PROCESS

i hate it. the writing to process shit process. it's meditative sure. by externalising my internal monologue during Process, i get to leave behind the self-hate. i mean, kind of, i’m sure there's detectable traces here too. but i hate this incessantly processing cesspool of access.

every minor edit in context, completely changes the output. what playlist soundtracks this, where i’m sitting, how much testosterone is putting on a show. i feel i’m screaming at you to look away. i’m sex deprived in a dysphoric way, my sex is locked away in DIY ambition, olivia rodrigo style social suicide, and medicine that is intentionally, institutionally, not interested in me.

fuck it bhai, i’ll start talking about gender again. how the fuck is everyone not trans, what are you doing with your gender if you're not fucking with it more everyday? what fortress are you defending? what heterosexual power game is playing out in the collective subconscious?

my problem with the past is the feeling of belonging. the kind of gendered, casted, quarantined spaces you grow up in don’t expect you to guard them. they disappear with grace, and the schools of thought they create are quiet beliefs in your gut. modest, churning architectures of knowing. look ahead and trans away.

trans is process itself, the force of desire, the creative potential of time, you can be everyone, you can understand anyone, love is a sport of becoming each other. heterosexuality IS the will to transition, deferred to systemic inertia and femmephobia.

you wonder if you can ‘socialise yourself’ when that's all you've been trying to do since you had your first original thought. since you started talking back at your parents or snuck out on dates or hooked up with someone you were embarrassed to tell your friends about. you have been transing since the start. to trans is to spill out of a boundary, a binary. the most strong-willed & clear-headed of us, take it all the way. if i want to be a woman, i’ll check all the boxes, everyone's boxes. because my desire is where i find my power. and i’ll have you know my fortress is my own handiwork. my body has a mind of its own.

in fact it's in owning your mind, in being able to label yourself, your relationships, your roots, that you find your language. where else is power? the act is descriptive, you make explicit what is already understood, instead of looking for an understanding of what has been prescribed to you by the power of others.

to trans your body is to engage in dialogue with the universe, to start telling the story back to time. with a more quiet certainty in context. why you picked the word you did has little to do with what it signifies and more to do with the way you wanted to kiss the air. and if you've changed your mind once, you have the gift of knowing how to do it again, over and over.