Category Archives: Registry

17/09/2025

September 18, 2025 By in Death, Dreams, Forests, Light, Love, Registry, Sisters Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

(cw: death)

It was me, waiting for me / Hoping for something more

– Joy Division, “New Dawn Fades” (1979)

Post-Punk did not die with Ian Curtis’ untimely death. but he was indeed gone for good that summer of 1980. being the ringleader, Joy Division passed along with him. he made that decision to cement himself into eternal tragedy. to think of the austerity of the life he led. you can hear it in his voice which was almost always cracking, on the precipice of giving up, and historically so prior to his demise. he never made it to the North America tour.

to lead a life of austerity is to feel mortality ebbing and trying its best to constitute itself within your own body. things have gotten easier but they can still be difficult. you wonder how many more things the universe can throw at you. a barrage of difficult events over a long period are not to make one stronger, but to force one into making decisions. the decision to leave. the decision to stay. the decision to forge on. the decision to give up. each and every decision has its responsibility and its consequences. there are a lot of things in the world that can chip away at your light and your reservoir of energy.

once upon a time i wanted to travel to places with you. i wanted to see fields and find areas that are so quiet we could hear our own hearts beating. the world is so big and we are both in it. somehow we could even know each other. there are places with crowds of people. there are places with crowds of trees, or crowds of rocks. there are places with little trees, and little rocks. i wanted to lead an authentic life like that. with my heart on the rocks and the trees and the grass and in the air. and i wanted to show it to you that i could do so. something i could share with you. we can find what is simple and happy that works. i still do. it just feels like it has aged.

when a dream is extinguished, the other dreams become precarious. if enough dreams become dashed, the rest could follow like a fission chain reaction. once all dreams are extinguished a person is left with bare goals. goals form a necessary layer for survival and the day-to-day. and even that is at risk of erosion too. i have wanted to imbue the world with many things. i am not stupid. but world might kick me in the shins and call me stupid. i am already trying to nurse wounds. yet. eating can become hard again. sleeping can continue being not restful. dreams are possible until they are not. dreams might not be possible until they are. wake me up when they are.

to think that the light went out in you and you chose it to. i wonder if what made you into a husk is hollowing me out too. did you push your light to see where it could still take you, until it got so strained it turned into a fading ember? how tired were you by this point? was love no longer enough for you? is devotion something that failed you? did you feel that there was nothing else left for you, too? the Moon is already more than enough. but i am not the Moon, which means that is thrown into question. you were more than enough, but maybe you could not see it. i am left behind wondering what is left, and how much loss becomes too much of a cost.

as it turns out, there is poverty in time and space too. the past is rendered poor by its own consequence of letting its richness fade backwards into time. your own room can turn into a prison when the conditions are ripe for it, along with the places you frequent, the places of routine. being too tired to cry from the day’s labors is a constriction of both time and space too. the loss of a relationship makes the spaces in your world smaller. the smaller it becomes, the more trapped you will feel.

you want to feel the enchantment of The New again. you want to put in the work to make it something that is worthwhile and lasting. but can you handle the disappointment that might follow? can you handle any further hurt if it comes towards you at this point? can you live with yourself if you fail again, and if you repeat the same mistakes without intending to, and reach the limits of what your best can do? you have many wounds and you are still prone to more.

if there can be something else, this is a call.

A Short Treatise on Women Who Happen To Love Women Who Happen To Be With Men, For Women Who Love Women

July 29, 2025 By in Compulsory Heterosexuality, Desire, Involuntary Celibacy, Logic, Loneliness, Love, Men, Mental Health, Registry, Response, Sapphics, Treatise, WLW, Women Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars / Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling (Well, I told you so)

– Chappell Roan, “Good Luck Babe!” (2024)

And I am the idiot with the painted face / In the corner, taking up space / But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved

– Mitski, “Me and My Husband” (2018)

Have you loved a woman? Have you just been loving women and people who are bi, queer, trans, non-binary, genderfluid pan, etc.? Have most if not all of them have illustrious (and likely painful) dating histories of largely, men? And has that gotten you down and desolate?

If your answer to all these questions above are “yes”, then perhaps reading this little bullet point essay might have you not feel too alone in all this. Yours truly basically fits the bill for all the question yours truly has posed above. I was recently reminded (thanks Rosie-rose!) of the legendary document titled “Am I a Lesbian?” written by Tumblr extraordinaire Angeli Luz, and re-reading it led me to think of the origins of the term ‘incel’, coined by a queer Canadian woman named Alena on her blog in 1997, to describe and make space for women who suffer from loneliness, given difficulty finding romantic and sexual partners.

