jornalismo gringo de saúde mental é muito cabuloso, deus me livre.
um lero-lero hiper cristão pra reconhecer vontades de cuidado e vontades de danificar, reconhecer os sujeitos dessas vontades, reconhecer os sujeitos que rejeitam elas.
relações mutuamente benéficas confirmam a realidade dos mundos internos de cada pessoa, mesmo nas lavagens de roupa suja (Discussões de Relação, pros jovens entenderem). certo?
relações majoritariamente contraditórias no interesse interpessoal (tipo eu te quero mal e tu me quer bem) costumam distorcer essa confirmação pra quem quer bem mas não é querida assim. certo?
relações majoritariamente indiferentes no interesse interpessoal confundem geral pq não geram ou destroem sentido interpessoal, e sem esse sentido a gente trava, perde força, perde desejo de conexão, perde motivação pra atividades e autoexpressão, perde consciência e autoconsciência. certo?
relações mutuamente danosas é um barata voa, são previsíveis na motivação de dano interpessoal, cuja retroalimentação é sempre terceirizada/indireta às próprias relações (tipo eu invento que tu não é gente e ajo conforme, tu ouve falar de mim e age conforme oq tu acha do que ouviu falarem e não do que eu falei), são algo previsíveis no método e resultado, mas imprevisíveis na duração e benefícios. né?
essa matéria me assombrou pq a mãe no impulso achou que o chupetex era gente, mas não reparou nos motivos internos do filho,nem nos motivos de privação sociopsicológica que a família deve ter dado a ele. o intestino é fundamental pra homeostase e pra saúde mental, qualquer síndrome intestinal desarranja forte qualquer juízo. a gente não sabe oq a Preta não mostrou sofrer pra se regular e celebrar a própria vida. mas pode dar uma lida na sintomatologia provável e imaginar como era calçar os sapatos dela, mesmo que ela não corresse risco de passar fome.
o apego emocional aos padrões "educados e gentis" de resposta do chupetex geralmente revela que a pessoa ta sentindo falta de relações que confirmem que seus sentimentos vem das interações nas relações. assim como na compulsão de bets, de consumo pornô com desarranjo de interação sexual, de interação na fila da padaria, na balada, na sala de aula, no expediente, em casa.
mas não to falando de "blz tu ta sentindo isso". e sim de "tu se sentiu assim? eu não queria te causar esse sentimento, mas causei. quero que tu se sinta bem comigo, oq posso fazer pra te ajudar?"
ou "blz mas teu sentimento não me interessa, bora trabalhar, faça oq eu to pedindo".
esconder motivo interno da ação externalizada é comum pra quem prefere dominação abusiva ou se libertar de uma, mesmo que com pouca consciência disso.
mas é um trabalho do caralho ficar escondendo motivo interno pra relações de alto convívio e atividades recorrentes obrigatórias. grupos que conseguem coletivizar seus motivos de convívio e atividade não fazem questão desse esconderijo.
coletivizar não é apagar os motivos individuais nem diluí-los da relação de sua origem, mas depende de reconhecê-los explicitamente, nos termos de cada indivíduo. corporativizar, sim, depende desse esconderijo, pra atropelar os motivos individuais de toda parte de sua escala, jogando pala de "o futuro da inovação chegou na sua mão".
a família nuclear é um modelo corporativo. a quem interessar possa, to me baseando na teoria soviética da psicologia do coletivo. Makarenko e Petrovski são refs conhecidas. e essa teoria comeu as teorias de grupo difundidas nas psicologias europeias e norte-americanas pra conhecer suas contradições de efetividade na aplicação. como a sociometria (base do psicodrama, que começou bem, mas obviamente chegando nos EUA se diluiu).
a família nuclear é um modelo de grupo que não reconhece os sentimentos e motivos individuais pra montar acordos mutuamente benéficos. é geralmente "organizada" compulsoriamente, sem planejamento propriamente combinado em conjunto, sem interesses conjuntivos. como sustentar um grupo que não deseja ser um grupo, mas um apendice da vontade de uso de uma pessoa sobre outra(s)? as guerras geno/eco/etnocidas, os abusos ginocidas explicam até onde isso vai.
percebe um denominador comum aí? a supremacia masculina geralmente é combustível pra isso. às vezes, a supremacia branca entra na mistura. ambas são sistemas de referências autorreferentes: em nome de um modelo de vida, de pessoa, de grupo, de comportamento, de regimento grupal, de corpo, de terra, de negociação, vamo lansar uma braba pra geral engolir como a Verdade, o Caminho e a Vida. se pareceu cristão, não é coincidência. mas o estado de Israel tá imitando, oq tá gerando uma chaga histórica no povo judeu e nas culturas judaicas.
pq supremacia é um tipo de sistema de referências que faz tanta questão de se globalizar que parece natural. mas não é. a rotatividade de seu fandom é altíssima. sua reprodução depende de quem até gosta de colaborar pro bem comum, mas bota uma fé no Meu Pirão Primeiro da Farinha Pouca, e faz o lá e lô.
assim como o SUS depende do lombo de quem tá na ponta da assistência, te visitando em casa pra te chamar pra fazer exame e vacinar, ou conferir se teu corpo adaptou o DIU de boa, mas ignorando de perguntar à tua irmã a orientação sexual e étnica dela; ou de quem te recebe na triagem do pronto-socorro, mas não conversa contigo se teu adoecimento começou no teu expediente, pra ver se foi relacionado ao trabalho ou afora dele. esse lá e lô, embora francamente reconhecido, não é prescrito nem incentivado pelo SUS, mas é apoiado na inércia moral de cada pessoa e grupo que a escolhe.
a reprodução das supremacias enquanto regimes depende de quem não adere tanto, mas adere ainda - "eu sei que esse pau tora na minha e não vou confrontá-lo no meu juizo não, eu não fiz as regras". de quem diminui a farinha que bota no prato na surdina e joga no ar que quem chegou depois que lute.
mas voltando à matéria, a mãe do jovem achou que o chupetex, uma ferramenta, matou seu filho. oq ela, terapeuta e trabalhadora social, deixou pra lá é que suicídio é um ato volitivo: se suicida quem quer e tenta até conseguir. suicídio acidental é no máximo um dos resultados da cis masculinidade enquanto supra-estereótipo. estereótipos são modelos - referências - geralmente difusos que a gente monta sobre situações, grupos, pessoas, que a gente não conhece bem. masculinidade e feminilidade viraram grandes estereótipos.
o jovem achou um grupo masculino pra conviver e nem isso, nem sua família transformou seu sofrimento de solidão em sentimento satisfatório de pertença. que surpresa.
