Tim Barrus

This all started at the New York Times. Then, it moved to FB. God help me. The piece we are all talking about is that gender change with kids is a pornography. This would be somewhat personal but why am I thinking that children living at the marginalized edges, government institutions not unlike the camp in Florida for the ones who were snatched by republicans and put on buses.

A thousand of them are still there. How is it that when I think of gender tweaks, I’m thinking mainly white children with actual parents who can afford the mess American Healthcare is. Isn’t part of this, economic. Cultural warfare has been declared. Do institutionalized kids have access to the institution’s policies regarding Stay In Your Lane. Keep your locker clean. Kid, you get a shower with the men once a week. You are going to sit there until you eat it. Come with me, you can see your mom and dad behind the glass.

Us poor folk live in another world. How many foster children change their gender. None. Not one. Foster children want to survive. Older foster children often know what wars to fight, and what wars are not possible, in the first five minutes of incarceration into a system that hates them and is malevolent on a good day. Valid Gender Care is not available to them. Valid Gender Care in an institutional setting could never, ever, ever be actualized because these children need love. To grow. To flourish. To thrive. Who am I kidding. Americans do not feel any responsibility for them. I only bring it up because I can’t get the image of the white kid out of my head. What is available to who and why.

The foster child has enough trouble with adult dynamics. They don’t get love. They get fake grilled cheese. How in the world would any of them get the support they deserve and need. Gender issues will find their way to the institutions themselves if some brave kid speaks up. America is shivering in its shoes. I am here to tell you that it has already happened, and it will need to happen again.

I have no idea what the English language really is. I actually do not care about paragraphs. I do it in books, I do it in magazines, and I do it in papers. Take it or leave it. My next book has no punctuation. I. Do. Not Care. I do not owe anyone anything. I do not owe the reader. I don’t think about the reader. Who is he. Where does he live. Author Tour Question: Do you wear pajamas. No. I have been on author tours where smiling and nodding got me through my autistic nights. The reader is not important to me. I have enough voices in my head. I do not need the reader’s voice at all.

Truthfully, I do not believe readers are real. It’s a bad idea publishers invented to make the entire experience as beneath contempt. In the New York Times, the long paragraphs shoo the Never Serious People away. I want serious people who take the uninterrupted time to think things through. They can’t penetrate nuance. I can. I do it every day. I write background. And I write the feelings we are so closed off from anal proclivity.

I have worked with disabled foster children for decades. The basic foundation is Community Based.

Every kid gets the same health services. “There is no money for deviation.” To wit: There is no money for the neurodivergent and I am one. Paragraphs and all. There is no money for the gender changing churn. That turn. Of a phrase. Kinda mean but muted.

Foster children are NOT receiving the care they need, and they would be the wrong children as candidates for surgery, anyway. Institutionalized children do not thrive. How could they. They would not pass the stress test.

I can’t even imagine a kid with the sheer courage it would take to even articulate Viable Gender Care. Such a child requires enormous support, and support is a moral issue. I have been to hundreds of IEPs.

There is no money for it. I am seeing neurodivergent kids imploding. I see them crawling on the grass. I am seeing them eat the plants. The barber has to be a judo instructor because touching their heads bring them to enormous grief. I have been cut many times with fingernails and teeth and knives. So yesterday. You wanna cut me. You wanna cut me out of your life because you are scared. Oh, they’re never scared. You take a kid like this, and do you really think, Viable Gender Care is an option for this kid.

Who would you communicate that they need Gender Anything. They do not speak. I am bringing up this gig with these more dramatic kids because watching them act out as a part of their evolution toward sexuality – Oh, I forgot. There’s no money for that. Everyone in the trenches knows this stuff. When I talk about it in public, people leave the room. Especially women. We always dwindle down to three old men. Does everyone have the right to change gender. Or change anything. Autistic 10-year olds humping heads. It doesn’t work. That is not how you build a relationship. No one, no one loves these kids. No one. Humping heads is not a strategy.

Those of us in the mental health part of this stuff bring behaviorism to the table. Just bringing the subject of sex up with these kids will cause the quiet one to scratch his veins out. The pretty one was raped. Maybe she should have her gender changed. It has set this country on fire. I am here to wonder about how this transformation will affect disabled children. I am as autistic as a Royal Flush. Would I do it. No. I would kill myself because figuring out what people want is what we do. It is our real curse. To know you but not allowed in your midst. Who pays for Viable Gender care for the disabled. No one. Should you fight for it. No. It’s not my fight. This is your fight. As we fight and tangle, I am interested in you as a homo sapiens as I am one too, and it takes far, far more than a village. And then, I will write about it because one curse is not enough. They are alone. All alone. All alone.