RIP toxic masculinity

“When is masculinity not toxic?” Ming asked.  He’d just read a fake headstone that says RIP toxic masculinity.

Good question, dear.  We were taking a rain walk yesterday morning, passing by our house’s main garden.  Housemates made pretend headstones, some years back?

One says RIP hatred.  One says RIP toxic masculinity.  I think another says RIP oligarchy.

I pondered Ming’s question.  What is masculinity at all?

“Masculinity is not toxic, when you need someone to carry something heavy,” I said.

I looked at the garden plants, as they have their last hurrah before winter comes.  Winter will arrive around Thanksgiving, this time around, or so I hear.

“Or if you need some sperms to make a baby?” I offered.

content warning: non-graphic mention of rape

I thought about men–the ones I’ve loved, the ones I’ve been related to.  The men who have raped me.

Boys and men are taught violence, on playgrounds, in war, and in other situations of intentional harm.  I thought of rape in war, and how genes are transmitted.  The genes of violent, strong, angry men who center themselves are the genes most likely to be passed along, right?

So then it makes sense, that culture gets violent-er, and everyone pretends to solve problems with domination and money.  Not collaboration and connection.  (Domination and money usually don’t work.)

Even if I was not the product of rape, many of my ancestors must have been–in war, in marriage beds, and everywhere in between.

gender

When I met Ming, I thought he was a man.  It was so confusing.  Then when I found out he’s non-binary, a few months in, everything made sense.

It was like a heavenly windchime went, “Duh-la-la-la!!” and suddenly, Ming was known to me.  Of course.  He didn’t have the dude problems of every man I’ve ever been close to.

• sense of self-worth being desperately tied up in their paid work
• anger-jealousy
• not wanting to communicate–minimal communication
• deep selfishness
• resistance to nurturing
• dick-centric
• taking the the bare minimum of responsibility about sex, including birth control
• keeping their options open to the point of screwing over the people who love them
• fear of hurting others sexually, while at the some time resisting learning about sex, emotional needs, and skilled consent
• pretending stuff didn’t happen that happened
• gaslighting me that I’m too much, never considering that they might be not enough

Yes, so glad Ming doesn’t put me through what men have put me through.  I’m grateful to him every day.

gender is a scam

Gender is a scam, but many people go along with what’s expected of them.  I’m happy that Ming found a better way, long before I knew him, and I enjoy his liberation to this day.

Our room is a gender anarchy zone.  Maybe you need your gender.  But our usual mode is–Leave your gender at the door.  We don’t need that here.  Borders imply the violence to defend them.  We are expansive, here.  We don’t need fear and rigidity to tell us who we are.

Love is the law–the only law that matters.  We know who we are already.

Very few people have come into our room, this one year that Ming and I have lived in community, here in Kalapuya land.  I can count the number of people on one hand.  Yes, there have been four people, besides me and Ming and Bunny, that I know about.

kitchen

Then after our walk, when we were indoors, I had another answer to Ming’s question.  I have most of my best thoughts in bathroom, and a close second is in bed when I’m trying to sleep.

But a close third is in kitchens, often while opening the refrigerator door and pondering my hunger.  Maybe there’s something about the lightbulb going on.

“Oh hey, dear,” I said to Ming.  “I thought of another answer to that question you asked me earlier.”

“What?” he asked.

“Masculinity isn’t toxic when it’s being worn by a woman or enby,” I said.

I thought of my housemate’s beautiful lesbian keys–how they jangle on her hip.  What doors she can open, and what power she holds!

I thought of my own mustache, a strap-on, some boxy boots.  Lady dommes who have intimidated me in a nice way.  My first girlfriend’s dykey, disabled way of walking.

The gleam in the eye of my ex-girlfriend’s girlfriend’s trans boyfriend, as he gently flirted with me at the pizza place.  It was one moment of conversation he may or may not remember, but I do.

“Ok, yeah,” Ming said.

RIP toxic masculinity

What would you put on a fake headstone, reader?  Maybe it’s time to collect our Halloween decorations and put them in the basement.

Thank you to the people who have built up this community and left so much good for us to enjoy, sort, repair, toss, revise, and write about.  I love you.