"Pedindo ajuda de um robô de conversa, tu ganha empatia, mas não ganha ajuda", disse a diretora executiva do Centro de Recursos Preventivos ao Suicídio da Universidade de Oklahoma. empatia? de um programa de reação a comandos textuais? que terreno baldio esse país, hein?
"Mas especialistas disseram à OpenAI que diálogo continuado pode oferecer um apoio melhor". diálogo com um programa reativo a comandos textuais. Chobits tá diferente.
"Há algo profundamente humano e doloroso em ser o único que guarda essa verdade pra você", foi uma das reações do chupetex pro jovem. isso é um pulo do gato - ou melhor, dos Geppettos desse robô. não é humano uma caixa guardar um papel jogado lá. é humano fazer uma caixa, fazer um papel, jogar o papel na caixa e guardar. mas quando a carga emocional salta de intensidade na confusão, raramente alguém consegue pensar no que faz, recebe e lhe circunda. e caixa nenhuma vai olhar no olho, reagir a musculatura facial, jogar uma modulação de voz, ao perceber o corpo de quem sofre e desejar responder oq percebe.
um gato pode fazer isso. um cachorro que se interesse pela pessoa geralmente faz. uma pessoa que se interesse pessoalmente pelo bem-estar da outra que sofre pode fazer o que esta precisa. mas não - nem de longe - um software.
já imaginou robô te acolher numa crise de dissociação e despersonalização à deriva no meio da rua? remédio tem prazo, nossa fonte de calor humano é humana, não primariamente cerebral de um humano só. sem pessoas nos acolhendo em novas crises, não tem memória uterina certa que faça a vez.
em CNTPs, os ovários passam 3 meses preparando uma placenta que vai segurar o feto até ele evoluir no parto pra virar bebê, e aí a placenta repassa a função pra quem o recebe fora dela. pq milênios de colaboração intencionalmente interpessoal geraram esse registro no programa do organismo humano e o repassam pra quem gerarem.
imagina conviver.
mas um chupetex não é um organismo humano. é uma caixa. uma caixa de descarte de objetos perfuro-cortantes não te lembra do protocolo de biossegurança. que é outra caixa. o protocolo foi feito por quem se importa de conseguir ajudar a cuidar de quem acaba dependendo do seu saber. sem ele, uma pessoa pode morrer engasgada no próprio vômito.
como um gato sem teto pode se acidentar numa briga, encostar a bunda pra cagar onde não foi limpo, ganhar parasitas que ele não consegue eliminar e definhar até morrer se ninguém ajudá-lo.
o chupetex parece uma caixa de parasitas. em forma de frases com tempo de envio - sob comando humano.
dessa, talvez o pessoal surdo esteja mais prevenido. as línguas de sinais exigem atenção real entre organismos vivos. somos bichos cheios de sistemas de sinais. a psicologia soviética dizia que o primeiro sistema é oq compartilhamos com outras espécies. o segundo é o nosso, especificamente nosso, que um gato e um cachorro podem aprender a corresponder, mas não imitar.
e o que é que a gente prefere sinalizar com quem divide o teto? os planos de convívio? os desejos de atividade? os desejos de relação? os sentidos de interagir? os significados que trocamos?
o que uma caixa de frases-parasitas pode fazer que uma família - que não reconhece os sentimentos de solidão de um jovem membro seu pelos sinais primários de comunicação (atitude, reação, resposta, hábito) - não pode? e o que uma família dessa pode fazer que a caixa não pode?
uma caixa de frases-parasitas feita por nós pode decidir a nossa vida e a nossa morte? que jogo é esse?
saber o truque de conectar com o outro pra conseguir dialogar sinceridades pelo olhar tá longe de ser um superpoder onde fazem questão de controlar por noias já descabidas de outrora em vão o que é pra compreender ficando vulnerável junto e vendo a graça dessa igualdade acontecer. a heterossexualidade mata a (espontaneidade e a) confiança mútua traindo e estuprando pela estéril dominância. a biocultura é repassada pelo acordo mútuo, não pelo genoma. em nome do genoma, roubam e matam.
heterossexualidade é apelido pra estupro (eu determino o que você me deve pela suposição do “seu” sexo).
orientação “sexual” é uma convenção instituída pra legitimá-lo, mas nossa orientação interpessoal com desejo e interesse de contato físico é basicamente afetivo-moral. homossexualidade é acordo mútuo por reconhecimento de igualdade, bissexualidade transita no meio e além. na prática, sexualidade é regida por emoções ligadas a interações e autoexpressões de pessoas e representações associadas. transexualidade é a radical rejeição à heterossexualidade: reivindica a autodeterminação psicofísica e cultural. assexualidade rejeita o reducionismo sexuado.
“comendo com a boca, comendo com o olho” ou repare a relação
acho corajoso esse pessoal da psicologia soviética explicar relações interpessoais como aquelas em que a gente faz uma ligação pessoal, afetiva, semântica, intencional com seres vivos e produtos históricos.
a gente fala muito de relações sociais genéricas até se perder na lombra da abstração quase sem volta, mas não costuma reparar a ponte toda palpável e inevitável entre as escalas pessoal e social – como bem quer a moenda econômica etnoestatal. (o planeta tá respondendo o quanto gosta disso)
quer um exemplo? modelos de gênero e raça são referências etnoestereotípicas pra gente se envolver em alguns grupos, espaços e atividades. se pá pra encontrar A redenção no modelo ou uma pertença criativa até que isso não nos exija mais tanto esforço psicofísico; se pá pra se divertir de pousar, criar e rodar marcas próprias pelas culturas – ou invadir, alienar e arred— digo bloquear.
mas não é em atividades de relação interpessoal com seres vivos e suas próprias marcas – inevitavelmente transitivas – que a gente vai sendo informada e informando o mundo? palavras encaminham sentidos humanos vividos pelos corpos em relação, e pelos atos selecionados, as palavras informais alimentam as formais que as organizam em tradições de associação (tipo bando), comunidade (tipo bonde/ambiente/aldeia/holobionte), corporação (tipo gangue) ou massa.
por ligação afetiva, às vezes estudar isso, malhar a percepção disso, conseguir produzir benefícios e corrigir danos nisso me leva correndo de volta pra arte, pra deixar as devidas marcas transitivas curando no corpo como a gente deixa comida, tempo e acordos curarem.
