, torrid love affair during off-duty hours.

Flight Controller Darcus Leon Sulu - Enterprise's helmsman and best shuttlefighter pilot, the towering Nubian Lieutenant speaks with a surprisingly melodious voice and has a passion for gun fighting and antique marine craft.


Klingons - Barbarous and primitive enemy race who pose an ever-present threat to the security of the UFP and her allies. Thought still essentially a tribal people, the Klingon Empire has aquired advanced technologies, including warp drive and sophisticated weapons, via trade and conquest.
Klingons are a brutish warrior people whose culture is founded on hostility, religious intolerance, the subjugation of women and a fanatical belief in their divine obligation to exterminate all those who refuse to live by the dictates of 'The Law of Kahless'.
Disaffected Federation citizens are sometimes known to be radicalised by Klingon dogma and suicide attacks on Federation outposts are increasingly common.

Romulans - Longime idealogical opponents of the UFP, the ruthlessly efficient and secretive Romulans were once uneasy allies with the Federation against the Klingons, during the first Earth/ Kronos War. Now they wage a cold war against both powers, quietly working to develop terrifying new advances in the technology of warfare, among them the notorious cloaking device, said to allow any ship to become totally invisible to scanners and the the naked eye alike. Romulan agents are sometimes said to have infiltrated every level of the Federation's infrastructure.

The Five Year Mission - Primarily, the Enterprise voyages beyond the frontiers of known space on a humanitarian mission of peaceful exploration... But their other mission objective, known only to the senior officers, involves the the search for fragments of code implanted into the genetic structure of lifeforms all across the galaxy. Once unlocked, this code may yield secrets of the nature of life itself, or power beyond all imagination.

With each new adventure, the crew discovers new truths, finds their values and perceptions challenged, and fights for their lives against unholy terrors... Going boldy where no person has gone before!


Afterword: Any sense of flippancy or satire is entirely in the imagination of the reader. It was certainly not my intention to suggest that the BSG school of 'reimagining', by giving familiar names to essentially new characters, actually diminishes the icons from which it draws inspiration (google 'Brand Recognition' for more). Or indeed that modern writers and audience alike favour sensationalism, contrived story arcs and cheap shock value over optimism and aspirational nobility, under the smug delusion that this is somehow more 'mature' and 'sophisticated'. Lord, no. Heaven forfend.

Incidentally, you can read the Straczynski/ Zabel treatment for "rebooting the universe" at http://bztv.typepad.com/newsviews/2006/06/spaced_out_star.html if you really must.

The Rules

1. People Suck.

2. Never apologise.

3. Never volunteer.

4. Never work any harder than you have to.

5. Never trust a smile.

6. There is NO rule 6.

7. When in doubt, lie.

8. Fantasy is always better than reality.

9. Rules are there to be kicked at.
You just need to know when.

Howl. Or 'What Happens When Someone with BPD and a Laptop Can't Sleep'.

Why am I ever putting this here? Cos it's the only place I can post anything at all where I know for sure someone might read it. Should I just be laughing at myself because it seems entirely sane a response when you find yourself denied hell and gien purgatory instead. You drift for ages and then it really hits you, full force, My God- EVERYONE is gone.
I've been been so bereaved, I'm knocked down from some to few to none. I must be stupid, actively trying to avoid being known or being embraced while the howling inside me never ever stops; somebody PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE talk to me, HELP. ME.
But still I care and still I become attached and still everyone I come to know and care about vanishes.
Do any of you know what its' like? I mean, nobody there in the day, nobody there at night and no chance of sleep because you're terrified beyond belief at knowing how it's all gonna end but not knowing WHAT is going to happen. You're born alone, you die alone, that's the deal and we all know it. HOW do any of you manage to get through even one fucking hour on earth without the horror of it, the transience just criplling you. This world, everything in it, everything we do and everything we build is hollow and finite and INDIFFERENT. We get, what, a few measly decades and that's IT and that's final and there's no way back and we have no possible way of knowing what happens to us when we die. How how how can I, as a conscious being, a sentient human LIFE cease to exist?? How can you SLEEP forever?? And how are we supposed to cope wheneven the best case scenarios, the rosey and ridiculous storybook fantasies are every bit as monstrous in conception?