Thinking of both made me realize that, perhaps there a connection between the two. Both came from different parts of the blogosphere and periods of internet history, but compulsory heterosexuality as we understand it in reality, can be a source of body-breaking pain, hysteria, and yes, loneliness for those involved. I have thought of my own experiences with loneliness (you know what? I will link the first thing that came to my mind typing that phrase). I never really had a long-term partner of any sort. I could never flutter to a partner to break up later and then flutter to another partner. Loneliness has been a staple in my personal life, like how bread and rice and noodles and other delicious carbohydrates have been, albeit loneliness is crushing, and not as tasty. I have been attracted to, and loved many women and peoples in my life. But I would be bare-faced lying to say it has not been an immense struggle. For some reason, some of us are placed in this universe to fall constantly for women who happen to just be with a man (or men) at the critical hour of falling and getting down bad.

And it is not as if they are not interested in women. Above I have posed the questions in the context of bisexual and queer and pansexual people who can be cis women, trans women, and non-binary peoples (to be clear, I am referring to non-binary people who still regard themselves to be somewhat as, and present as women in various ways to the outside world). But again, these women and peoples happen to be near-constantly dating men and/or wanting to date men, even if it may not necessarily make them happy. For those of us who are somehow attracted to this archetype of people, the knock-on effect of that is the difficulty in even being accepted as a potential love interest or partner. And time does not seem to be in our favor either when our romantic and/or sexual interest(s) flitter quickly from one man to the next. This is to say, there is some descriptive truth to the Chappell Roan lyrics I copypasta’ed above.

I have said enough to articulate my thesis. The rest of this piece shall be a listicle of experiences, as I attempt to take a leaf from Angeli Luz. I want to be absolutely clear that I have no intention to disparage women, especially bisexual and pansexual women, for having genuine desires for men, and that is not welcome in this short treatise. If you might resonate with the experiences and logics I have presented below, it will also help me feel a little less lonely and alienated in my frustrations, yearnings, and desolation. So here goes:

  • First and foremost, whenever you approach other women who have dated men to talk about this issue, many might attempt to rationalize to you something along the lines of “men are easy” or “men are convenient” (to date, to get together with). Men are apparently easier in the sense that many of them who date lack any emotional capacities for relating to people in general, and any woman that gets together with such a man immediately shifts into a clearly defined relational role where they (simply, or not) have to take care of this person, and that is straightforward for women. On the converse, if it is a relationship with another woman, they will tell you that the stakes in being with a woman are much higher. Some have said it is like looking in a mirror at yourself, contending with all the internal and external violence and complexities of living as a woman. Some feel like they are not deserving of women who might equally contain a massive amount of emotional interiority. All that makes dating another woman increasingly complicated and far more nuanced, and thus, less convenient in a way. And as a person that does not quite understand what it means to be attracted to men like that, it confuses you because the choice seems so clear even when the argument is presented as so
  • You may have wondered quite often what is it like for your desired interest(s) to want a man, even if in questionable taste
  • You may have attempted to, along your desired interest(s), and along with the men-wanting collective consciousness and body of women in society, to try your best to find some archetype of man to like, even if you have no real interest or desire in men
  • You may have tried at times to recall the instances in which you may have had romantic or sexual encounters with men, violent or tender, just to try to (re-)insert yourself into the shoes of your desired interest(s), in figuring out what makes their desire for men so seemingly thick
  • You may have tried to emphasize or adopt what society and/or your desired interest(s) regard as attractive or desirable masculine qualities
  • In one of the worst case scenarios of your coping and wrangling, you have wondered and entertained the fantasy of transitioning into a man, such that perhaps your desired interest(s) could have more interest in you as an actual potential romantic and/or sexual partner
    • The trans woman variant of this is far worse: you have entertained the fantasy of detransitioning into a so-called man, just so that perhaps in that warped logic, your desired interest(s) could have more interest in you as an actual potential romantic and/or sexual partner
  • Sometimes when you talk about this issue with others, many might suggest to you to refocus your desires into a different dating pool, the most dominant option being cis lesbians who actually are primarily interested in women. You may have replied that you have not had much luck with cis lesbians, or that you are just not attracted to cis lesbians for some reason, or that cis lesbians are not attracted to you
    • This may be more commonly the case for trans women, whose circles might be predominantly other trans people and queer and non-binary people, or perhaps straight and/or gay men, or a mix. There is the real issue of trans-averse or trans-hating cis lesbians, and also the issue of a cis lesbian culture that is not something that trans women might be able to relate to or feel at home in
  • You may have noticed how frequent your desired interest(s) waxes lyrical about women and the strengths and all the good things about women, while also noticing their history of dating almost, if not all, of cis heterosexual men
  • You may also have noticed how when your desired interest(s) speaks about their boyfriend or current male partner, in contrast to the waxing lyrical about women, that they do not have anything, or much to say of the strengths and good things about their boyfriend or current male partner. They will state largely and a matter-of-factly, that yes, they have a boyfriend
    • Or perhaps, they might do the strange heterosexual thing where they will lambast the flaws of their partner while trying to also fawn over them in some manner. Maybe
  • Again, you may have noticed how quickly your desired interest(s) moves from dating one man to another, before you can even raise with them the possibility of dating seriously
  • You may have wrangled with feeling like you are being unfair to your love interest(s) in thinking of any or all of the points here with regards to them. The line of logic goes like this: if they do in fact desire men in some manner as bisexual or pansexual etc. people, therefore I do not have any right or standing to be frustrated about this
  • You may have noticed how your desired interest(s) has been propositioned or asked out by other women, but almost if not none of it ever materializes into reality. If you do manage to ask them about this, they might have said how shy, or signal how terrified or apprehensive they were at that prospect, even if it sounded like they actually really wanted to get into it. The Mitski lyrics above are probably… relevant…
  • You may have noticed that your desired interest(s) tends to go for men who are “softer” or more feminine than their other societal counterparts. Which is to say, they tend to go for men who exhibit greater emotional capacities and care akin to the average woman, in our present period of history and of our society. Or they might tend to go for “men” who may actually be egg-ish trans women
  • You have tried to examine the boyfriend or male partner of your desired interest(s), and have wondered whether you might be lacking in any of his apparent qualities, or you might ponder upon what qualities (or lack thereof) he has that attracted your desired interest towards him at all
  • You may have tried to place yourself in the position of the men-wanting collective consciousness and body of other women in society, to try and place yourself in the shoes of your desired interest(s), in order to figure out and emphatize with them how this man is objectively desirable and/or attractive
    • Which also implies giving your desired interest(s) the benefit without doubt (and in consequence, the male partner) that you agree that this man has desirable qualities, even if you genuinely are not drawn to it yourself, or have actual attraction towards those qualities. You raise the bar for men momentarily in this context
  • I quote directly from “Am I A Lesbian?”: “You think you have to learn how to love men.” So you do try your best to start, in whatever desperate manner, to explore relationships with men, even if you might not be so drawn to them, even if you might not actually want them or their romantic and/or sexual company. The logic being: if your desired interest(s) can want to be with men, perhaps there is something about men that makes them truly attractive or thick in an objective manner, and you are boo-boo-the-fool for not partaking in this men-wanting collective consciousness and body of women in society. Or perhaps that you feel that something is wrong with you
  • This is where I reach the fatal (delusion! coping!) logic that bridges the themes in Alena and Angeli Luz: maybe you are becoming some kind of involuntary celibate in your struggle with loving women who happen to be with men. You may fall into a strange and near-fatal compulsory heterosexual mode in response to the possible compulsory heterosexual behavior of your desired interest(s), and you may begin to firmly believe that you are cursed to fall for women who happen to be with men, and you feel forced into a position where you have to explore relationships with men only in response to that apparent curse, and you may also feel like an absolute failure of a lesbian/sapphic/dyke. You may have even renounced being lesbian and gay due to that struggle and seeming impossibility to be with your desired interest(s)

I think that is about it for now. Again, these points are non-exhaustive, and you may relate to any one or a few of them. These point could be highly subjective and not relatable either. If anything, I find the importance of some of these experiences of mine have to be expressed into a public forum, where there will always be the possibility of another having experienced along similar or parallel lines of logics and copes and desires. Or even then, for another to have the agency to pick and choose what resonates and what does not.

I wish all of you having read this far all the peace, love, care, and the utmost safety this universe can offer.