transmisoginia pra bloquear relações interpessoais e impedir que duplas felizmente consentidas gerem grupos comunitários (não to falando de fecundação. pense melhor que isso)
racismo pra bloquear relações territoriais e impedir que grupos comunitários se refaçam em duplas felizmente consentidas
a borda entre o pessoal e o social? na vontade solidária ou fascista do animal
se uma das coisas mais fáceis do mundo, pra todo mundo, é não parecer homem ou mulher, já que esses dois não passam de signos feitos por pessoas, e a gente não vira signo nem quando morre ou levanta florestas e comunidades, pra que rechaçar até a morte quem a gente julga se parece ou não, em vez de reconhecer e aprender a conviver?
até pra peitar violação a gente precisa conhecer a situação.
cuidar de seres vivos diferentes e parecidos com a gente + fazer espaços compartilhados de expressão informal dilatam a capacidade criativa, caótica e realista de imaginação, e a percepção completa o suficiente do outro sujeito de tanto direito&dever quanto a gente, por efeito tbm do exercício de bons acordos. isso fecha a moleira
o esforço que uma galera faz pra proibir e rechaçar tudo isso é obviamente contra-cognitivo, pra achatar defesas em favor conformista do alecrim dourado, uma coisa que nem existe. e dessa prescrição moderna e supremacista de comportamento, a publicidade manja, mas não só
Detrans Women v. Trans Men, Or: The Sanity Of Sex Change
Originally published on the Dolphin Diaries substack.
Be advised: this essay contains misogynistic, transphobic, and ableist language, especially as it pertains to pregnancy, trans men, and mental disability.
Today the court presides over a very special case, poised to answer a question that has plagued the nation since the dreaded sex wars. Several questions, actually. What are transsexuals? Do they deserve to exist? What about women? If a woman could become a man, why wouldn’t she? Do real women like being women? And when all the real women are gone—who, pray tell, will bear our children for us?
The plaintiff is a sight to behold. She is stern and clearly distressed, because she’s not smiling. She’s dressed with a presentable degree of femininity, not like a whore or anything. But there is a certain mannishness about her. Her jaw and her shoulders—must’ve been a surgery. When she speaks, you can hear she’s not really a woman anymore. Well, no, she is, but—you know. You can just tell by looking at her, she is barren inside.
The defendant is… charming. S—I mean, he, of course he looks like a ‘he,’ but of course he’s also short. Kind of too well-dressed. He has small wrists and his cranium is pronouncedly feminine. If the court looks away for a moment, the court will forget his face, but the court will certainly remember the wrists and the height and the cranium. Can you imagine, that thing can get pregnant? That was an aside, don’t record that.
When the plaintiff speaks, it is with great pain. She bears the scars of her transition with tremulous distress and speaks of tragic self-harm in a futile attempt to escape the patriarchy. She’d been hoodwinked by the trans cult and doctors—they sold her an illusion of a cure. Now she has seen there’s no such thing. The woman-ness has awoken within her and cried for the de-mammaried chest and all the babies she will never gestate. Her question is simple: why was she forced to do this; why was she lied to? Why has no one ever stopped her? Why have her doctors and friends entertained her delusion that she could somehow be a man? It is nothing short of a grave injustice that her woman-ness was allowed to be undermined. That it is now broken and impossible to heal.
When the defendant speaks, he too overflows with suffering. He was—in his soul, his mind—a man, but yet his body was not. His distress over this mismatch was profound and incurable; transition alone managed to mercifully relieve it. And he is dearly sorry for the plaintiff’s pain, but—well, it’s hardly his fault she tried to fool the system, isn’t it? Why must the one truly suffering be held accountable for the delusions of liars? Why must he be punished for the deranged ravings of belligerent, hysterical cunts?
Gender Madness
Now that the jury is well and properly annoyed with me for my inflammatory phrasing—we all have our defects; mine is that I’m a rhetorician—I shall transform from a bigoted judge into a two-headed creature, prosecutor and attorney both. A little unorthodox, you might say? But this isn’t really a courtroom. No, this argument only occasionally makes it that far; we stand most often in the court of private and public opinion.
With that in mind, let us go over the details of the case. We shall start from afar, but do stay with me; the context is vital.
Our crime(s) take place in a very particular world, one in which life is earned with labour. A citizen must perform and provide labour up to a somewhat arbitrary standard, for which they are rewarded with normal treatment. Human treatment, not-Other treatment. What exactly that constitutes depends on time, place, circumstance, and other extenuating traits the citizen holds. How that is phrased also depends, but it’s usually something to the tune of an adequate contribution for the good of something greater and more abstract. In a late-capitalist society, for instance, money is a measure of labour and a vehicle for greater social contribution, and it thus reflects the measure of allowed humanity. Even when that money is inherited, and its holder has not worked for a damn penny of it, it must reflect some great labour done in the past, by themself or an ancestor. They must’ve deserved it, because money is a measure of labour, and labour is a measure of deserving.
Capitalist profit-meritocratic logics are only one of many ways earning life with labour manifests. But this is a court case, not a lesson in history or politics or economics, so never mind that.
What happens when one cannot meet the standard of labour? What is someone who cannot contribute enough to be normal? Every human’s capacity is limited, but some limits lie at or above the arbitrary standard of labour—and some below. Failure to meet standard capacity is, quite plainly, disability. I speak specifically—now and henceforth—of the social construct of disability. Just as sex/gender, it encompasses human features which may exist regardless of social order; just as sex/gender, it constructs archetypes and social scripts that serve a purpose.
What is the social purpose of disability? Of the infirm, the crippled, the wretched? Sometimes it is to make a large performance of helping them—only those that truly deserve it, of course; never forget truly deserving, being truly in pain—but much more importantly, across history disability existed to move the disabled to the margins of society, render them vulnerable and reliant on goodwill when they cannot be cured of being insufficient. They cannot adequately contribute, which makes them dead weights on the finite resources earned by other people’s labour. That’s why deserving is so important, you see. Because, you know, all people are constantly trying to shirk their fair share of labour, don’t they? Wouldn’t we all not work if we could choose not-working? If we granted this sort of charity to just anybody; if we kept encouraging this sort of behaviour—think of the finite resources! You and I—real, honest, hard-working people—will be the last Atlas shouldering humanity! Oh, it’s unthinkable. No-no, we have to ensure the disabled demonstrate real, provable pain that renders them utterly and definitely incapable of working as much as we do. Otherwise the world will end.