Think about this- HELL, right? You break some ARBITRARY rules by some unseen, unknowable and entirely whimsical ultimate arbiter, you violate a code of conduct you cannot POSSIBLY be forewarned about beyond the vaguest guesswork and what happens? PAIN and misery and torture FOREVER.
Then there's the deliscious alternative, right? Be as nice as you can-- Even tho you could be the most selfless soul in history and still be playing by the wrong rulebook without ever realising because the fucking CREATOR in his infinite ambivilence, aloofness and tempramentalism might not like your orientation or the team you play for or if you eat the wrong meat on the wrong day OR of course he might change the rules completely if it suits him and you're STILL screwed and have all that damnation to look forward to, whilst some other SOB pays lip service and collects enough points to be waived through the gates by Saint Peter despite never possessing ANY magnificence or making ANY truly fine contribution of ANY kind- and then, what? Peace, harmony, contentment, reunion, angels, Eden, cherubs, blahhhh blah blah. But to what end?? For God's sake, what is the POINT of heaven?! Where does it go, what's the goal, what's the challenge? Does an eternal love-in with the creator sound REMOTELY appealing to any of you??
But we have to go somewhere, right? life is energy and energy doesn't end, it just changes form, does it not?? I can't think about this but I can't stop. A few months ago death was an abstract that I shrugged off. Now I'm so terrified of the idea I want to beat my head against the wall just to make the thoughts stop

Happy people don;t think about this stuff, I realise that. Peple with OTHER people don't consider that when they sit down to watch a favourite film it might be the LAST TIME- Jesus Christ, the actual, absolute last and final time they ever, ever do that. And if not the last then the third or the ninth or twentieth from last. Pick any number, it seems obscenely small. How can we tolerate living a life so cruel that we all KNOW there's a million and one things to see and do and experience out there that we can NEVER possibly hope to see or do or experience!! I mean its enough to make you laugh yourself sick, there's no other way to react. Life is one huge sick joke.

I miss my friends. I stare and stare at this Goddamned screen and nothing happens at all, nothing demands my attention because no one thinks I matter enough to speak to me. Even junk emails aren't personalized to me FFS.
Suzie went offline when her place was renovated, it happened in a rush so we didn't have a chance to sort out phone numbers or anything. I wrote to her and got no reply. She should have been back online again weeks ago but there's been no sign. I have no other way of getting i tough with her. I love this person dearly and I've never even seen her face-to-face.
Kay went silent weeks ago. I call and call and I get voicemail. She apparently hasn't been online at all either and I can think of only a few reason why she wouldn't call or text OR be online and none of them are good. I have no other number and no way to reach her either. She's the other reason I can't sleep cos Im worried sick about her. I think how she might be alone and scared or Jesus Christ maybe even dead and there is NOTHING I can possibly do except grieve.
Rachael, well, we had a stupid, pointless falling out a while ago and she misunderstood what I said and hurtful words were spoken and IF we'd been living in the same part of the country and actually SPEAKING to each other rather than typing and typing night after night, we could have patched things up in no time. But she hurt me and I couldn't talk to her and then I TRIED to make things better because I cannot stand to lose another person and she told me to leave her alone. God, I was So angry, I blocked her, I deleted her numbers, I erased every message she ever sent. I tried to pretend she just wasn't there, out of sight, out of mind. But Im still subscribed to her Youtube vids and she went right on posting vids about make-up like always, looking radiant as ever. She's been through more hell and more turmoil than even I can imagine and now she actually seems withint reach of "HAPPY". I think I hate her a bit for that, as I've come to hate everyone I know who finds a way to make life work for them. I can't be around happy people, I REALLY can't be around lovers. I want to kill them. No, in fact I want to pin them down and erase their memories of each other. But I can't untether myself from Rach, she told me she loved me for Gods sake. She even asked if we were soul mates, once we ever planned on living together. I was actually going to save enough money for a flight to Scotland and just take off, just completely leave everything behind without a word to anyone and go and live with her. We'd make it work, we were so well matched. Two damaged souls who found each other. Poetry. But the half of me I try so hard to ignore knew it was all so hollow and meaningless and she'd change her tune soon enough. I just couldn't resist the beautiful lie. Rachael is my religion.
I posted a comment, said she still looked beautiful and perfect and she responded!! "Thanks Thomas x"
And then...then then then then NOTHING at all! No calls, no reconcilliation, Im still blocked and can't know her mind. Does she just figure we're "OK" now but that's it, everything we meant to each other is dead and gone? Maybe it's those glowing, lovey-love messages exchanged between her and this friend (?) Natalie. They love each other, Natalie says she's beautiful, all very familiar. "Can't wait til August?" WTF? WHAT's happening in August and why why why can I NOT BE PART OF IT

