� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.
�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.
I think I owe a lot of people an apology, for just dropping off the planet for a while there. Sorry everybody. There were a number of factors. For one thing, I�m working a lot harder now. When I started my blog I didn�t really have enough work coming in, and it was entirely possible to spend two hours crafting an article on teenage angst and the need to cross-dress.
Now, I�ve made something of a deal with the devil. It�ll be good to have a regular stream of money coming in, but it means I�ll spend most of my time contracting to one particular client. Lots of time spent travelling, lots of time spent in stupid conversations about proper use of �The Corporate Identity�* and so on.
But hey - it ain�t all bad. Victoria and I just had a long weekend in France. There was a place we�d selected on the last night of our previous trip, really just for its proximity to the airport, and it turned out to be really nice. One of those little hilltop villages where you can still make out sections of the old town walls, absorbed into the side of newer (only 400 year old) buildings. It was a really great trip, except for one thing: by chance, we arrived on the night when they were finishing off a festival by running bulls through the streets. Temporary barricades had been erected - a rare French concession to public safety - and we were able to shelter behind one to see the spectacle.
Three horsemen clattered through the tiny cobbled square, and then a bull appeared. It was almost submerged in teenage French boys. It was only a little one; one of this year�s I suppose. He was clearly distressed; not a fearsome spectacle that would cause people to dive behind the barricades, but just a terrified farm animal, wrestled to its knees.
Keen photographer that I am, I witnessed the whole thing through a lens. I almost didn�t notice as Victoria pushed her way out of the crowd, in tears. I don�t mean to imply any criticism; it was a pretty horrible thing to see that poor young animal. In the fading light of evening, the one picture I got is motion-blurred, lending it strangely surreal, frantic quality. It�s also a very bad picture; if you weren�t told that there was a young bull amid the struggling mass of French boys, you wouldn�t see it. Two hooves an a short section of its flank can be seen, if you know where to look... but that�s all. Bastards.
But, seriously: WTF? How can this be construed as fun? It�s a mystery... at least to this townie pseudo-intellectual.
Apart from that, we had a very nice little holiday.
-----
Still, that only accounts for four days, and I�ve been missing without trace for longer that that. Sure, I�m working harder, and spending less time at home... but there�s something else, too.
I think you may have noticed that you only have a finite amount of time that you want (or are able) to spend on the Internet. That�s certainly my experience. All those chatrooms you used to frequent, or forums that you used to contribute to... new things come along, and you can�t do it all. Something has to give. You can�t read the daily updates from the lady who�s knitting a replica of the Brooklyn Bridge using only combings from her rabbits, and read the latest Dilbert comic, and catch up with �Strictly Come Dancing� on the iPlayer, and comment on YouTube videos about human rights abuses in China, and write collaborative fanfiction on the �Pingu: The Next Generation� site... Something has to give. You can�t do it all.
In my case, time on the Internet is further constrained, because I need secret time. Can you imagine me typing my latest cross-dressing memoir, sat on the sofa next to my wife? The poor girl doesn�t know... and that�s no way to find out. So: I need time alone, if I�m to continue to surprise and delight you with tales of 1990s era trannying.
The other thing I need secret time for is my fight against $ci�nto�og�. I believe that �church� to be nothing more than a crime syndicate. The extent of the evil and criminal practices committed by this new-age religion are quite astounding. It would make a great thriller, if it wasn�t true. I won�t bore you with a list of their crimes here. I�ll just say: I did somereading earlier this year, and I decided I had to do what I could to end the abuses committed by the cult. I don�t have anything against those who choose this as their faith... I just don�t see why a �church� should copyright all its materials, and require members to pay huge amounts for each step on their way to enlightenment... whereupon they ultimately find out that salvation involves the exorcism of alleged alien spirits who were brought to the Earth by an evil alien called Xenu, 75 million years ago.
Yeah, right.
Anyway, I have to be secretive about resisting $ci�nto�og�. Everybody does, because of a policy known as �fair game� by which the crime syndicate silences its critics. I could give you numerous examples, but instead I�ll let the founder of the religion explain it in his own words:
�Suppressive Person Order. Fair game. May be deprived of property or injured by any means by any $ci�nto�ogist without any discipline of the $ci�nto�ogist. May be tricked, sued or lied to or destroyed.�
- L. Ron Hu88ard Copyright (c) 1967
In other words, anybody who criticises $ci�nto�og� had better watch their backs. Fortunately, I�ve already done a pretty good job of making myself anonymous for the purposes of this diary, so I doubt that some brainwashed $ci�nto�ogist will firebomb my house just because I posted this.
Am I paranoid? Decide for yourself...
I�ve been doing a number of things to resist the abuses of $ci�nto�og�, and it all takes time. I�m sorry to have neglected you guys... and I�ll try to do better.
Now, I have a lot of recent diary entries to read...