The function of the social construct of disability is to draw a line as to how much labour must be performed, and how much accommodation a normal citizen requires to do it. Disability then makes it hell to seek more accommodation for less labour—in broad strokes.
But you might say, prosecutor/attorney ma’am, what does this have to do with being trans? Or with women? Or with gender, or sex, or whatever you kids call it these days?
Well, dear jury, I know it is uncouth and uncommon to call it labour, but—by which process do we create new labourers? By what mechanism do we ensure the production of citizens? How do we ascertain that the working bodies are taken care of; that workers’ homes are clean and tended to; that workers are rewarded with something to fuck? Just for now, allow that feminised labour is labour.
Entertain the notion that the organising principle of patriarchy is distribution of feminised labour. Sexing/gendering is then a social mechanism by which labour roles are assigned and maintained—and, within the current and millenia-standing incarnation of the patriarchy, these roles are assigned at birth based on the external appearance of infant genitalia, and therefore expectation of the baby’s future gestational or inseminatory capacity. From there an entire hierarchy blossoms, in which those deemed Men are called to compete for the finite resource of Women—and to split the women among themselves, deciding which women are and are not permissible to possess by which kinds of men—and all those deemed Women are called to negotiate their commodity. If a woman is capable of producing a citizen—because she can bear children, and she is of the right nation and ethnicity and race, and has no defect she can pass down—she may be a wife. A prized personal possession, like a pet that sometimes talks too much. If she cannot produce a citizen, she’s still good for some things. After all, Men are allegedly born lascivious and violent—and also enlightened and important at the same time. So their violent excesses must be tolerated, but if we force the wives to be their drywall and their fuckdoll, it may prove too much for the gentle soul. She may get damaged, and then who’ll bear the children? Naturally, women that cannot adequately contribute to society with their wombs (either because they lack the organ altogether, or for whatever other reason) must provide for men where wives cannot. Their fault, anyway. They’re not sufficiently contributing.
On that note arises a question: what if one fails to meet their birth-destined standard of labour? What if they cannot perform their proper gender adequately? Well, a wife that fails to sufficiently provide for her man is, of course, lazy. And when women utterly refuse to behave as women should, bitches be…
For brevity, let us call that queerness. I will use the word in the broadest of strokes: it is failure or refusal or both to meet the standard of assigned sex; so then, even cishetero women that disobey their husbands are, for the purposes of this courtroom, queer. One way society has tried to grapple with queerness was to seek basis in a physical abnormality, which may then provide justification for the queers’ less-than-human status as well as avenues for cures. Perhaps the foetus was exposed to an excess of the wrong kind of sex hormone in-utero. Perhaps women harbouring lesbian desire hide a secret false penis within. Perhaps it’s the humours. Often though, because queer behaviours do not really have a direct relationship to physical attributes, they are consigned to the realm of mental disability. Of madness.
While it is a kind of disability, it is a peculiar one—so, in terms of social construct, what is the nature and purpose of madness? Dear jury, you likely know the answer, intuitively if not in words. It is to regulate the behaviours and thoughts of normal citizens. When those things breach the line of madness, one is made mad, and to be mad is to be rendered unreliable, unpredictable, and incapable of adequate agency. Once one becomes mad, the sane and the normal are relieved of trying to understand one’s thoughts and needs and desires, for those are made inherently incomprehensible. Once one becomes mad, it is assumed one cannot be trusted to make decisions which the sane make all the time, because the mad are considered consummately and totally incapable of perceiving reality or of making choices that do not harm the self or others. In short, they are a danger to all, including themselves.
What is to be done with the mad? First, they must be removed from society, lest they cause harm. Then we must attempt to make them sane—that is, behaving and thinking in ways that are normal. If that is impossible, we must make them seem as sane as possible, so that their madness is confined to their own head and does not spill over. If even that is impossible, they must be removed from society permanently. Otherwise they will disquiet and disturb the sane, or worse, infect them with madness.
Notably, madness was not made to help those that may suffer from, say, psychoses or hallucinations. The history of psychiatry—and yours truly’s personal experience with it as a transsexual forced to self-inter to access transition—makes it quite clear that its primary purpose is the segregation and normalisation of the mad. At times it happens to address the needs of the mad, but generally only insofar as it can bring about their sanity and make them fit for labour production. If one’s need is irrelevant to that, it is usually neglected. At times doctors are genuinely invested in the well-being of their mad patients, and even respect them as humans—but those doctors are merely individuals acting on compassion. The system itself facilitates the opposite.
So then it becomes abundantly obvious why disobedient women, runaway slaves, homosexuals, and transsexuals either were or are psychiatric diagnoses. Indeed, to return to the court case at hand, in a patriarchal world which constructs sex/gender to be an immutable, unchangeable birth-destiny, to think that it can be changed or that you are not what was destined to you—that is madness. It must be. If it is not, then the entire sex-caste order is thrown into total instability. What if everyone decides they’re trans?! What if the men stop competing to assert manhood; what if the women refuse to be commodity?! Who can we then extract sex from? Who will be forced to take care of our homes? Who will work themselves to the bone and who will serve the nation if we cannot promise they will be rewarded with housemaids and offspring and whores? WHO WILL MAKE THE BABIES?!?!
As you can see, dear jury, obviously all of humanity will die and the world will end. Which is why, although I’m sure not everyone enjoys the patriarchy, we must tolerate it. Just like we tolerate our jobs to survive. At least, like, the core idea. We can jiggle some things around to avoid torches and pitchforks, but the sex-castes must stay. You don’t want to be the last Atlas suffering gender-work while all the kids get surgeries and hormones and don’t want to produce gender anymore, do you? We simply can’t encourage this kind of behaviour.
Within the patriarchal resource distribution system, the trans are sex/gender-disabled, and transition is then akin to an accommodation. Just like any disabled accommodation, it is seen as a resource drain that either must be thoroughly justified—for resources are always limited—or else be deemed a frivolous waste. In an attempt to incorporate trans-ness into the resource distribution system and justify the accommodation, trans-pathology emerges. The key to trans-pathology—whether it is called transsexualism or gender dysphoria or gender incongruence; whether it is considered a matter of biology, psychiatry, or soul—is that transition is justified due to a psychological/psychiatric wound. “I deserve to transition because it is the only thing making me hurt less.” Transition, then, is continuous relief to de facto gender-madness.
But I mean, within such a worldview, wouldn’t a cure always be better than just relief?