Aways theres distance, whether by miles or by years or by stupid internal hierarchies. 'Friendly' in work does not mean 'Freinds' in real life, or it does just not with me beacause... Oh fuck it, Im beyond tired of agonizing over why people are so fickle and facile, Im guessing its a defense mechanism but even that seems to be giving them too much credit.

So OK wtt? you may be asking. So am I, its pretty much the only question and it's all Ive got now. Am I even gonna click the 'Post' button or am I just gonna yank the battery out of my laptop and watch the screen go black. Kill the bastard. Death is my gift hahahaha. You're more patient than me btw

Too early in the morning, June 2010.

Argiope's web

"The heart wants what the heart wants".

It's the kind of truism you hear proffered by TV writers and self-help gurus telling their audiences how to feel. It's easy to dismiss as pure Hallmark, a warm and fuzzy, but vaccuous, rhetoric. But then, so much of what we say is undervalued, so much of what's true is diminished by the insincerity we've come to expect from each other.

Unlike my usual posts, this blog is not about comics or genre TV, but it still relates to themes of SF and geekhood.

Why do so many people still invest themselves so completely in, for example, Star Trek? Why is it the 'nerd' cliche still seems to hold true, at a time when science fiction and alternative pop culture are more accepted and mainstream than ever before? It's said that SF fanatics like myself are simply immature, that we have little grasp of reality and cling to comforting childhood fantasies because we cannot cope in the adult world. This is demonstrably bollocks by and large, but does contain a tiny grain of truth.

With higher intelligence comes higher sensitivity, and the freaks and geeks of the world are all too aware of 'reality'. I've spoken before about how puberty involves becoming suddenly, shockingly aware of the world around you, a world that seemed a lot smaller and simpler in childhood. We are more sensitive and more vulnerable to the world's cruelties at that stage of our lives than any other, and for those of us who are in any way 'different', it's a world that tells us very aggressively, in many loud voices, that those differences will not be embraced.

Everybody talks about 'tolerance', but think about what that actually means. It means convincing people to not actively persecute you, to suffer your existence. This is the highest goal the LGBT community and dozens of other minority groups dare reach for. Art and commentary are censored to avoid 'offending' certain such groups, or at least the ones most likely to file lawsuits or threaten bomb attacks, and yet elected officials still talk openly in fascist terms, asserting Victorian values, working to quash or overturn every shard of progressive legislation, from gay marriage rights to anti-bullying laws. Is it any wonder people like me chose to escape not into sports or other rigidly elitist persuits, but a fictional universe where acceptance and celebration of the other is the bedrock of all society?

Often to dare to be different is to risk everything, to sacrifice much. Even now, in the 21st century, with all our advances and freedoms, people can still lose their lives simply for marching to a different beat.
Sophie Lancaster, just 20 years old, was verbally abused, chased down and kicked to death by a gang of thugs. Friends and family remember her as kind, sensitive, artistic. None of that mattered to her killers. She and her boyfriend were goths, that was reason enough.
She suffered fatal head injuries while shielding him from the attack. He survived.

In the US this past year, five teenagers were driven to take their own lives by vicious, relentless bullying from classmates. Those five kids, five of many, were gay. What the hell do kids know about acceptance? As much as they are taught. Ancient, often subtle prejudices are passed from one generation to the next. Second-hand intolerance begets second-hand atrocity. A member of the Arkansas school board said he would only wear purple, as millions of people did last month to the remember the dreadful loss and promote understanding, when "they all commit suicide".
This man, Clint McCance, said on Facebook, "being a fag doesn't give you the right to ruin the rest of our lives. If you get easily offended by being called a fag then dont tell anyone you are a fag. Keep that shit to yourself. I dont care how people decide to live their lives. They dont bother me if they keep it to thereselves. It pisses me off though that we make a special purple fag day for them. I like that fags cant procreate. I also enjoy the fact that they often give each other aids and die. If you arent against it, you might as well be for it."

