In which I ponder

Considering my sudden burst of updatingness as I lay abed yesterday, it occurred to me that this journal might well be a very good place to archive those musings of mine which do not seem to have anywhere else to call home. Musings of a fictional nature were one of my concerns, although when publishing those one runs into the problem of being accused of plagiarising from oneself. Although this may very well be possible, especially when one's mind is split into quite as many facets as that of yours truly, it is something of an irritating impediment. Furthermore, having created quite so many tags in the post below, it seems a shame not to use them.

However, it would be exceedingly boring were I only to write on the subject of LGBT and trans issues, and so I think that a healthy balance between these more political and social topics and the aforementioned fiction is the best way forward. With this in mind, I present the following three small selections for your reading pleasure (although I am not sure much pleasure can be gained from them, I must say. For your consideration, perhaps).

MASK

I saw the moment your mask broke.
That perfect curve of a porcelain cheek cracking across, blackness like spiders-webs across the empty white of that ivory face.
Your face, crumpling, twisting, blanching as you stared.
A tear, trickling over cold artificial smoothness, blood-red, leaving a trail like a gash behind it.
A tear-track, then another, then another, and you cried like a child, helpless, angry, hating yourself for doing it and me for seeing you.
That eggshell perfection falling away, exposing the imperfect humanity beneath.
Your front slipping, raw emotion ripped from you in a torrent of words and tears and pain.
The mask shattering on the stone floor, face turned to shards of nondescript clay, beauty to...to rubbish. To trash.
You, sitting, curled against the wall, focus turned inwards, front and display and impression abandoned to show only the truth, the naked, raw, animal truth, crying and raging against the unfairness of it all.
I saw the moment that mask broke.

SCREAM

A scream.
That was what started it.
One single scream, ringing through the cold air and echoing down deserted streets until,as if by chance, it came to the ear of a man standing in a doorway.
It reached others, too, of course. Another man, also standing in a doorway, who dismissed it immediately as nothing to do with him and nothing of interest, seeing as he hadn't caused it. A woman, who paused in the act of undressing, shivered, and vowed to take her children somewhere safer, as soon as the man in the bed stumped up enough money for the journey. A child, leaning out of the window, who decided then and there that despite the reassurances of its parents, monsters were indeed real.
But this man is the one we are concerned with. Because he alone discovered the cause.The man tilted his head, trying to establish direction, location, originator and cause. He was what you might call a connoisseur, and he prided himself on being able to pin-point any sound of pain almost exactly. Within moments he had it: North, three streets away, adult male, and...
And here he stopped, puzzled. He knew what he ought to be hearing, but this scream did not fit any of the five hundred and forty seven categories that he had discovered so far. Had not even come close to fitting them, in fact. No, this was something very different.And, to the man, that meant something inexcusable. A gap in his knowledge. Something he would have to remedy.And so he set off to do so.

SPEECH

"Talk," he says.
He shakes his head, motioning to the wide-open gash that splits his throat and gifts him with a neckscarf of sticky red.
"Talk."
Another headshake, and his eyes are watching the beetle crawling across the floor, black and shiny as his boots.
"Talk."
An angrier headshake, and he draws one hand across - no, through - the gash, presenting it, bloody, to the other.
"Talk."
His head comes up at that, eyes blazing, mouth set in a thin, white line.
"Talk."
The bloodstained hand whips across the other's throat, leaving a copy-echo of its owner's wound. Unfazed. "Talk."
And finally, through clenched teeth, and almost inaudible: "I...can't."

In which I break my own rules

...and reveal personal and private information about myself. Ah well. When one has a point to make, this tends to happen.

The following post is reproduced verbatim from the LiveJournal belonging to yours truly:

WARNING: The following post contains opinions, generalisations, and general ranting. You have been warned.

This is something I've seen come up several times on the net when I've been searching around, and so I thought I'd try and get my thoughts on it down on paper (well, screen). Basically, the argument goes that people who conform to society's norms have privilege - straight privilege, cis-gendered privilege, etcetera (examples from the sites I read: I'm sure there's an argument for white privilege, middle-class privilege and that sort of thing)- and....well, here's where it gets ugly. Because this argument can get used in a way which looks something like this:

Gay and/or trans guy/girl: (GTG) : *rant about discrimination*
Straight and/or cis guy/girl (SCG): *comment which could be construed as 'I don't see what's so difficult about being trans/gay nowadays - everything's so much easier for you guys'*
GTG: *rant about how SCG is straight and/or cis and so the world is made for them and they can't possibly understand what GTG is on about and how dare they say all that*

That's not to say that privilege doesn't exist - it rather obviously does - but rather to say that using it as a reason to argue that you're a downtrodden minority who deserves much better treatment than everyone else is not exactly on. It smacks of 'poor little me, pity me'-ness, and quite honestly, quite a few of the people who use it seem to be people who have a lot of other privileges.

Then again, it can be entirely true. If someone makes an insensitive comment because they assume that what they get is what everyone else in the whole damn world gets, they're probably exercising their privilege without knowing it.

And one more point. Guilt-tripping people into agreeing with you because you're gay/trans/non-white/poor and therefore they, being straight/cis/white/middle or upper-class, owe you something gets old very quickly. Yes, you've been discriminated against. Yes, their social group were the ones who discriminated against you. But unless they themselves were/are involved in said discrimination or condoned it, all you're doing is making yourself look ridiculous. Why should they be blamed for something they have no connection with apart from sharing something they can't change with the people in question?

To go personal for a second: I'm white. I don't apologise for being white. My parents were white, their parents were white, and so on. I have no say in the fact I'm white. So don't blame me for being so. I'm middle-class. Again, I got no say in that. So don't assume that I need to kowtow to you because your family comes from a different social background and therefore I ought to feel guilty about that. Why the hells should I?

Looking at the other side of the issue: I'm trans, you (generic random cis person) are cis. You didn't choose that, I didn't choose this. I'm not going to assume you need to go with whatever I say because I belong to a group which has fewer privileges than yours. And until we (the LGBT community) stop acting like victims whenever we feel we need the moral highground, we're not going to get anywhere.

NOTE: I realise the last point was a huge generalisation. This isn't a question of a whole community. It's a question of a few individuals making it worse for the rest of us. *also realises it's a huge generalisation to start talking as if his views are representative of an entire community. Is not good at phrasing*

EDIT: And yes, my white middle-class privilege is probably showing. Bah. *re-reads post. Tries to work out if he's managed to seriously offend anyone without realising. Doesn't think he has* And if I have, I do apologise.

The Hatter's World or An Introduction

Greetings, Salutations and Welcome.
I am your humble servant, the Mad Hatter. Not the Mad Hatter himself, of course - that would be ridiculous - but someone who feels that the name might well apply to him. And I suppose you want some information about that someone, don't you? People always seem to want information.
Well, I am afraid I must disappoint you. There is little point, after all, in baring one's soul if certain of those coming across said soul-baring musings are able to pinpoint the originator. However, there are certain people who will very easily guess my identity, and who, in fact, I am planning to link to this place. They are welcome to ponder on the significance of some of my more obscure thinkings, and may well be mentioned (disguised under suitable pseudonyms, of course). But as for the rest of my readers, to you I shall attempt to remain an enigma. After all, it would spoil the fun if there wasn't some mystery involved, wouldn't you say?