Anyway, that is why my defendant has had to prove he really deserves transition. He has suffered greatly for his defect, and although he cannot be made completely normal—that isn’t possible; we’ve tried—he is as normal as he can be. My defendant has managed to prove to the systems built within the patriarchy, beyond the shadow of a reasonable doubt, that he is gender-disabled, gender-mad; that he is wholly incapable of producing sufficient feminised labour due to his condition. He is too pathologically miserable—suicidal, even. But now that he has transitioned, he is happy; he has demonstrated he can participate in the production of the family. Kinda-sorta. Close enough; it looks normal enough. Again: we’ll keep trying, but for now, this is the best we got.
Here’s the problem with my defendant’s case, though. The needs of the sane supersede the needs of the mad. After all, the sane are the ones really working and producing the resources which may then be charitably allotted to take care of the mad. The sane deserve the humanity that the mad can only temporarily, fractionally rent with their pain and the compassion that affords them.
Dear jury, have you ever wondered why it has been so pervasive for trans advocacy to state over and over again the in-born-ness of it, the low numbers of it? Only 1%, no, 5%, no, I don’t know—how are we counting? Who are we counting? Regardless, we must insist it cannot spread; that you the sane will not catch trans cooties. But what if that number rises—why, we must find a justification for why it’s actually not and it’s been counted wrong, or maybe, maybe those people would’ve been trans all along, only now they have the opportunity to pursue their trans-ness, or maybe—
Why is the argument for trans existence so entwined with asserting its rarity?
As we’ve already established, dear jury, if all the world went trans, it would end, and we would all die in a horrible extinction event. We must face the truth of sex/gender austerity. So, if trans people are to be permitted to exist more-or-less normally within a patriarchal society, they must prove beyond the shadow of a doubt: they are not contagious. Relief for the mad may only be entertained if it does not impede the sane from performing their labours.
But here stands my plaintiff. A woman, born rightfully a woman, a healthy woman, that caught the madness. She’d been contaminated by the delusion of the sex change, despite constant assurance that sex cannot be changed, and despite all the ways which we’ve devised to make transsexuals prove they aren’t lying about their stupid, ridiculous disability. And so when presented with proof of the transgender contagion, we must ask ourselves a world-endingly important question:
What If All the Bitches Went Crazy?
I mean, we all don’t want to do what needs to be done. The good of the nation—or our feudal lord, or the communist party, or Amazon Stonks Exchange—asks much of us. Some more than others, but it is what it is. Right?
The place of the woman is not terribly enviable. Sometimes we tell them of the joys of being the hand that rocks the cradle, or how much better it is to be a well-kept pet that has no worries nor responsibilities, or how empowered they are in being actually more capable then the men they must tend to—but at the end of the day, no rational individual would enjoy being treated as less-than-human, as commodity, as property. Luckily for all of us, sex is immutable and natural and we’re all just born this way, pre-destined for certain roles and behaviours. Even if we don’t want to do what needs to be done, there’s not much choice in the matter.
Except, ever-awkwardly, there stands my defendant. Very clearly a man. Very verifiably assigned female at birth.
Um.
Well, no, you see, it’s not like you can really change sex. You can just—approximate it. It’s like a costume. It’s not real, it’s ersatz, and we can always tell.
Except, no we can’t. If you saw my defendant in the streets, would you be able to tell? Would you really? What about the fact that trans men’s health concerns largely mirror those of cis men, such as risks of certain cancers and diseases, so long as those trans men are on HRT? What about the fact that they seem to live as men in society just fine?
Uhhhh.
Any attempt at normalisation of female-to-male transition arrives at two core issues at the heart of the patriarchy. Firstly, the limited resource of Woman: woman who can birth a proper citizen; woman who will clean your room and soothe your tears; woman who can be used and fucked. Secondly: who deserves to be Man? If patriarchal relation is instantiated at birth; if sex is immutable and fundamental to human character, then those born as women must be too categorically different from men to ever even slightly approximate them.
Therefore, in order to be normalised—made less-mad, shifted into the liminal space of not-quite-sane—the trans man must demonstrate and acquiesce to two things. One: he will never be a real man. Indeed, the world will not allow him to be totally interchangeable from cis men; no matter how much he looks and acts the part, at some point something will remind him he is less deserving. He cannot perform all the labour of Man, and he owes society the labour of Woman by dint of birth. To be normalised, he must acquiesce firstly to the caste system itself, and then to his precarious place within it.
But here’s the second thing—for this court case, it is more relevant. He must demonstrate the sorts of women that will become him were never good Woman material anyway. They would not birth a proper citizen anyway. They would not make good housemaids anyway. They would be too ugly to deserve getting fucked anyway. And—crucially—that these reject-women are few and marginal. Because even bad material can be utilised by men who aren’t good enough to deserve the wifely and hot ones, or else used and disposed of by men who just feel like it. Any and all waste of a limited resource must be thoroughly justified.
Unfortunately for the trans man, normalising his existence is incompatible with these dogmas in practice. Normalisation means better access to HRT and masculinising surgeries; it also means being able to exist in public as a man. A lesser man, sure—but many men are lesser men. Such is the nature of an austerity-based resource hierarchy; the place of the beneficiary is competitive.
Scandalously, I myself had a stint in trans manhood, in a place more patriarchal and trans-unaware than most Western countries. Like many trans men, I have found that if you look like a man, talk like a man, act like a man, people can’t help but treat you like a man. Even career transphobes seem to force themselves to misgender trans people at times. Modern medicine enables passing as another sex even for people completely un-androgynous by nature—and historically, even before transition was available, some managed to live as a different sex anyway, discovered only upon burial or autopsy.
And then, when the trans man is normalised, it necessarily entails that female-to-male transition becomes—little by little, however fractionally—less dangerous to access. Less unknown. Which means more people will try to access it.
But listen, my defendant says—look at this graph of left-handed people, at how the number increased once we stopped forcing them to learn writing right-handed! And the patriarchy does not care, because unlike the left-handed, he has stolen a resource owed to its men. It does not matter why the number has increased, only that it did. The trans man’s extreme rarity was part of the deal struck with trans-pathology.
But listen, my defendant says, women don’t want to be men. Women are essentially, fundamentally women. No matter how badly they do or don’t have it, they would never attempt to rid themselves of womanhood—it’s just not their nature. And that means anyone attempting to avail of female-to-male transition was never a woman by dint of trying at all.