What's doubly appalling is that McCance echoes the sentiments of many. "I don't advocate bullying", they'll say, "but don't remind me that these people exist".

Also from McCance: "I would disown my kids they were gay. They will not be welcome at my home or in my vicinity. I will absolutely run them off. Of course my kids will know better. My kids will have solid christian beliefs. See it infects everyone."

Yes. It certainly does.

This is simply one extreme biggot who will, God willing, shortly be out of a job, but you can find this lethal combination of ignorance and distorted religious orthodoxy (the same crime for which we're all meant to hate fundamentalist muslims)
throughout the western world. Throw in some nationalistic dogma and you realise Islam may have its hate preachers, but we have plenty of our own.

Let me back up a tad. If a 13-year old told me they were gay I most likely wouldn't take that at face value, any more than I'd take a kid that age seriously if they told me they were in love. You don't know enough at that age to make life-shaping decisions, as experience has taught me only too well. Endlessly pressuring kids with talk of exams and career prospects is bourne out of the same madness that has seen ultra-liberal parents, falling over themselves to show the world how progressive they are, giving their pre-adolescent sons female hormone injections when they say they'd rather play with dolls. I had some confusing feelings towards other males when I was a teen, but I don't look back on them as the first stirrings of my bisexuality. It was just hormones. God, our neural pathways aren't even fully formed before we reach our early 20's.

That said, given that Britain and the US are nations that supposedly cherish the ideals of freedom, self-determination, individuality and expression above all others, the concept of letting people be whoever they choose to be still doesn't seem to have sunk in, even after centuries. Tolerance, says the unwritten rule of modern democracy, only goes so far.
People, more often than not Christian, asert that they are tolerant, enlightened and loving and do not at all condone prejudice and hatred, whilst making it crystal clear to their children that gay and transgendered people are not to be treated as equals, but regarded as outsiders, transgressors, deviants. "Love the sinner, hate the sin", goes the poisonous through line. LGBT's can't help it, they're confused, they're ill, they need to be cured. Healthcare professionals insist that a man who knows he should have born a woman must be mentally unbalanced, and it takes an awful lot to convince them otherwise, a medical equivilent of 'guilty until proven innocent'.

It's here that we come to my main point, my friend, Jadis Illiana Argiope.
She wasn't born with that name, nor was she born physiologically female, but she is who she is and I have never in my life known anyone more certain of that, or more determined to build the life for themselves that they know to be right and true to their heart.

I first encountered Jadis via her vlog on YouTube, where she posted regularly. I honestly didn't take her to be transgendered, rather a young woman with a sensuous, if androgynous-sounding voice. I watched her videos, in which she spoke widely on religion, politics, the military (I would discover she'd served in the US Air Force) and, of course, issues of gender and sexuality. She was very open to questions and contact with new people and I befriended her on MySpace, where I read her blog posts. She also prompted me to join Twitter, to which I am now sadly hooked.
At all times she was forthright, erudite and and insightful. Fascinated in the way we often find ourselves with people whom we are nothing alike, I made a point of getting to know her and, in time, I came to be in a position where I could support her in some small ways.

I have never met this person face to face, but in the past year we've spoken on the phone and we talk online most every day. I consider her among my dearest friends and it is a privilege to know her. One of the most startling stories from her quite remarkable life is her self-castration. With SRS (sex reassignment surgery) prohibitively expensive and difficult to arrange, she took it upon herself to study anatomy and procure supplies to perform a surgical removal of her right testical, a procedure that took around 6 hours. Naturally, this was extremely painful and resulted in her tools being confiscated and spending time under psychiatric observation, but she acheived what she set out to do. For her, it's always half about the cause, about sending a message and making an impression.

Jadis is more than a commentator, she's an ambassador of the transgender community, determined to make a stand against a system that would drive someone like her to take such desperate steps. I should state categorically that I am not an advocate of anyone operating on themselves at any time, for any reason. I've tried to support my friend in everything, even her recent foray into the LA adult industry, however much I disagreed with the decision, if only because it seemed to make her happier and give her self-esteem something of a boost after a rough period with her former partner. She's had little if any acceptance or understanding from her immediate family. Her strength never fails to inspire me.

