Thursday, 15 January 2015

PDD or Hypoxyphilia 4

Memory strained me and we just headed back to class. I tried to pay attention to his doodling, letting my mind wander off for once, as I seemed to have much more interest in something else for once again. 

Don’t make your life seem like an existential crisis. In arguments you even lose who is arguing for what. So I won’t recall who had said the words we can both think of now, because if there were a twist of fate, we’re both in it as lovers. 

I wish relationships and life were a post-coital state where the body aches lightly, but never due to a fight, but due to flight and everything is in a glittering light and it didn’t ache to hold him tight. 

Brian seemed something far too bright to be even be hung, he seemed aware of how cumbersome his existence was, but at the same time he seemed to be highly unsure of himself, it was like a constant slide, he would either glance at me, confused because none of his questions were answered or because he was sure what the answers were or what was my silence holding and I wondered how had he been comfortable with himself. The whole lesson was spent elsewhere, as I would look at him in my mind or behind me. 

Neither was it something exciting like a first birthday or unraveling having sex for the first time, yet I seemed to catch Brian’s attention with his eccentric desire to be loved since he couldn’t seem to love himself and he would open up like a book from two side, from his shy and his confident until you make it, he would juggle himself forcefully and he had already built the image of me with him. 

It seemed odd with what could I even offer for someone who seemed to stick out in a forceful way and the more I watched him the more he reminded of the glitter which would walk with the confusion of gender in bars and the whispers of simplicity, as I would watch him. He seemed to remind me of Divine in a way, but not too much and I wonder if he had read Our Lady of the Flowers. I wonder which novels have gone through his veins and how many had been kept and what music flourished in his mind at night. 

I was far away from the attraction he kept bringing onto himself and just like under neon, the day was different with reality giving us a harsher sense of 9 to 5 which I had dragged myself into after years, making myself the cumbersome one now even if all ages were scattered, I still knew that my life was passing, that my confusion was left laying with me on the desk, staring back at me, because it were my own reflection. 

Anxiety of the time gets worse and number with age, because when death starts flinging itself upon you, when memories mix and jumble I just solely wonder if I could bring the end upon my own hands with desire. 

I wondered if fear also stroke him down with parents discovering anything and talks unraveling at the said neon of the night, making everything cheap because all could be taken away with ease and grace. 

I hope I stained all your memories, I hope I stained all the restraints on your family which you will never speak of. Because there is something deeper at times than being queer, it’s the depth of the lack of acceptance from one’s family, because when you pick up the phone to hear homophobic jokes and nods that you should reproduce, that’s when you know what the final straws are. It’s not even a difference of generation, it’s one not knowing what to do with the unknown. Because even if we accept ourselves, those who raised us are not pleased with the final result. And more are born not to be accepted, because we are seen as the unknown. People are given birth as a meaning of life and when you take one’s meaning, they lose control. That’s when one fears and strikes.

By the end of the day I want to live in my illusion, where I know myself.

“You don’t have to vanish entirely, not to have any interaction. People already not knowing you is enough. When you don’t come out to parents, that’s already a stab. They don’t know the real you, even if you’re wandering around bars and frankly making out with blokes solely, every fucking time you do something and they don’t know, it’s vanishing, even if you call them. They will never be daft to state that they know you. People feel when another vanishes. It’s just like you can tell when someone is looking at you, you can tell when people aren’t looking at you.”  Was something I had told him, my memories not even properly allowing me to revise all memories as I recall us laying in bed, May already, a window open as it had been hotter than usual, we had been greeted with greater weather than we ever had and it wasn’t that chilly to lie naked on the mattress, covers torn from it’s usual place for sex previously. He had been watching me, observing every movement, seeping me in

And confessing that he had never been solely infatuated with one person. I held my silence for a while, before speaking and shifting back to the vanishing topic.

We tend to forget how we had met people. If they meant a lot. Or if they hadn’t, those who lay in the middle compensate by giving us the memories. Love kills memories.

“So... you end up vanishing, just because you’ve chosen not to speak.”


I'm awfully tired and I've had a long day. I dunno how much personal should I touch, but I do have an issue when people which are downright homophobes have children. I'm happy for the child and whatnot, but that doesn't change my mind and my head was a fucking pain with everyone telling me that because I have a vagina I should start thinking of birth as it is my "reason in life" which is fucking disgusting, how you're shoved to reproduce. I do want biological children eventually, but that is not something which should be shoved. I've heard enough heteronormative and cisnormative things than I've heard in my life starting from clothe colours to no gays in the household (ironic saying that to me over the phone as a joke) to that I should be giving natural birth. I've had a hell of a day and I got really sad.

I have accepted my gender, finally, but hearing people correct my pronouns to she is fucking outstanding and was the cherry on top. Basically I wanted to post something significant to me and dedicate it to the child, I honestly wish they grow up in a more acceptable environment somehow and here's to the fact that frankly only parents who accept their LGBTQ child should be parents, not fuck knows who with "morals". 

Anyway, it was a nightmare and I guess that's why I turned to write PDD and I'm sorry if it's short, I just started thinking on coming out and vanishing, as I had done that with many people and I kept musing on that. I find it hard to speak my thoughts out, so writing is much easier and I couldn't have expressed myself as carefully as here.

I just really love Brian and the contrasts of being very sure and not, I dunno, I really love him. 

I've been trying to finish Our Lady of the Flowers but I feel like I'm rereading a straight but labelled by a transphobe "gay novel", the narrator is queer but I'm sticking my eyes with toothpicks on Divine and Darling's storyline. I can't pick up the fucking book. So I mused that since Brian seemed to identify with being a woman at times, maybe that's why the novel meant a lot, specifically Divine.

I guess why enjoy writing Jamie is his mental health and phobias which are mine as well, as I've read through interviews, frankly. I guess that's where the 9 to 5 originated from, since he had a gap until uni and so did I.

I started writing, I can't recall why all of a sudden I got angry and recalled my ex, I think I saw some Oscars related post and the phrase "I hope I stained your memories" crawled onto me. Then I started thinking of her family and my own and then I started going on and frankly just talking about my own.

I don't understand homophobia and transphobia. It revolts me. I dunno, I miss how people would call cishet people "breeders" because that frankly is all on their mind, because the vagina person should be a woman, reproducing with a penis bearing man and both have to be fertile, of course. I remember the hell I went when I was under the risk of being infertile. I got a fucking yelling that I can't lose the meaning of life.

I was thinking of vanishing and how you can't come out, but you still vanish and that was comforting in a way. If Nick Grimshaw didn't come to his parents first, I think that says a lot about us and I wish we would kill the trend of coming out to parents and relatives, many of us can't. It becomes a harmful privilege. We need to focus on coming out to oneself rather that the dreaded blood ties, which will be shattered once their lovely child is queer.

I liked making it more non-linear and I knew that Jamie wouldn't have spoken it of so soon and frankly we on't always recall how we had met people, so here I guess was a harsh version why even if it isn't so of course. We recall the lovers, but that's for Jamie to know, really or my own experience.

I really wanted PDD out today and here it is

I hope you enjoyed it, please tell me if you did



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