#bretasblunder

[savant-gourd]

The cowries have spoken. ABEG, let there be speedy manifestation of destiny. Shit has to shake like shekere this year.

[savant-gourd]

One thing on my achievement cake I’m proud of is ‘no white peen in 2025’ I was very intentional about my body being a club that certain people can’t even stand in line at.

And no peen at all. This was a very transbian year for me. I loved that. Next year, body resets, more asexua for me.

[savant-gourd]

unemployed so I have time to sit with the dark thoughts and really get to converse with them 1:1 ‘you’re a failure’ has to feed his toddlers ‘you’ll never amount to anything’ and ‘gay who can’t drive’, but is barely making enough. it’s tough times out here

[savant-gourd]

You’re streaming their music, I’m on progarchives getting crucial information for an album I pirated at 4am, with intent for a lengthy review.

It’s not a competition but were it so, I hope the Buddha permits me to be prideful enough to say that I would wipe the floor and my ass with you.

[savant-gourd]

Head mostly empty, nothing but Six Guanyin on my mind

Obsessed with the name as a band name, “This was our last song, thank you guys for coming out, we have been Six Guanyin/Six Kannon” - ear splitting gong as Tibet mantra fused post punk begins to play’

SGSK for short.

[savant-gourd]

Touchdown.

Things I did to make moving in with my weird religious and homophobic parents more bearable:

I decorated my room with subliminal queer messaging.

I had a collage wall in the first room I decorated. Decorating my room and expressing myself was such a big taboo growing up, there was always this degree of scrutiny around a space, and because I shared my room with my mother, I couldn’t escape her eyes which constantly filtered my art and expression through the sieve of religiosity. I always thought it strange how the boys got their own space and my father his own, but my mother and I had to share a room.

We also moved and migrated a lot. I remember moving to a house with a pink wall and thinking to myself ‘surely, this will be my room’. They turned it into the library, I shared a room with my younger brother who I essentially raised. I joked with a friend that, the denial of a space where a girl could be just that was my trans awakening.

Back to that collage wall, which was made of cards and pictures I had collected over time and seemed to grow the more I lived in that house, I packed every image into an orange folder and that’s the result of what you’re seeing in the first picture: cards from friends, images from a book I stole at the National history museum, drawings I and my nearest and dearest have made.

Making a room in the house that hurt me, a home.

I sang in the bathroom, which felt more like my room than my room did because it was the only place my childhood self felt like it could afford any privacy. I sang kelela and held myself and felt the change in my voice and counted all the tiles to make sure they were the same even though I knew that, besides the dust and a the addition of a bidet, nothing much would have changed.

[savant-gourd]

a good song on monday morning will hit like a line of coke every time

[savant-gourd]

hope you had a nice detty december perpetuating neo-colonialism! diaspora can be voyeurs too and your sense of cultural alienation doesn’t give you the right to act that way at all!