For almost as long as I can remember, I've been unhappy. Unhappy with my life, unhappy with who I am. I have never once felt I belonged or that I was understood or accepted for who I am. I've been very lucky to have had a loving family and unbringing, but I can never quite shake the feeling that I'm somehow wired wrong, that was I perhaps born in the wrong era. I've struggled for so many years to figure myself out and I am still largely clueless. I know for certain that there is no surgery I could undergo or community I could join that would make me feel better about myself, but in Jadis I found someone who had that same goal squarely in sight. I knew I wanted to help her get there anyway I could. In that sense, I feel we are kindred.

Since leaving LA, she's been living in Arizona, and now shares an appartment with her lovely girlfriend, Fluer. They make each other happy, which is wonderful. Unfortunately, Jadis has found her testosterone levels still unacceptably high, the result, it seems, of her remaining teste overcompensating. To her this feels like a very distressing retrograde step, and in her desperation she decided to once again perform the removal herself, in what she called, with her characteristic sense of humour, "Operation: Tranny Freedom".

Yesterday, from around 10 AM (Arizona time), she began the surgery, and from mid evening, in what must be a worldwide first, broadcast her efforts live via webcam. This attempt did not go as smoothly as before, and after many agonizing hours, during which I and several others watched helplessly, she found herself unable to finally sever the exposed testical alone.

Today, having had her insides on the outside for almost 24 hours at the risk of serious infection, she finally agreed to go to hospital, where she hopes fervently that the doctors will not be able to salvage the testical and will finish the job for her. She will undoubtedly receive mental health counselling.

After much soul searching, I can't bring myself to fully condemn her actions any more than I could be in favour of them. I understand desperation, bloody-mindedness and the feeling that you and you only can make things happen. Her extremely dangerous attempt has already made waves online. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if she made the news at some point. This, of course, is exactly what she wanted, to make her stand against a culture of oppression and condemnation, where the surgery so essential to the peace of mind of transgendered people is made almost impossible, by the very same mentality that would see abortion clinics outlawed, driving them underground, and from the same sort of leaders that would rather young people have no sex education at all than have them handed condoms in the classroom. That would only encourage them to go out and use the things, right?

Jadis isn't out of the woods yet. I'm not a man of faith, but I do pray for her in my own way. She's very brave. She may well be mad, but then sometimes you have to be.

You can follow her on Twitter @TSVandenberg and @ladyargiope, and learn more about her story at youtube.com/user/wolfyPX and youtube.com/user/ladyargiopesvanity.

UPDATE (16/11/10): I'm enormously relieved to report that Jadis is home from hospital. Sanity did indeed prevail, and the offending article has been fully removed. She's understandably elated and was spared psychiatric detention. All she has to do now is heal up and concentrate on being herself and living the life she deserves.

Online Ephemera #2: One of those inescapable 'fill in the blanks' About Me thingies.

Hi, my name is: Thomas Joshua Michael Davies Templeton Holt
Never in my life have I been: All right
High school: Destroyed me.
When I’m nervous: I fall to pieces, one way or the other.
The last song I listened to was: By The Mavericks, tragically. Must listen to something better soon, in case I die suddenly.
My hair is: The bane of my life. Well, in the top 5, anyway.
When I was 5: I was better looking.
Last Christmas: Was the most anticlimactic yet.
I should be: Educated...Earning...A boyfriend. I mean, take your pick.
By this time next year: I hope to God I have my own place to live.
I have a hard time understanding: Human beings. Cliche, but there it is.

Take my advice: Question everything.
The thing I want to buy: Freedom from money worries and also some Wagon Wheels.
If you visited the place I was born: You probably wouldn't be smiling, what with it being a hospital.
I plan to visit: Algernon's grave.

If you spent the night at my house: Chances are you'd be sleeping in my bed. Make of that what you will.
I’d stop my wedding if: The vicar had a visible hard-on. Think about it.
The world could do without: Human beings. Cliche, but there it is.
Most recent thing I’ve bought myself: Some comics. Also lunch.
Most recent thing someone else bought me: A book called "Student Grub". 99p in The Works.
In the morning I: May or may not get out of bed/ shower/ eat/ dress/ switch my computer off.