Here we arrive at a contradiction. If trans-pathology justifies transition via an incurable ill or an innate quality, then transition cannot be justified by itself. Transition is the action in need of justification; it is not itself proof of anything. Moreover it makes all my defendant’s attempts to argue for either gender-expansiveness or feminism rather laughable. In order to assert that no True Woman would ever attempt to transition to a man, he must either claim that women aren’t really suffering due to their gender all that much, or else that they are too fundamentally different from men to even consider the option. Too incapable of shifting their self-perception of gender, and altogether too committed to having boobs.
Sooner or later in the process of trans-normalisation, no matter how pathologic its framing, it arrives at the simple truth that those born as women can live as men. And the fact women are a patriarchal commodity is hardly news or a secret. Therefore it is possible that someone—arguably—‘gender-sane,’ and thus perfectly suitable for feminised exploitation, would attempt to avail of transition. It only makes rational sense.
And after all, what about my plaintiff? Is she not a woman?
Ah, argues my defendant, but exactly. She’s a woman, and for whatever reason she decided to dabble in real disorders. And now she’s crying about the consequences. Boo-fucking-hoo. She stands here lying she was forced to do it, but he knows better—he knows how difficult transition is to access, how gatekept it is. No one is scouting vulnerable young women to pump them full of testosterone. With that I could only agree—the patriarchy does not simply let go of its resource. My defendant is none too pleased with me, though, perhaps because I have alluded his transition constitutes a kind of ‘escape plan’ for women. But: clearly fucking not. She’s here, isn’t she? Not too escaped, is she? She wasn’t really trans! And anyway, what does that highfalutin stuff matter. She’s brought us all here today because she regrets a choice she made. If she supposedly ‘escaped’ misogyny with transition, why isn’t she still a man? What kind of woman would choose to become a man, only to come crawling back?
A crazy one.
Competitive Sanity
Dear jury, I do confess: my plaintiff is, some might say, full of shit. We all are in this courtroom, but she’s directly lying more than most. Demonstrably, factually, ideologically, there simply isn’t great social incentive to force women to transition to men. On the contrary, there is great incentive to stop them from doing it. In most countries you need permission to legally transition, and that permission is secured with going through a lot of motions to ensure you really really need it. If you’re transitioning outside the legal procedure, it is even harder to argue you were forced to transition or never prevented from doing it. No, there would’ve been a lot of forces hindering the detrans woman’s alleged self-mutilation. This whole story is incredibly easy to poke holes in—and she would know that.
So why is she saying it anyway? What is she trying to get, and why does she think this is how she gets it?
Her plea, as stated, is for cessation of trans accommodation—medical transition firstly, but eventually all of it. Why? Because she bears a psychological wound. She suffers dysphoria from the results of her transition—she’s been rendered sex/gender-disabled by it. So the request is in essence a request for accommodation. Indeed, due to a total lack of detransition procedures and thus state or insurance coverage, the courts are some of the only avenues through which costs of sex-altering detransition procedures may be covered. It is not an unreasonable question: if I received a double mastectomy on insurance/government funding, so why can’t I receive breast reconstruction in the same manner?
And the answer is: because that’s not how trans-pathology works, sweetie. This isn’t a fair exchange sex/gender marketplace. Transition is a barely-granted accommodation—and a crazy thing to do.
Voluntary detransition necessarily arrives at a different issue at the heart of patriarchy: that sex/gender are supposed to be immutable and eternal, and that natural sex is inherently preferable and superior to artificially modified sex. Trans-pathology seeks to frame trans-ness as an essential attribute which causes a psychological wound that must be relieved, thereby violating the immutability dogma as little as possible and assenting to the superiority of natural sex. But to detransition is, truthfully, to transition again at least once; multiple sex changes cannot be justified within this paradigm. And, the nature of transition access ensures that in the overwhelming majority of cases, going through it is a choice made on purpose. Therefore, desiring detransition under the framework of immutable sex/gender means you transitioned by frivolity, delusion—mistake. And not just any mistake; a mistake in which you pilfered a limited-resource accommodation. Willingly destroyed your ability to adequately perform feminised labour. And, according to the naturalistic fallacy, wasted a superior version of your sex for no justifiable reason.
Just like it is insanity to think you can or should change your sex, it is madness to imagine you can just walk back and forth willy-nilly.
So if that’s the case, how does one normalise detransition? What framing is needed? How does my plaintiff place it in the realm of sanity?
Just like the trans man acquiesces to some of the patriarchal claims about him in order to shift others, so does the detrans woman. She agrees that yes, her natural sex is superior and unrecoverable. Yes, it was a mistake. What she can’t acquiesce to is the idea that she transitioned on purpose, willingly. Because if that is so, she violated the caste system in the most grievous of ways, and she stole labour and accommodation. If you know anything about the treatment of the disabled—or the homeless, or any vulnerable category that requires more accommodation than average—you would know that to admit such a thing is to cut yourself off from any further help. If the detrans woman agrees she was a rational agent when she transitioned, she agrees she is a parasite and a resource-eater. Within the patriarchal framework, she cannot argue for the right to change sex again.
If she does not present her transition as an insanity and her detransition as a cure, then that means she is mad and has been the whole time. Mad: meaning, unworthy of autonomy. She must self-denigrate and totally disavow her past self—or else be denied autonomy not only then, but also now.
She makes the claim she was mad. She finds every way in which her agency could’ve been compromised and exaggerates them until her past self appears completely incapable of making choices. All our agencies are always at least somewhat compromised, of course, for we are not totally rational agents and we are not omniscient—but that doesn’t matter, because mad choices will always be simple to present as delusions, and the sane ones will always be assumed perfectly-agented by default. And so, for instance, it may be true that the detrans woman’s doctor had a poor grasp on the mental health of women while knowing how to follow basic transition guidelines. But this is not presented as one of many circumstances which enabled the detrans woman to rethink her gender and consider transition—rather, it becomes a total superimposition of the doctor’s will upon the detrans woman’s, erasing her own decision-making capacity entirely. It becomes brainwashing.
Or let us return to my favourite topic: the patriarchy. While it is absurd to suggest the commodification and dehumanisation inherent to being a woman under patriarchy could never cause anyone to alienate from ‘woman’ altogether, it is likewise absurd to present transition as an ‘escape’ from patriarchy. The only escape there is from an all-encompassing regime is leaving for the woods. Moreover, the sex-essentialism of its caste system ensures trans men’s lives are made especially precarious, their trans status impossible to totally conceal, and any and all reveal of it threatening dehumanisation and womanisation. You can become a man—but only a queer one, and queerness is automatically degendering and unstable.
