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The Tranny and the 'Great debate community'

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Which sounds a bit like Harry Potter, or Tin Tin, or a whole host of Enid Byton novels.

In my mind I have already re-named it, the 'safe debate community'. For reasons that might become clear or they might not.

I have been a member of this community for a number of years. Never contributed much, mostly a bunch of people showing off their symbolic logic. However, a recent post caught my eye.

Not because of the post, but the content of one of the comments, by the original poster. Steve McRae I forget what it was exactly now, but the practical upshot was someone arguing that atheism is a 'belief', or requires 'belief'.  This was still related to the original post, loosley speaking. So off we went. This all became a bit odd, as the complaint was people 'hijacking' his thread. Odd since he introduced the new theme.

If the thread had been 'hijacked' it was by himself. The practical upshot of this was another thread popped up on the actual theme, and o…

Rhyme

Some poems they rhyme you know.
Though I know I like blank verse.
But sometimes I need to show
Words into line I can nurse.

Not for any reason
but just because I can
Not just  for a season,
A woman or a man.

But for the fun of it all
Just to see the symbols
dance like couples at a ball
speaking clear, then in riddles.

Words are fun.
Words are Joy
Words show the one
Words shy and coy

Rhyming and rhythm,
Bouncing on tongues
Framing a prism
To beat life's drums.

And to end in the hope
That tied like a rope
the words can grope
for meaning with scope

That entertains and holds
A reader in thrall
perhaps for a moment
perhaps for more.

Biker secret.

Things move in the depths,
Strange things, odd things.
Things without names
Things without form
Thoughts
Ephemeral

Dreams cast upon winds
Time drawn in the hollows.

Memories.

Beauty on two wheels.
I rode with him.
Arms holding him,
Feeling he was mine,
Relishing every moment
Wind in my hair,
Alone with him,
On the road.
The two of us
Together.

And then it would end.
at my own door.
Stepping off the bike.
Handing him back
His spare helmet.
I say "thanks"

His beautiful face
Smiles at me
I melt,
If only..

"No problem mate," he says.

I smile back.

He puts down his visor,
That big engine revvs,
He turns
And is gone
Sooner than it takes to write it.

And I know soon,
Other arms will circle him,
On the open road.
Arms he will seek
For affection and more.

And I know I can never have him.
And I hide sorrow behind my eyes,
As I say Hi
To family,
Who must not see,
A love I cannot tell.

And later alone,
I weep silently upon my bed.

Biological Gender

OK, so... I keep seeing posts and memes making out that science says there are just two genders.

Putting aside the issue of transgender identities: this claim is factually wrong

Scientists don't say there are 2 biological genders. Biology describes at least six.

Asexual, male, female, neuter, hermaphrodite and sequential hermaphrodite.

This is biology.

Less than half the animal Kingdom follows a binary biological sex model. The largest group is asexual, the binary framework is next both XX -XY and combinations of XY, ZW, XO, ZO chromosomes, , next is the triunary arrangement, breeding males, breeding females and neuter workers, as in eusocial insects. Clown fish are sequential hermaphrodites and will change sex. Many snails and slugs are true hermaphrodites.

Factually the claim science only admits 2 biological genders is incorrect.

Looks people give me.

Now this might be a poem,
It might just be a rant.
But it concerns
Some obsevations,
That recently I've had.

Every time
I catch somebodys eye,
I see and read a look.

A look but, never the same look,
Each look with a diferent story.
Telling me
about myself,
And the one I'm looking at.

Some looks tell of hatred.
Some of love and hwyl,
Some angered, some perplexed,

And so often I find,
I feel something back.

And I think about those stories,
And what they mean to me.
Forgiving hatred, returning love,
Seeing lies and wondering why?

And all in a fleeting look.

There you go, it was just a kind of poem.

Sex objects. (Who to, or to what sex objects, we don't really know)

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Cultures across the world have worshipped symbols of masculinity and femininity for all of its archeological history.

The evidence suggests that until about 3-5 thousand years ago the feminine dominated. And since then the Masculine has dominated. At least from one point of view.
Nice rotund pregnant looking women at the centre of things. Carved into rocks, moulded out of clay. The feminine raised as the creative goddess.
The phallus doesn't seem to have existed only from the time of what I shall call, 'the takeover'. It was around thousands of years ago too. It could be argued that the phallus and the womb were worshipped together, as equals.
However: something happened at the dawn of civilisation. Different religions began writing about how women were essentially the property of men. Rules written into the books of religions. Demanding the obedience of women, defining their value as brides. Ordering fidellity in women on pain of death. Women became chattle. Even the supp…

Reluctant words.

A poem
sometimes demands
To be written.

Words
Tumbling from fingertips,
Onto keys,
Or through a pen,
Onto crisp white paper
With a rhythm,
And urgency,
All  own.

And then
Sometimes
Not.