Last night I was: Talking to a friend in the US.
There’s this guy I know who: Works down the chip shop, swears he's the leader of an international terrorist organistion. And once met Elvis.
If I was an animal I’d be: Enjoying a much more active and exciting sex life.
A better name for me would be: Dominic, mebbe.

Tomorrow I am: Orange. I am green today.
Tonight I am: Wanking and crying, you happy?!
My birthday is: 28th of February.

Out of our fragile little minds

If you read comic books, you've probably at least heard of Seduction of the Innocent, a work of paranoid demogoguery by psychiatrist Frederic Wertham.

Wertham's infamous 'findings', that comics were a root cause of just about every societal ill, from juvenile crime and homosexuality to asthma, were based on anecdotal evidence and less than scientifc or impartial methods, but nobody much cared. He was telling Mr and Mrs America what they wanted to hear.
Wertham would testify before a Senate Subcommittee in a hearing that would prompt the creation of the Comics Code Authority. It's said that this was a turning point that strangled the industry, and though the extremely popular horror and crime comics were dealt a heavy blow, the superhero comics bubble had pretty much burst by the early 1950's. The publishers might have been arm-twisted somewhat into creating the CCA as a self-censorship body, but nobody actually meant to produce anything considered offensive or morally suspect. Transgression was not in vogue at this point in history.

In any society, but particularly among those conservative and middle-class, there's the tendency to scapegoat, to find one individual or group or movement or art form on which everyone can focus all their anxieties and say, 'There! This is the problem, this is what's threatening our way life. It must be ostracized, it must be destroyed'. And you don't get much more conservative and middle-class than pipe-smoking, argyle-clad 1950's America.

After the War, the old order had been shaken to its foundations and even the most traditional of people were asking what new opportunities would be open to them, what would and would not stand in this new, fractured world. The sentiments of solidarity and moral certainty were dissipating, everything was in flux and one of the most visible changes was the rise of youth culture. Before this point, teenagers were simply thought of as older children. For these kids to refuse to keep their place and actively rebel against the ideals and values of their parents was as baffling as it was alarming. People simply didn't understand where their children were getting all these ideas and they were scared. The fact is, if Wertham hadn't written Seduction of the Innocent, someone else would have. Comic books, like the horror movies, heavy metal and video games in the decades that followed, were simply a very big, very easy target.

There's always a Frederic Wertham or a Mary Whitehouse somewhere, the self-appointed moral guardians and cultural arsonists are always with us. In Britain in the 80's, the video nasies furore saw confiscations, censorship and outright bannings at the hands of government and law enforcement officials, each with their own definitions of what constituted "obscene material". The idea of video classification was common sense, but allowing our leaders to decide arbitrarily what we should and should not be allowed to see, without any sort of public debate or enquiry was taken entrirely for granted. Now, this should have given every thinking person in the nation great pause, but it didn't. The sad fact remains, people en masse like being nannied in this way, and that's something that even the most strident teenage idealist has to come to terms with, eventually.

The damndest thing about adulthood is when it dawns on you that opinions you once thought set in stone have shifted. This stems from the bitterly hard-earned lesson that life is a long collage of compromise and ambiguity, and that the world is built on the backs of millions of people not thinking too hard about how things actually work. Not so long ago, my own world view was broadly black and white. I don't think of myself as 'liberal', I don't like the word or the baggage it carries, but I can live with 'leftist'. I was dead set against any kind of censorship. 'Where does it all end?', was my fear. Once we give our leaders carte blanche to make up our minds for us, it opens a door that's hard to close. I still believe that, but I also realise that the issue is a complex one.

A small hadful of those video nasties remain banned in the UK, many were released with cuts, some relatively extensive (up to several minutes). Some horror connoisseurs see this as a decades-old injustice and shout for uncut releases, but since most of the excised footage involves either sexual violence or real life animal slaughter, do I really want to be signing those petitions myself? Frankly, I can live without seeing that stuff. Frankly, I think anyone can (and should) live without ever seeing I Spit on Your Grave or Cannibal Holocaust.

