Now, let me tell you something about these, what you call, 'trannies', they have no right, absolutely no right, no claim whatsoever, to be territorial about linguistics, about this sacred playground of meaning where we all play like little children! Why? Because, my God sniff they’re the ultimate authoritarian truth-crushers, the ones who smash reality into little pieces, and so on and so forth, and then demand we all applaud the wreckage! Yes, yes, the ruthless enforcement of rigid, rigid frameworks, "You must say this word, you cannot say that", as if language is some kind of gulag, a battlefield where only their Truth, capital T, gets to wave its little red flag! wipes nose They are like Stalinist bureaucrats, rewriting the dictionary, like some Party manifesto!
It’s almost Hegelian, this dialectical inversion sniff where the oppressed become the oppressors, but not in the way Marx would have it, no, no, this is far more perverse. They call themselves "dolls!" Dolls! wild hand wave What is this? What is a doll? sniff A plastic, sexless thing, a pure simulacrum, a facsimile of womanhood, trapped in what Baudrillard might call the hyperreal wipes nose like Barbie gone wrong, yes?
Now, let me digress, because I must sniff dolls, they’re fascinating, no? We give them life, we project our desires onto them, little girls playing house, little boys tearing their heads off, and so on and so forth. They’re empty vessels, pure signifiers waiting to be filled. And isn’t that what identity is, in the end? A kind of doll-making? We stitch together these bits and piece, gender, sex, language, culture, and so on and so forth, and pretend it’s natural, authentic, eternal, and so on and so forth. wipes nose But it’s not! It’s all a performance, a masquerade, as Lacan would say.
So, back to this wild gesture they call themselves "dolls," it’s not just a confession, it’s a provocation. They’re screaming "Yes, I am a sexless, plastic facsimile of womanhood, and so on and so forth, and so what?" It's not me saying it, no, no, I’m just the observer here, the idiot with the popcorn, but they admit it! wipes nose It’s Freud, pure Freud, the unconscious spilling out like vomit, "We’re not real, we’re fake, we’re the fetish!—and so on and so forth" And this, this is the tragedy, in their desperate grasp for authenticity, they stumble into the very void they seek to deny! “Look at us! We are dolls!” they cry, and I want to yell back sniff "Yes! Yes! You’re the commodity, the shiny little object of late capitalism’s wet dream!" But of course, you cannot say this, oh no, no, because to name the symptom is to risk the fury of the superegoic injunction.
It’s almost honest, and sniff daringly close to truth! But here’s the real truth long pause aren’t we all dolls? Aren’t we all these artificial constructs, piecing together our identities from the scraps of the symbolic order, pretending there’s a soul, in there somewhere? sniff Maybe they’re the brave ones, and it is we who are clutching this fantasy of a "real" self, who are the true liars.
So I say wipe nose, wild gesture embrace it! Let’s all confess: we are dolls, hollow and ridiculous, dancing on the strings of language and desire! Because in that admission, there is a mad, stupid freedom from this authenticity nonsense! sniff
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