18/05/2025

May 18, 2025 By in Ageing, Astrology, Desire, Dreams, Love, Registry, Time Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

And so may / We make time / To try and find somebody else / Who has aligned

– Interpol, “C’mere” (2004)

“It’s a jaded love song – very bitter” was what Interpol’s (the 2000s post-punk revival band) main vocalist Paul Banks remarked about their track “C’mere”, from their 2004 record Antics. he was 26 by then. i’m a bit older than that now getting into this particular band. it’s apparent that by our late 20s – perhaps also due to our ongoing respective Saturn Returns – many of us would have begun noticing our age. having an ‘old soul’ turns out to be very different from ageing. people used to say how i was the former. now i’m both. ageing has a toll. the toll is the number of roads taken up to that point.

i wonder if you would still keep up, if you would still read this. i like to think that you have suffered greatly but now you have happiness. i have suffered greatly but now i have suffering. this is the period where we shift into a phase where we can no longer get any younger. where the years are becoming hard counters. if you are reading this, you know already how much i love you. while loving you i think of the time ticking, how long my body and heart can last. my heart has held up for you – it’s afraid that if it stops beating my love for you perishes with it. i think of all the people who have wanted you happiness too, and i know i’m not the only one. i’m not special, and that’s alright. i have loved many others too, like you already have and are loving. but after all these years, i have loved no other quite like how i love you. again, i’m not special in that, and that’s really okay. again, these things happen. we try to find somebody else.

i’ve seen you fall in love over and over. it does feel like ageing. you know it’s ageing when the circumstances are different and the same, and how that paradox is gradually inscribed into your bones. i still dream of earning what you can keep. i haven’t watched the moonlight with you just to witness nothing happening as a small miracle. i have watched you fall in love again. if i wanted to make you content and safe i would. if someone else wanted to make you content and safe i would be glad that they are there to do so. i know it’s human for me to feel pangs and unease. i’ve felt it already and thought of everything i could. i’m still looking out there to see where my desire takes me – you know, i learnt that from you. i wonder about how yearning and grieving almost feel the same, despite the former anticipating loss and the latter having experienced loss. but i’ve already been through all of that, and i take inventory, see what i have in store to soothe while my heart aches periodically.

if you’re reading this, and actually reading this – ageing was something i wanted to experience with you. some of the painful kind, but also the graceful kind. for the years to come i’m willing learn to love your liver spots and recalibrate our diets. i’ll remember some of your ex-lovers and you’ll recall some of mine. but in the right here right now, that’s too latent, too early. but i try to keep my promises, and these are some of them i will make to you.

the search for something else continues. you and i know that i’ve made the choice to take the hurt as it comes. and growing old is finding new ways of living while clinging on to old mementoes. it’s to never really move on but find the courage to keep on living anyhow. i think of how long it has been, and how we’ve all changed in ways. i have learnt that love lasts so long and strong after all. as long as i’m alive and fighting i’ll see you around and miss you in many different ways. i can find my joints gradually liquefying and still dare more to dream – even if there’s things in the way along the way, that i can still be with you one day, for once.

03/11/2024

November 3, 2024 By in Children, Desire, Life, Love, Rain, Registry, Sun, Time, Water Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

looking down, what do i tell the child in front of me?

the child that looks at me, fears my height, sees the gulf in time that separates us?

that i am just like you, in every way. in being enchanted by dust specks whirling in a small storm, illuminated by the morning rays through a gap in space. or the spectral quality of glittering dew drops in the emerging sun, after a bout of long rain. or the manner in which fingers tumble and smooth across the grilles of a wooden gate, inviting a plethora of textures to be surprised by.

but how to describe the scars. the discovery of love, desire, sex, intimacy, care, work, and violence – that these are things that render loneliness. that you don’t need to want everything in the world to want so much. a good kiss, a warm hug, a hand that makes one feels at home… all of a sudden one is thrust into a world and time in history where these things are scarce. they are given with strings attached, written on an accounting score. they are purchase. when people who want to love are also people who have been violated, who have been damaged in the name of exchange or towards a deity that revels in exploitation, the capacity to hurt another is a specter that lingers and creeps, always raring to make a gotcha, an unwelcome entrance. you can be blamed for wanting too much. you can be made a fool for giving so much love. each time you look back, hurt encompasses as the fog of a warzone, difficult to see past. once again you’re alone. you started with being enchanted by dust through sunlight in a gap, and now you have found yourself alone, starved of magic, missing skin and saliva and taste and receding warmth. you have missed the things that matter in this world. you are belated. you are too late. you miss the steps. you miss the boat. you miss this. you miss them. you are late. you are still too late.

what can you tell the child in front of you? what happened to you?

