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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The Chains of Colonies

A man lies on the ground, his hand outstretched
Begging for alms on the stained sidewalk stone.
He stares at his missing leg, misery etched
In his eyes. He limps along the lanes alone.

Is there something to be gained in that gaze,
That fear of never surviving the darkest night?
There are no honor and joy in his cruel days,
Yet we stare at him with pity and a hint of fright.

A girl crawls among the wreckage of a storm,
Searching for her ring in the wake of the flood.
She glances sideways at the broken glass form,
That once was the window to her wee wooden hut.

Is there something to be gained in that glance,
That fear of never surviving the starkest wave?
There is no love or lust in nature’s wild dance,
Yet we stare at her with pity for Gaia’s wee slave.

What do we see in glorifying bleeding hearts?
What is poverty but the absence of power and privilege?
Are we but young and naïve, throwing our poison darts
At a wall of disadvantaged plebeians? Is it sacrilege?

Let me sing this song of ourselves, let me chant hope
Let me break the chains of colonies and cursed ways!
Don’t talk, don’t speak, lift up your hands, now elope!
They created a dream, a breeze for us to drift away…

Take in a stranger who yet may become your best friend;
Keep as talisman the love for your fellows in humankind.
Hold in your hand that of another, until the dawn brings the end;
In the bright white light we walk, the blind leading the blind.

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En mi cama

Tumbada en mi cama, nunca más
Te podré tocar los labios; nunca más
Te podré acariciar las mejillas.

Me has arrancado de tu boca
Con una violencia digna de una guerra
¿No han dicho en el país de Inglaterra,
Que todo se permite en el amor?
¿Acaso te gustara el hondo dolor
Que causaste cuando te fuiste?

¿Acaso no creyeras que lo superara?
Se dice que la venganza consiste
En mostrar ser mejor persona después
Pero tumbada en mi cama, todo me vale
Menos de la miseria que me pagan como sueldo;
Aún así, te equivocaste, te equivocaste
Un montón de veces; no se tira a la basura
El amor de alguien que se entrega con todo corazón…

Tumbada en mi cama, nunca más
Te voy a abarcar; pero no me pidas luego,
Que te acaricie la mejilla; perdiste el derecho,
Con la cama de la que me echaste; con el gato
Que no podía llevar conmigo yo.

¿Acaso no creyeras que lo superara?
Se dice que el triunfo consiste,
En conquistar nuevos países y nuevas aventuras;
Pero rechazaste ser parte de ellas; rechazaste
Las oportunidades que te di. No quisiste,
Y no quiero decir yo que te equivocaras otra vez;
Lo hecho, hecho está; el agua ya pasó;
Y con el tiempo, orgullosamente te diré:
No te equivocaste, hombre, ¡no te equivocaste!
Ya me olvidé de ti, con el tiempo que pasó.

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Keep Away From the Fear-Mongers!

The wreckage of your car burns in front
Of my very eyes; as the clouds come to hunt
And douse the flames, I wait for you to crawl
Out of the frame; the wind howls in a drawl,
That you must feel pain in your charred bones!

A last time to make your escape, set in motion
your flight; safety before all, you hold the notion
That we will survive, despite the destruction,
The ravaging bands, the marauders, the suction
From the guns and tanks surrounding us all!

We saw the towers crumble, and yet you held firm
in your belief; humanity would crawl out like a worm
From the wreckage of our soul; safe in the thought,
The hope that your liberty had already been bought
And safeguarded; the misery would be beyond you!

But the wreckage of your car burns in the street.
In its ruins you choked, beneath a layer of sleet,
Falling now from a tarred and ashen grey sky;
And just vain words for me to remember you by;
Tears were laid in earth, for the day you died.

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Poisonous Juniper

The basket full of berries, like the hands
Flavour for a plate of wild deer
Beneath the layers of shredded meat
A taste of bitter blue veneer

A supper of kings, after the breakfast
That champions had already consumed;
From the soil, the ghost of days past
Inevitably rose exhumed.

With the royalty alive for the feast,
Offering a glug of the richest gin;
A special fruit in the wooden goblet
Is mercilessly contained within.

Taste the venison, suck dry the blood
The bitter taste of death must come
Only when the prince is laid to rest
Is our Herculean work here done.

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The Tipping Point

Already beyond the tipping point, we weather
The oncoming storm of rain and hazardous snow,
Freezing by the regrets of having lain low
For so long; not just our limbs, our fingers,
Our extremities and digits caught in the cold;
Our brains stuck in time, waning in the dusk;
A plaque on the mountainside had warned us.

Already passed the point of no return, we rebel
Against the establishment; we protest the evil
That men do; we riot against the rampant devil.
Day after day, week after week, we crush the minds
And hearts of the left behind; like Katniss in flames,
Like arched eyebrows firing arrows at the kings,
That suppress us in the mines, fields, and factories.

Already accepting the damage done, we try to fight
In vain, as we accept the inception of the end;
Fearsome radiation fields beyond the perimeter,
The sun scorched above our heads, the moon called
Down the rain to wash away human sins in the mud;
With sunken eyes like drowned cats in the torrent,
We sneak along like thieves in the dead of night.

A plaque had warned us that the flood would come
But they said it would come after us, merely
Swallow sons and daughters, children and the weak;
Yet we saw the water rise to our throats; before our eyes,
We saw the trees shrivel and the glaciers melt;
The elephants disappear, the dolphins swim away;
Already beyond the tipping point of our own decay.

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El Cazador

Por debajo de tu falda,
Se halla un mundo lleno
De sorpresas, del descubierto anhelado
¡No me digas que no me gustará!

Eres mi fantasía, mi misterio,
Detrás las persianas te abro
Las piernas, ¡vamos ya a ver!
Lo que me convierte en toro…

Soy tu promesa para una vida mejor
No te echaré a la calle, o peor
Aún, no te cortaré la garganta
¡Por lo que los ojos no ven ya!

Eres mi ninfómana, mi amor
Mi placer en la oscuridad
A escondidas te encontraré
Para que mi madre no te conozca…

Mi placer, en la oscuridad
Mi deseo, cazar la perversidad
Mi amor, bajo la luz de las velas
¡Soy el marido que tú anhelas!

El cazador siempre te encontrará
Sabe de memoria tu dirección,
Tu ubicación en sus sueños,
Por debajo de tu falda está…

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Your Lady in Brightest White

Sometimes I wish you could see,
The devil in me, the dark is gone!
Within my heart, you’d find the light;
I’d be your lady in brightest white.

Sometimes I wish you could see,
The sadness in me, the black has left!
In my soul we chased away the night;
I’d be your lady in brightest white.

Sometimes I wish you could see,
The tiara on me, the ring we bought,
The idea of leaving just a dying fright;
I’d be your lady in brightest white.

Sometimes I wish you could see,
You chose to go, not to stay, in vain!
The lack of me, your life’s biggest blight;
I’d be your lady in brightest white.

Sometimes I wish you could see,
You threw away the prize of your life!
Forgetting the moments you held me tight;
I’d be your lady in brightest white.

Sometimes I wish you could see,
The day that I stand at the altar,
Holding another’s hand, a joyous sight!
I’ll be their lady in brightest white!

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