“Quentin.” I introduce myself and I don’t know why when choosing a name once more, my boots gave me said name with their lack of shine. I don’t even know why had I even been up north in the said store again, avoiding name for the sole humanity reason of torture. Is torture when you speak too much or when you speak too little?
And why was everything autobiographical better before the word comes out? But the whole act, the whole idea of speaking it, the split second before it is said is muh said to be better? And why is the world better at times when running and confusion runs deep within the mind and veins and torture is knowing that you would never manage to rest, that crucification and exorcism had happened, because you had travelled far too much and lost far too much,
never renewed, as if a poet, as if poetry, as if splattered and all these thoughts race in my head, as I try to guess his name, what might it be and if it should be blackened from my mind, but instead he excuses himself, stepping over some old stuffed rabbit and into some stacked vinyls on a shelf and takes out some vinyl not so worn and then sits next to a record player, putting the song on, which I can more than presume be called Quentin.
Maybe I should let my story be as surreal as my gray cowboy boots can be. I wanted to a Space Cowboy, never watching Cowboy Bebop.
It’s kind of that feeling after you just exit the shower, a deja vu of your own self, as I keep looking around and I keep hearing the odd song which sounds like it could’ve been Magazine, but isn’t. Instead I sit besides him, as he lights a cigarette and I wonder what would even happen once the flame shoots the tip of the cigarette, but nothing happens. He inhales and I recall all the ads and he’s listening to me rather than the song, pitch black eyes on me. Once I had a friend in kindergarden who told me that her eyes, the same shade were the colour of honey because you could see the pupil bathe in the iris, just a barely noticeable halo around it, fully eclipsed in its bee glory.
“I’m Daniel.” I try to mute out all Daniels I’ve ever met in my life, spirits included and I just shake his hand, oddly and I wonder if cigarettes would even be offered and would I even take one or solely refuse out of sheer principle? Does it even matter if you’ve smoked before when you are offered? What is the etiquette at the end of the world? I stretch out my boots, so that they are besides Daniels’ feet, under his body. I wonder now if he would mute out all the rest, like a soft Christmas carol and I wonder what do people even do at Christmas and how many stories are still intertwined?
I wonder how many thoughts and how much love is lost at the last moments of a day, with the eye shutters closed firmly. Daniel keeps looking at me for a brief while, the song stretching even longer as we start nearing the ending and I’m surprised it’s not a love song. I muse on saying it out loud, as if I were actually practicing how is it to speak after thinking, after building full phrases and I wonder if it’s beautiful when life progresses onto something daily? But is it even possible to progress further when the mind seems to be a post-apocalyptic eclipse with our own ignorance being our shield? And is it sly to already be in that mind state, watching people dissolve in confusion on the streets and no one even carrying spare change anymore, that if something is handed, it’s small notes, just to anyone who needs it.
Running away from reality is cowardly, just watch at least, even with the mouth shut, know who should carry this world. And if speaking out becomes easy the turmoil is what do you even say and maybe that’s when we gain courage to fight within our bowl of rice, since the chopsticks are discarded and we are left to go cold, for we were cooked already?
“It has no love line.” I raise my eyebrows and Daniel looks up to me, the next track already going and I wonder where the new obsession with vinyl is going, it’s some way to make money again, it feels like bringing back old morals at times, because it gives people benefit, rather than realizing that perhaps with the depressed and repressed lives we have nothing to do rather than mute our minds? But I look at Daniel and if he were to choose to spend it on records, let him. I’m the one on the couch below, confused.
No one understands the housing situation at times, how it just clutters you that there is no place and I just count the last day on the couch, as I were to move upstairs and it depresses you that all unfolds to be nothing, fear escalating and escaping.
Yet, let me meet him like this, like I had imagined, let my darkness swallow, let perhaps my future, present be like my past, easy for me to paint.
There are many things which drive me up the wall and frankly number one is transphobia. I dunno if you've read it, heard of it, cared, but Erika Linder admitted to being bigender as a publicity stunt. I'm grossed out and annoyed at the whole cult of being a woman, as if you can't be anything else.
I'm literally posting out this chapter of An ode to dedicate away from this bullshit, even if I'm awfully tired after a very long working day, I'm not letting this bullshit slide and I'm even writing a backstory instead of finishing off other stories.
An ode was writing a big sort of political protest and I used Quentin as an androgynous character also because even if I do speak out a lot that trans men have no visibility, androgynous are used as an adjective and never as a gender in the media and that needs to stop. So using Quentin as a main character was more than intended because the story focuses on erasure of problems and Quentin becomes not even a metaphor, but showing how it feels to be entirely erased and I guess today it's more of a flip than anything.
Daniel was frankly chosen because I still write gay novels and Quentin/Daniel obviously echo back because it's frankly the closest gender-wise character couple I've had to me and Callie, so that added a different personal touch.
I randomly thought of the name Quentin and kept it, because it sounded nice and a name is quite an interesting thing because when you come out as trans, you start musing what fits you and for me Jamie was accepting myself entirely (I had written a novel many years ago with a main character called Jamie), so kind of obviously living with Callie and talking to her makes you see things in a very clear light how it is to be trans, so Quentin ended up being a very conscious choice.
Daniel was more because it sounded nice and it was odd because I don't like using names of people I know, but Daniel was the exception because we just know too many Daniels.
I kind of mused on songs which are called after someone's name and my birth name had a song which many people sang to me, because it was a religious and nice name, but I've always felt discomfort for it because it didn't feel me, I didn't like it on me and I mused on whether there's a Jamie song xD I can't recall what can I find, so giving the "Quentin" song was kind of based on that. Hah, maybe I should write one.
Also, I did a photoshoot with Callie, since she's the perfect androgynous star ahah xD and yeah you can see those photos on tumblr from while to while and instagram :) links on the right toolbar
I want to watch Cowboy Bebop and I don't have the time and I was writing this for Nano, so of course, flood of thoughts:)
I love Magazine, after Joy Division they're my fave to be honest when it comes to post-punk even if I don't talk about them often.
The honey coloured eyes were told to me by my best friend back in kindergarden/preschool in Colombia and that kind of stuck with me because it's a pretty expression. Also many things from that friendship ended up building many aspects of my life, it's interesting how many talks which you have as a child build you.
I don't get the vinyl obsession these days and it is a way to cash in obviously, so yeah.
The give up is more of an attraction thing here and situation-wise, but more of a calm down, let go of the worries sort of thing, I believe xD and the housing situation coz it's rather bad in the country where I live xD like even google the horrors of Swedish housing xD
I hope you enjoyed it and don't forget to not be an asshole to NB and trans masculine people.
Tell me if you liked it, coz I haven't heard any feedback on An ode yet ^^;