28/10/2024

October 28, 2024 By in Alternatives, Death, Desire, Forests, Love, Music, Registry, Time, Timelines, Universe Tags: , , , , Leave a comment

The divine has placed us / In a small world

– Bilal, “Reminisce” (2001)

oh, but of course i have thought of you. seen you in past, present, and future. in our befores and afters. seen you sideways in time and seen your side view. i remember your sideview often. those occasions where the universe lets me skip past the temporal-spatial quandries of the present, i saw your sideview before i would have seen it later.

C has said how, in many contingencies with anyone else i have ever known, i knew you in past lives. of course it was not our first time. although compared to others, our relations were newer. which is to say, less baggage, and some very faint inklings of back then.

when i know you sideways, i know what could have been. knowing how we would have spent more time where we were younger. me, still shy, but attempting to be direct. what your next tattoo would have been, i would never have expected still. i make certain decisions to be more courageous, to deal with certain demons from my past, all so that they will never get to hurt you. all this sideways knowledge.

somewhere in the deep past is still something about you i have yet to remember. maybe it is something plain and whimsical. i like the sound of the word whimsical. i think about how it would sound like when you play it with your tongue. perhaps the tinkling that comes with your own enunciation is what i will eventually recall. that timbre that soothes me so deep. it has a forest feeling to it. and the forests and jungles are sites of low intensity warfare across communities, peoples, and tribes — arborescence and fauna and slime alike. i hear your timbre ringing through the forest, reaching into time like a swift blade, heavy like claymore. medieval longings in misty proportions, dark as the emergent bog.

later i will see you. in many laters i continue to see you. in many laters the happiness i have wished for you, each incantation varying from tic to guttural stops to syntactical choice to what vocabulary to invoke, manifests sideways across the continuum of the real. each time you receive bountiful harvests, i delight upon my work, all my assistance, and sit back in relief. whatever they call it — possible worlds, universes, timelines — to see how in so many of them, you are cared for and given space, in each contingency in each chance in each phase transition… it leaves my heart molten, unguent, aglow.

now, i show you my red lips. sideways i show them to you too. if you recall anything about me, shall it be this across lives and deaths.

10/08/2024

September 21, 2024 By in Astrology, Dark, Desire, Pisces, Registry, Scorpio, Space, Stars, Universe, Water Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

Take me past the edge / I want to see the other side

– Sleep Token, “The Summoning” (2023)

Pisces is the sign of the cosmic ocean. Literal spacetime is largely transparent as Physics informs us. This is why spacetime is inky-dark, as opposed to cloudy-white. Pisces is a diffuse, dark sea with streams of light in every direction. Pisces is the encompassing of every star being its own dust, sparkling into the black glass that is spacetime. Scorpio is the sign of the deep depths. We are reminded of the abyssal or benthic zones. In these waters no light enters at all, and creatures that are adapted to pitch-black darkness lurk. Scorpio is dark, mysterious, and opaque in that light cannot enter its depths. Scorpio is about the layered conditions of crushing pressures, the evasion of senses and knowledge. When you place both signs together by the statistical chaos of astrological birth charts, what a person that results.

We have both the transparent and the opaque, the deep and the diffuse. The possibility of so much light flowing outwards to illuminate the vast pockets of interstellar and intergalactic spaces, and the raging conditions of depths so dark that they are impervious to the gatekeepers of knowing — proof, evidence, examination. To fill such wide spaces, like primordial hydrogen and helium expanding outwards, from the birth of this universe to the present. Physics remind us that the universe is characterized by massive voids. Across voids, the flows of billions of galaxies in web-like structures known as filaments. Pisces is the oldest astrological sign — so old, you can almost see how watery and material time can be, observed as the evolution of cosmic sprawl. So old, Pisces harbors so much potential for renewal, to be young and dizzying and fazed with childlike wonder. Across the sprawl, pockets of intensity lurk where people least expect, containing nothing. Or, nothing but matter. Nothing but hypotheticals and placeholders for contexts difficult to express or describe — dark matter, dark energy. The realm of scorpions that can only felt, barely deciphered by mathematics. For all their darkness, they are indeed there.