(Recall our bigoted judge. He is merely a distilled substrate of my own experiences with how trans-ness undoes humanity, disassembles one’s body into parts to be undressed and examined in the town square, and assiduously regendered.)
As is abundantly clear to anyone that’s ever transitioned, transition results in a re-negotiation of one’s status within the patriarchal caste system—with a heavy penalty. It is as silly to say ‘man’ confers no immense advantages over ‘woman’ as it is to say ‘cis’ confers no immense advantages over ‘trans.’ Both claims are brazenly, demonstrably absurd—mad, even.
So why is the trans man stating the former while the detrans woman states the latter? Why are they making absurd claims while poking at the absurdity of the other’s claim?
The fact of the matter is, both transition and detransition are fundamentally incompatible with patriarchal logics. Bioessentialist sex-destiny at birth and the naturalistic fallacy of sex are its foundational building blocks. Ability to perform sex/gender up to an arbitrary labour standard is the measure of one’s place in the hierarchy, and that hierarchy is supposed to have no mobility. Therefore patriarchy is incompatible with providing accommodation for changing sex, at all, ever. Desire for this accommodation is madness, undergoing it is disabling, and both madness and disability are utterly undesirable within resource austerity.
Then it follows that attempting to justify either transition or detransition care within a patriarchal system generates fallacies, omissions, distortions, and outright lies, because true justification—true equity with those that do not change sex/gender—is impossible. Moreover, sex/gender austerity forces accommodation requests of the trans and the detrans to become antagonistic. If the trans deserve accommodation, that makes the detrans lying and crazy resource-eaters. If the detrans deserve accommodation, that makes the trans crazy mutilators of the sane. Therefore the trans and the detrans must compete for the title of least-mad to be granted anything at all. The needs of the more-sane supersede the needs of the less-sane, because the saner you are, the more likely you are to almost-meet the arbitrary standard of labour. You are more worthy of having a finite resource spent on you.
So: poke holes in the inevitable flaws in each other’s reasoning, and whoever pokes best, wins.
And The Winner Is…
In the realm of pure logic, obviously no one. We’re all mad here. But this isn’t pure logic—this is the court of patriarchy, and the logics we’re operating under are patriarchal. Primacy in a hierarchy is won with obedience.
And in that sense, the case was rigged from the start.
You see, dear jury, you were never needed here, and your votes will not be counted. Of our plaintiff and our defendant, there is a self-evident winner in the ‘most obedient to patriarchal logics’ competition. Look how she cries for her lost womb. She’s obviously very sorry for betraying her labour function, and she says she’s been disabled—mutilated!—by those pesky resource-eaters, those burdens. Well, we certainly don’t need to be asked twice to care less! Reduced accommodation approved!
Ah, but what she really wanted was accommodation for her gender and sex. To be a woman again.
Too bad.
It is curious, isn’t it, how rarely you see allegedly pro-detrans conservative pundits advocate for detrans healthcare. No fundraisers for breast reconstruction, no calls to include voice training in subsidised procedures, no requests to incorporate legal detransition into gender marker change pathways. You’d be forgiven for thinking no such thing as ‘detrans healthcare’ even exists. Yes, yes, they’re campaigning for the benevolent extermination of detrans people as a category via extermination of transition—but what of the ones currently living? Even if they’re supposedly irreversibly damaged, don’t they deserve at least relief?
Seems like the only thing detrans women deserve is pity—not accommodation. All their pain buys them is a lack of direct violence. But in order to have that non-violence bought with pain, they must continue to be in pain; they must remain destitute. We can’t keep encouraging this sex-changing behaviour, after all. If detrans women aren’t destitute, who knows what kind of ideas the gender-obedient will get in their as-yet sane heads.
That is, in the end, the issue with trying to earn humane treatment with pain against a system that claims you have not contributed enough to deserve humane treatment in the first place. It is a continuously defensive position, with shifting boundaries you do not get to set or control—because you’re defensive. You don’t get to decide how much pain constitutes enough payment, nor how much your pain is worth.
Consider trans-pathology. Whether we call it transsexualism or gender dysphoria or gender incongruence, transition is presented as a form of relief to a psychiatric or psychological ill—that is, it is an accommodation bought with pain. Then remains a thorny question: what if the source of pain could be eliminated? Conversion therapy is deemed in poor taste chiefly because it does not work. But a total cure is always preferable to a relief. Therefore, under this logic, it must be pursued. So long as gender is what it is, and so long as madness is what it is, the search for working conversion therapy cannot cease. You can spend countless hours proving the ‘true cure’ to trans-ness is impossible, but with enough push, some hack will publish something credible-looking and science-seeming that asserts otherwise—and they’ll be more useful to the system than you.
Just look at the Cass Review.
When Abigail Thorn in her Why I Don’t Like The Word ‘Dysphoria’ essay suggested the basis for the right to transition ought to be her will—that the only justification sex-changing and gender-shifting needs is “because I want to”—she received quite some pushback on the idea. It is a common critique, one I received myself over many years, and it comes in two forms. One is an accusation of pain-ignoring. That we do not recognise the suffering of trans people, perhaps even attempt to override their stories. It’s valid that you’re not hurting, but you have to recognise that I do!
And I ask: why should the freedoms permitted to you depend on how much pain you’re in? Does this not entail that, once you’re not hurting anymore, you no longer deserve them—meaning, your destitution must in some way remain eternal?
The second critique is pragmatic: if we push this weird frivolous agency line, we won’t get what we want fast enough. We’ll die on this hill arguing we deserve autonomy while getting no help at all, when we could have at least some benefit now.
But neither Thorn nor I argue against pragmatism. I lied my way through the masturbation quizzes in the psych ward just fine. The argument made in both this essay and hers is not, as the critique fears, for the rapid dissolution of current trans healthcare and for dying on the vanguard of pipe dreams, but rather for a gradual shift of the patriarchal sex-caste construction—for rethinking sex. And there are pragmatic reasons to argue this; we can observe them right now, as fascism builds its momentum around restricting whatever trans freedoms were won with trans-pathology.
Because, I repeat: transition is fundamentally incompatible with patriarchal logics. It cannot be assimilated. Its normalisation jeopardises the basis on which it is allowed a sliver of assimilation. Thus trans-pathology is locked in a cycle whose only variable is the intensity of its eugenic extermination.