I'm biased, of course. I don't like the horror genre, I avoid it as much as possible. I loathe slasher flicks and torture porn, but I do have time for something like The Blair Witch Project. Easy to deride it may be, but I have no problem with a film that tries to scare its audience, and that does so by showing us nothing whatsoever, both extremely rare these days. Any idiot with a film crew can produce something that turns the stomach, but in modern Hollywood he has millions of dollars and A-list talent behind him. Scenes of atrocity that were once the province of grubby, obscure exploitation fare now sit happily alongside romcoms, kids films and summer popcorn tosh. A quick skim of the horror movie reviews in any number of magazines finds protests of "unoriginal" and "boring" torture and murder scenes. People come away from The Human Centipede, complaining that it was too tame, having pressumably expected (hoped for?) a kind of Hollywoodised "2 Girls, 1 Cup". No worries, folks, the director promises an appropriately grand guignol sequel. People watch the Freddy's and Jason's slice and dice with glee, and cheer when the monsters always survive at the end. Cultural pundits refer to these characters as folk heroes.

I was actually rather impressed with the first Saw, but I knew the sequels would simply revel in nastier and more inventive traps and tortures, so I made a point not to see any of them. Then they went and turned Saw into a ride at Thorpe Park. Go check out the website. You're kids will love it.

I am not my parents. I don't buy the Daily Mail. Perhaps this stuff shouldn't bother me, but it does. When I see or hear something disturbing, it disturbs me. It might bother me for days on end. How, I've asked myself again and again, can people enjoy this shit?
It's been suggested that such movies aren't that different from action-effects features, which typically include a large bodycount and are never taken all that seriously by the people seated in the theatres. Hardly. Action movies are more about pyrotechnic one-upmanship than sadism, and at least we also know the villain will pay for his crimes. My conscience doesn't trouble me when I watch a stylised depiction of a murderer getting his just desserts. It's cathartic, it's satifying. Good guys triumph, bad guys lose, as they always must. That to me is a healthy thing to send the audience home with. A screaming woman being skinned alive is not.

I know culture evolves, as does the vocabulary of movies. People have stronger stomachs, they demand more realism. Yesterday's nightmares are today's Beanie Babies (when was the last time Dracula or Frankenstein actually scared anybody? 1930-something?). We should be damn proud of our embattled artistic freedom of expression. Audiences aren't desensitized, they're just more mature.
And yet... I cannot ignore the nagging feeling in my gut that we must eventually draw a line somewhere. In the UK today, pornography classified as 'extreme' is outlawed, but that seems to be it.
For God's sake, I'm a bisexual atheist lefty, and even I'm wondering if there's anything we won't allow anymore.

I think perhaps I can at least sympathise, up to a point, with those people who raised hell when David Cronenberg's Crash opened in 1996. Their feeling was that if a film such as that, an icily inaccessable arthouse piece, with that subject matter could find not only a general release but a mass audience and critical approval, then surely civilization itself must be on the very precipice. It was a storm in a teacup, with the Mail, true to form, on the forefront. Mail critic Chris Tookey damned the movie in a typically histrionic review, but it's his recent write up of this year's Kick-Ass that really caught my eye, when I found myself agreeing with almost all of it. Calling the film one of the most irresponsible ever made, his review trigged an internet shit storm that itself became subject of a news story (see Tookey's essay on the whole affair here http://www.movie-film-review.com/devFilm.asp?id=15578) and further public discourse about internet bullying.

Tookey wasn't the only one to condemn the film, and there were more than enough adolescent dickheads embracing the movie to prove his point, but then I also know people, intelligent, normal, respectable people who saw Kick-Ass and loved it, regarding it as just another slice of OTT entertainment, to be placed on the shelf next to Iron Man. So an 11-year old girl dresses sexily, says the word "cunt" and murders people as bloodily as possible, it's just a laugh! Like a more colourful Leon.
I'm not sure I can agree.

I never saw horror movies when I was a child, I wasn't allowed. I did see plenty of movies that scared me, though, a few that gave me nightmares. I don't plan to have kids of my own, but if I had them now, I certainly wouldn't be inclined to let them see Kick-Ass, or The Dark Knight like the one guy who brought his two little 'uns to the screening I attended. A boy and girl, neither could have been older than 7 or 8. They sat quietly throughout the entire movie.
No, let them see Return to Oz, like I did. It'll give them a few sleepless nights, but they'll be grateful for it one day, when they're grown up.