This cosmic ocean coupled with opaque layers of darkness, all turbulent and collected within a person. Oh, drown me in all the darkness, all the wanting, all that I can barely know but feel!

10/11/2023

November 10, 2023 By in Death, Dreams, Ghosts, Love, Memory, Registry, Time Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

Time has stopped again.

I have been tracking the way time flows. It has not moved a lot, or even a bit on some days. When it does it goes in a recursion. I am tired of going backwards. From backwards I return to stasis. Dread accompanies those loops. Dreams intensify those loops. It’s like being infected by a temporal sickness. Whenever time stops still at 0s/s it feels the closest to death itself. In death time stops for a single person – in a localized field of stasis. While outside the field time goes on in other ways.

There are so many things I would like to say. Sometimes I whisper them in my dreams. Dreams become a very unreliable sandbox. Outside of dreamtime I wonder if it is worth it to say anything at all. I play scenarios in my head, both in sobriety and dreams. I try not to replay actual past scenarios. For when I do, I would begin to edit things: add a what-if here, and a could-have there. Time would loop backwards again like a song on replay but backwards. Ocean Vuong’s Time Is A Mother has a poem that does that. Rewind and stop, rewind and stop. It is one thing to rewind, but another to stop. So much of memory are frozen moments drained of life and time. To capture, to freeze joy or pain like that, as if it were a precious crystal barely unchanging, is cruel. It does no justice to the complexity of recollection to remember like this. To resume time forwards or backwards even worse so. It is like reanimating literal skeletons in one’s closet. It is necromancy. It is trying to reimbue life to something that just wants to rest. Skeletons just want to be dead and buried.

The obvious solution is to let go. Let go of time. Let go of memory. Let it reflow. Not something that I have mastery of. Something that takes time to learn. Time has stopped.

23/10/2023

October 23, 2023 By in Death, Life, Love, Registry Tags: , , , , Leave a comment

Hello Reader – if you’re still looking through this WordPress, I want to say thank you, and that I wish you well.

Death has been abundant this past month. Deaths caused by the carnage of Empire, in the form of the warring Israel nationstate, backed by the older and newer imperial cores. My utmost solidarity goes to Palestinians doing their best to survive, and those finding ways to fight back despite the bleakest conditions. Whenever I catch up with old friends nowadays, I have mostly told them I am glad they are alive and living their lives. It does sound like a grim thing to say during peacetime (edit: though, is it really peacetime? For many of us, War has not fully come knocking yet. We are in a temporary reprieve), but I have learnt in the past year that people can come and go suddenly. I have been cherishing the faces I know a lot more now. It is a wondrous thing to first cross paths, and even more so to continue doing so.

May we continue to cross paths, and make the most of our time together.

•, a friend of mine, once told me that “Death is a condition of Life”. • has been through near-death experiences. They feel Death to be much closer having almost experienced it. How we will eventually expire and decay. How again we could go so suddenly. I only hope to still be with you, holding your hand, while we decay. If you go suddenly, I hope to celebrate the paths you crossed in song, in dance, in the carving of a rock, in skipping pebbles across the beach, in helping an insect to survive.

The converse is also true, I told •. “Life is a condition of Death”. It is the fact of Death that allows us to spring forth and defy it. To challenge it. To argue it. To cheat it. To remain alive and to survive is a full-frontal, gorgeous display of colors. It does not matter if Death will catch up to us, if it has failed to do so in the present. This is why each friendly face is powerful and significant – it is a face that is cheating Death by the simple fact that they are still alive and expressive. Anything is still possible in that present.

I am still ill, trying to heal, trying to process the damage that has been done to my body and psyche. I have craved constantly for Death given all the pain. But with every day that I continue living, I am beginning to appreciate more and more that I am surviving. I cannot make amends to those that I have hurt if I am dead. I cannot continue physically loving those that I love if I am dead. Let this be sobering.

12/09/2023

September 12, 2023 By in Disease, Dreams, Registry Tags: , , , , , , Leave a comment

(cw: death, murder, rape, sui)

I had two pieces of black organza salvaged from a sympathy bouquet for Brianna Ghey in February. I didn’t know her personally of course. But whenever I grieve over her or think of her, it always feels like it could have been any of us. Trans lives have tended towards shortness. Whenever a trans sibling’s birthday passes (very recently, C’s did), it is a sobering achievement on its own. It marks another year of survival for one of us. The ways we leave can be brutal, violent: murder, incarceration, rape, suicide. This past month, every single day I have wanted to end it all. My dreams have intensified and have emotionally exhausted me. I have been so tired, and so very lonely.