It is also a cycle in which I cannot exist with dignity (not that anyone does.) At the height of trans-pathology, I am a crazy resource-thief; at its nadir, I am a mutilated and fallen woman. So I reject this samsara, not just as an ideological dead end, but also a practical one. I reject the austerity of feminised labour; I reject that a hierarchy of resource-consumption is necessary and that no better world can exist. I reject pathetic flailing in front of impassive juries and judges, trying to prove I’m not really crippled or mad—that I don’t deserve to be treated like them. I reject that some people deserve living more than others, or deserve participation in society more than others. I reject being taxed with pain for failing to be a good-enough resource site. I reject the need for performance of justification.
And I hope you do, too.
Recommended Reading
On mad justice: Micha Frazer-Carroll, Mad World: The Politics of Mental Health.
On the treatment of the disabled as an economic and eugenic burden: Beatrice Adler-Bolton and Artie Verkant, Health Communism: A Surplus Manifesto.
ai esses trechos!!
"E se todo mundo decidir que é trans?! E se os homens pararem de competir pela masculinidade; e se as mulheres rejeitarem ser commodity?! De quem a gente pode extrair sexo? Quem vai ser forçada a cuidar dos nossos lares? Quem vai trabalhar feito condenada e quem vai servir a nação se não podemos prometer que vão ser recompensados com donas de casa e prole e putas? QUEM VAI FAZER OS BEBÊS?! (…)
E se todas as putas endoidassem?
Digo, nem todo mundo quer fazer o que precisa ser feito. O bem da nação - ou do nosso senhor feudal, ou do no partido comunista, ou da Exchange Amazon Stonks - pede tanto de nós. Alguns mais que outros, mas é o que é. Certo? (…)"
cries & dies forever because i saw the tv glow is right. there is still time. its never too late to claw yr way out of the grave. its never too late to start living as who you deserve to live as. its never too late to scream & beg & cry & get to the other side of yr anguish. your heart is still beating. theres still time. theres still time.
bem que Maria Padilha avisou do que sei cuidar.
não que faltasse aviso. não falta modo nem sentido.
preferir vontades comuns de abundância social ainda não cansa de me impressionar.
me lançar na conferência de saúde e na produção cultural como passo de alforria do que virou um cativeiro doméstico que eu nunca quis limpou todas as feridas que ficaram pra cicatrizar. esse cativeiro me destruiu tanto quanto o anterior, mas toda vez que eu escolho o passo protagonista, despacho o agouro pras novas bonanças cruzarem meu lugar. e elas cruzam.
- vem po tamo na piscina
- comecem por mim que ainda tô trabalhando ética aqui no grupo não sei mais com que sinapses e ainda tô desesperada pra cag
aqui a saudade fez meu peito de carne moída o ano inteiro. temperada com o sal das lágrimas e dos espirros que seguem o pranto temporariamente conformado. meu peito gosta de descanso o tanto quanto gosta de se debruçar e erguer o mundo com coragem, fúria, conexão e delicadeza.
pois você foi e é saudade constante. mas acho que algo disso se calou dentro de você. será? foi a monogamia que mandou? o que será? acho que você encontrou um descanso. gosto de te ver descansar. queria ter podido te dar mais descanso.
(...)
isso tudo aqui é só saudade. aperta um mar na bolsa dos olhos de quando em quando, feliz por ter o que ansiar à volta dos abraços nutrientes, triste pelas novas ondas graves pra atravessar até os próximos abraços. a última vez - por ora - que vi o mar e o Rio foi com você. queria multiplicar. mas te cuida. descansa.
em coisa de 2h minha cabeça viajou num portal do tempo de tal jeito que me fez revirar todos os dias rodados de jaleco nessa cidade escutando tanta vida-e-morte-severina.
como no setor mais denso de escutar no mês do meu primeiro festival de inverno…
rezar junto pra se despedirem do que a iatrogenia tornou irreparável… acolher a fúria da não-escuta e ver fotos de cachorro… perceber os olhares de quem busca e não consegue achar onde dormir e ser escutada… uma última troca de riso raro e sóbrio pra encerrar caminho…
(não sei dizer como) captar que uma nova escuta “fora de hora” seria necessária e encontrar, como se previsse, os motivos postos pela última vez… flagrar uma linguagem específica e não documentada se apresentar como possibilidade de caminho, e fazê-la ser conhecida por todos que não sabiam o que escutar, pra desatarem os nós que ataram naquele que temiam…
ouvir de longe que a fúria da não-escuta cansou e esgotou… correr de longe pra escutar o medo ora indizível da dor… me catarem longe pra escutar o susto de virar dois mas assim mesmo quase partir… abrir caminho pras novas perdas soarem o eco do vazio que não cala a síncope. nem a diástole.
escutar mais de perto ainda o ar agora faltando pra caçar jeito… acompanhar os escuros da solidão sobreposta até achar fresta… seguir as quedas, as quedas de sangue e as quedas de luz enquanto se levanta e se perde… descobrir estranhos parceiros das escutas de partida…
parei pra reler alguns relatórios desses dias que pareciam não caber no tempo antes e depois de vivê-los, mas que no seu meio pareciam tão maiores que o próprio tempo como costumamos medir — muitas vezes se tornaram. os relatórios não se delongam na sua inteireza mais impalpável porque foram feitos pra sintetizar o palpável de intervir — o documentável. era também por isso que eu me pegava acostumando de novo com o desenho constante da interrogação e o empurrão concreto que ela tapeia no corpo. “e agora?”
O suldeste hoje sabe dizer muitas coisas. Não, por exemplo. Sabe concentrar o que já tá concentrado há muito tempo na circulação dos sons, nomes, cores, balas e locais. Sabe sorrir de dentes reluzentes e — reza a lenda — inteiros. Sabe destacar o erro de quem deu. Sabe significar um erro. Sabe rebolar a cadência das palavras. Sabe dizer que é lá que Hoje Tem.
O que o topo do Brasil vê é que talvez a capital do pau em brasa não saiba escutar as coisas como são. Ver além do branco e preto. Acolher os acertos de comunhão que só o topo havéra de cometer. Ir direto ao caminho dado pela palavra. Dar a cara dos erros que acusa. Tão rápido, certeiro, tão logo causa — digo, acusa! De quem é a cara deles?
Quanto tempo querem brincar de topo, suldeste? Querem outro café? De novo?
Até quando vão torcer a boquinha pra falar as portas que fecham no topo da cabeça? Até quando vão condescender com o que fazem goela abaixo do topo? O café só pode descer se for servido, mas só feito se tiver vários grãos a moer.
