The Big Trans Woman FAQ (or what you should ideally read before you ask me stupid questions)

Today’s topic is less polyglot, but if you want you can shoot me an email at joannamartinevanschaik(at)gmail(dot)com and help me translate it. The good thing is that I’ll usually be able to tell you whether you screwed up somewhere. The bad news is that it will cost you two hours of your time for a cause we all need to worry about, but none of us are actually on the barricades fighting for enough.

So, here goes: the questions you can now look up the answers to here, without having to harass me about it in public and show off your ignorance!

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This blog: what it is and what it does. And what it does not do.

This is a blog. Everyone has a blog now, even I used to have a blog (way back in the day) but considering I never updated that thing, I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf (electronically speaking). So, you may ask, what am I going to blog about? Because everyone has already written about something, so my particular insights are not going to keep my readership tuned to my every post, waiting with drool dripping from their open jaws to read whatever (dare I say ”very intelligent”? Or is that too much honour?) thing I have come up with to rant about. So the answer is; I’ll just write what is on my mind, and you’re going to read whatever is on my mind here, okay? (You could stop here, but you would be missing out on a life’s worth of amusement. And that’s not just because of the inevitable typos). Läs mer

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Your Beloved Son

The darkness turned to light and behold,
We witnessed peace on earth for all.
Joseph and Mary, in stories long told,
Heeded perfectly nature’s primal call.

Your Beloved Son! He is Born!
(It’s a daughter, lo and behold!)
Your Beloved Son! God’s Newborn!
(It’s a girl, weren’t you told?)

Broseph and Sister Mary together
Fratboy carpenter and salacious nun
Enjoyed the sweet Oriental weather,
And had some hedonistic fun!

Your Beloved Son! He is Born!
(It’s a daughter, lo and behold!)
Your Beloved Son! God’s Newborn!
(It’s a girl, weren’t you told?)

They sung hymns to pagan Gods
Gloria in Excelsis Satanae!
Recited prayers to the Harlot’s blood
Washed their flesh sins away

Your Beloved Son! He is Born!
(It’s a daughter, lo and behold!)
Your Beloved Son! God’s Newborn!
(It’s a girl, weren’t you told?)

If Joseph and Mary once were wrong,
Couldn’t you for once just try and see?
The son born to the Christmas gong
That daughter you know as me
She lives on in the memory of light
The candles lit through the long night
Far beyond the ghosts of years past
A memory to forever haunt and last

Beloved sons don’t live in shadows
They step into the light
They become loving widows
Once you drop the heavenly fright

If you have ghosts about your past
Ghosts about your beloved son
Wash away Joseph and Mary
You’ll know what is to be done

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Dead Girl

the eyelids lie closed
upon the retina all is black
nothing more, nothing less
wherever we go now, no one
will know in the ages of ages

a little wisp of vapour 
swirls up into a bitter night
as it disappears
no one feels the cold
the piano tinkles down into silence

a mark of tightrope
cuts a noose around the pale neck
where once hung necklaces
from the gallows’ tree 
the blood has now run still

you can cut down the body from the tree
and save a passing fox from a fright
you can hold back your tears
or they can flow forth without shame
like drops of weariness and remorse

you can fight the drowning disease
but some people are still taken in the end
submerged by the great blue sea
murder by insinuation
the brain a serial killer in a skull

and to myself I spoke:

”I failed in becoming a goddess
I never sighed for a better world
It was already composed, played and told
Before I had the heart to contemplate
That there was so much more to give
To the ones who love me:
Time told this bitter farewell
The sweet piano no longer writing down my life
The songwriter’s verse no longer about me
And you… there is nothing left to feel for you anymore…”

as all good stories must one day
draw to a tragic close
on the stone they wrote but two words:


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Somewhere floating through outer space
I stare down at a clouded blue sphere
And I sit up and start to slowly wonder
Whether you and I truly are still here

You walked our soil, and ate our bread
Maybe someone loved you once or twice
You learned as a child to look for the stars
To find beyond the sun’s space your slice

You learned to love but mostly to hate
Both yourself and those that hated you
And maybe on another planet in the skies
You’d find just what made you feel true

I’m still in orbit and floating far beyond
Drifting away from the cold, into the light
I found a rocket to take me to the moon
And bask in the last rays of a fading night

I look down from space at who you were
Our mirror shattered a long time ago
I know now what you didn’t realize then
I sometimes still hold dear what I let go

But whatever they say about staying grounded
Sometimes children learn to float and fly
It’s better to accept they’ve grown silver wings
Than to keep asking an unanswerable why

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Pristine Love

Moi, j’ai péché
At least that’s what they say
For holding hands with her
I regret nothing, I really do

Moi, j’ai péché
I’m sorry for the trouble I create
You know we dwell in sin
For it’s God we carry within

Moi, j’ai péché
And of course that led me astray
What else did you expect?
A command from above, I suspect

Mon amour, c’est pristine
More genuine than clandestine
I won’t hide it, it’s just fine
My love no longer on the line

Moi, j’ai péché
Did you really think we cared anyway?
When you kiss, do you taste
The acidity of God’s waste?

Mon amour, c’est pristine
A silver plate with a golden sheen
Do you truly think, when she smiles,
That God won’t show mercy for a while?

Moi, j’ai péché
I’m sorry I’ll sin again today
Love is love, did you not know?
This kiss ain’t just for show!

Mon amour, c’est pristine
Love is mightier than the glean
You steal from behind the veil
A hate that’s grown so stale

Mon amour, c’est pristine
Once again, I’ve come clean
Yes, I’ve sinned, and that’s okay
We are women, and we’re gay.

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Tattered Flags On City Streets

Somewhere the flag lies downtrodden
On a cold and wide centre street
The colours stream no more, sodden
By the city rain that has turned to sleet.
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A Certain Paler Shade of Green

A flame flickers above the forest ash
Awash with the pungent reek of coal
The dead king carried in a green sash
No more aware of the waking life he stole.

The sea drifts on a tide of plastic trash,
Bobbing up and down in waves of grey.
And if you squint through the prism stash
You can see fish down there floating away.

The city air is stuffed with dust and hate
A placard is raised to the enemies of man
Someone’s envy breaks through the gates
Of patience, bursting the best that it can.

Everyone turns a certain paler shade
Of green when they feel so very deprived,
Though their house be on fire in the glade,
Yet their ire still is elsewhere contrived.

Carry a banner against the mistaken ones
A false allegation against a feeble foe
Accusing the wrong daughters and sons
Of crimes for which they have naught to show.

Turn a brighter shade of verdant green,
And douse the flames that burn us to dust.
Turn a brighter shade with celadon sheen,
For fight the fire with fire we truly must.

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Een hand

Een hand die wordt gestreeld
Zachtjes, jouw vingers
In de mijne

En soms staat de tijd stil,
Wanneer ik bedenk dat
ik in je ogen kijk,
En ze zijn net zo blauw
Als die van mij

Jouw hand in die van mij
Mijn hand in die van jou

Ik staar in een waas
Van donkerblond haar
En vervaagde mascara

Mijn hand dwarrelt weg
Tussen de bladeren
Gevallen uit de bomen
Op je kruin

Wat moet ik zonder de zon
Hij schijnt alleen vandaag
Morgen komt er een wolk
En waar ben jij dan?

Jouw hand (nog steeds) in die van mij
Mijn hand (nog steeds) in die van jou

En als ik bedenk
Wat de stilte zegt:
Ik vrouw van jou
Jij vrouw van mij
Zijn we allebei blij?

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