Travanti Hemlock at the root

"It is therefore no surprise to find that anti-homosexual repression is itself an indirect manifestation--" Homosexual Desire, page 55

I probably take the national prize for online inappropriate behavior, and one year went *off* in email with a sort of loose jointed Briton about trauma conversion. Total stranger, and I'm emailing him about a rather intimate issue of masochism, probably fresh in the aftermath in my tug of war with my former supervisor-mentor, but some years before the half-breed from the inner city violated my personal sanctity, upon which I discovered I couldn't be masochist enough, and fought, but to be entirely honest, there is a part of my psyche, after years of learned devaluation, that could have let this absolutely repugnant female have her way, and destroyed myself in the process, but in coming to terms with it, I'm now beginning to put it away, to stop twisting my head, and the next African American who tries a "Miss Eddy* maneuver isn't going to enjoy the consequences.

Leaving Travanti frozen in the eighties of his prime to be able to watch a relatively contemporary work like C.O.G. bite on the ass from a distance takes courage, in more ways than one: Bochco fed us Frank Furillo as a nearly messianic figure, and this is a grave sin, a set of expectations offered by a fictional character against which we judge the men we think we want, the ones who reject us next to the gluttons we reject. Travanti and Bosson really were sanitized versions of my mother and father. It hurts, surprisingly, and leaves us with residues of what we have to offer, which we do, in reserves, until dementia or what will kill us takes over.

Be prepared for post-menopausal pain. It is something a woman over 50 needs to discuss with potential new boyfriends. I was just getting the hang of sex after my fling with Pat, my ludicrous fling which still has an undercurrent of dread, in my thirties, and then the ball stopped, and if I get into Frank (the ex) and sex I may end up asking a hunter to go retrieve that rifle with scope, but it can never now be the same, an expression of a bond of appreciation, had it been if I had been more resourceful in resilient middle years.

Why did I bother to chastise CrimeMonitor? Because I am a victim, two, three, four times over, and when the account holder actually bothered to pay attention, his subsequent click of "unfollow" was the behavior of a mongrel, another arm chair cosmetic. I at least make an effort to think about what accounts have to offer. He, or she, has earned my contempt.