I felt that the way we mourned for those who we have lost can be extended into back into daily life. This was why I ended up with two pieces of organza in my storage. I was figuring out a life and practice for them beyond the mourning period. Today I discovered a place for one of the pieces. My room is positioned well. On some nights, I have witnessed the Moon on her serene rise through my window. High upon the ledge of my window I have installed a clear acrylic case. I have stuffed the case with the organza, where my rocks can lie snug. When needed, the Moon will keep them company. It’s a precarious arrangement, but I try my best to make things comfortable.

If failure smells, it has become my odor. If heartbreak stinks, I have been wearing it like parfum. I can barely stay awake during the day or night. While I am awake I have been stuffing myself with food. I want to give up.

23/07/2023

July 24, 2023 By in Registry Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Two days ago I did the Barbenheimer thing. To have been in the presence of two expected unexpected films. Expected for their hype, unexpected for their lessons.

In Barbie (2023), I felt simultaneously the ressentiment of Ken towards Barbie, and the horror of Barbie towards Ken’s misogyny. Ken says he was built for Barbie (a la the reversed logic of Creationism). Ozzy Osbourne in a verse and the refrain of “Warning” (1970) sings:

Sorrow grips my voice as I stand here all alone
And watch you slowly take away, a love I’ve never known

I was born without you, baby
But my feelings were a little bit too strong

In all honesty, the two have little to no relation. But Osbourne here can be telling us that origin and teleological design does not matter. Not one bit. No one belongs to anyone; no one is born to be or made to be with anyone in particular. Yet hurt is a real thing. It can open a vacuum where ressentiment can corrupt one’s understanding of the very person they are in love with that stands in front of them. Ken learns about Patriarchy and realizes how it is a technology of abuse and control that can fuel his ressentiment against Barbie, and uses it to enact violence on her.

Barbie genuinely sees Ken as a friend. She just wants to party. Her concerns have more to do with how she was made to represent a womanhood stripped of its historical violence. Her concerns are dealing with how incommensurable and how real reality is. Life is plastic and even that has issues in Barbieland. Reality is plastic to difficult extents. Barbie is caught between a representational Utopia and a reality that uses representations to cope with violence. Non-straight trans girlies understand this. I think many of us still struggle with misogyny that has been beaten (literally) into us. When we enter womanhood, womanhood becomes a party as quickly as it becomes violent.

In Oppenheimer (2023), politics is shown to be both systemic and interpersonal. Communism does not stand alone as ideological. We sometimes forget that it has brought real people together in actual circumstances. Whether to party, to struggle, to fuck, to love, to hate one another. How science cannot be divorced from politics is a realization that has been made by people like Bruno Latour, explored in Laboratory Life (1979). For Latour, the scientific method is largely caught up in the human relationships that effect the method. In Oppie it does not help if you were a physicist in that point of history exploring the forces of what held atoms together. Or that the Soviets were a thing and almost every Leftist pandered to the Soviet model and practice of Marxist theory in the interwar period (and up to the present day). Unless U.S. scientists back then managed to waged a covert war against the U.S. itself, the State(s) would have used their authority and resources to have scientists develop a weapon anyhow.

The exceedingly harmful systemic conditions brought about by Fascism and War throws morality out of the window. It poisons and strains relationships. I told Bb that the people that relate to Oppie are those who are currently fighting actual wars – strategizing against multiple actors, analyzing information from various sources, conducting covert operations. That, and the Silent Generation who survived WWII. Non-straight trans girlies understand this. Those that acknowledge, those who are in a present struggle against actually existing contemporary Fascism. Of groups have been threatening bodily autonomy, conducting operations to overrun governments, and to criminalize transness, non-binaryness, and queerness.

Both films inform us that reality is the toughest fucker there is. Escape is not enough when you can become reabsorbed and neutralized, and neither is facing reality at its messiest and most traumatic the way to go. Barbie at some points show us that there can be grace in the face of violence. Oppie at some points teaches us that relationships cannot be taken for granted and can shift rapidly. When one is transgender and still learning how to be a woman in the face of Fascists that wish only for repression, both takeaways from either film form a framework that might just be able to keep one grounded.