Gender is a lie we tell everybody, especially ourselves.
I may not ask myself whether there’s any good or need in the gender I was branded. However, not asking those questions does not give me any right to claim truth for it. I conform to something that I have not experienced, not played with.
Both extreme conformists and so-called gender non-conformists make the most faithful parish of gender: the first believe their hypothesis so deeply they can kill the non-conformist in order to avoid breaches in their dualist faith; but the latter try so hard to stick to the other gender (as if there were only two) or to keep any gender hypothesis at bay (as if there were none) that they end up living for the gender no matter which ones they are.
Gender is not even a performance. It is not about something that may be done since it cannot be done; it can only be said thanks to the marks it left in language.
There are no such people as transgender people just as there is no such thing as gender outside language. Right now, language is gendered, but there are signs of it transgendering: not changing from one gender to another (as if there were only two) nor including a grammatical third gender (as if there was an embodied experience of that). Instead, language may transcend gender thanks to technology and poetry.
Technology will eventually bring the hieroglyph back to us, through our fingertips and onto our multiple screens, recalling our divine motion. Just like infinite matter, we do not care about gender. Only the frightened care for a fiction that bears the mark of a reproducing species. Only them care about being true to that lie. Poet is the speaking body. Performer is the poet of flesh.
There is nothing further from the belief in gender than the silent reason of incarnation.