you must build the rocket // vin tanner
𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖊: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖎𝖘 𝖆 𝖍𝖔𝖆𝖝. 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖆𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖎𝖟𝖊𝖉. 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙’𝖘 𝖊𝖝𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖜𝖍𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖘.
Below you will find a small archival selection I have recovered from a network of unknown terminals linked to the materials preserved within the [REDACTED]. Unfortunately some of these files have become corrupted in the process, but their unusual static can still provide an aesthetically fascinating experience. This small spread incorporates “An Excerpt from ‘A Vampyre’s Manuscript; Vol. III’“, the uncovered poem “annihilation beings“, “Schematic No. 39“, and a poetic recruitment collage by the Eukaryotic Spiritualists. [Eukaryotic organisms are the lifeforms to which the mushroom and fungi families belong].
Here is a snippet of the history between supporters of human evolution and the Catholic Church offers us a unique perspective on the concept of time. If these documents are to be believed, the Church invested into the creation of time and universalizing time standards in opposition to members of the population who have realized humans were meant to destroy the Sun. Centuries of battling ideologies show an aversion to the realization that the Earth itself is an orbital weapon which was once capable of collapsing the hydrogen of the Sun and containing the resulting singularity. However, it’s not my role to convince you of the truth of these files. I simply felt it
essential to submit my findings in relation to the abolition of time.
This collection is known as “you must build the rocket”.
Vin Tanner is a writer, poet, and illustrator who specializes in the fusion of science fiction with other genres. They created and hosted “Poetry Jam; February 2020“, which resulted in 90 free and public chapbooks in varying forms from an amazing spread of under-published writers. You can find them on twitter @hologramvin, their available prints here, and learn about their ongoing projects via their patreon.
MUTE FEMALE FINCHES: a satire by Stephen Ira
Dramatis Personae:
LOU SULLIVAN was a
gay trans activist
who passed away
in 1991
ANDREW SULLIVAN is an
English-born American author
editor and blogger
DAVID TOMLINSON was
best known as Mr. Banks
in Mary Poppins (1961)
Special Thanks:
George Michael
(Lights up on LOU SULLIVAN, alone, impassioned.)
LOU SULLIVAN:
I feel so unsure!
As I take your hand, and lead you to the dance floor.
(The smoke of dry ice is general.)
LOU SULLIVAN:
As the music dies! Something in your eyes!
calls to mind a silver screen
and all
its sad
goodbyes!
(Some smoke, stage left, clears, revealing ANDREW SULLIVAN, who is sitting down.)
ANDREW SULLIVAN:
It is possible to tell who has won a tennis contest not by watching the game, but by monitoring testosterone-filled saliva samples throughout.
LOU SULLIVAN:
So I’m never gonna dance again!
Guilty feet have got no rhythm!
Though it’s easy to pretend,
I know you’re not a fool!
ANDREW SULLIVAN:
I have always tended to bury or redirect my rage. I once thought this an inescapable part of my personality. It turns out I was wrong.
(LOU SULLIVAN is becoming visibly upset at these interruptions.)
ANDREW SULLIVAN: Other scientists theorizing that it was—
(LOU SULLIVAN retrieves a large net from a bag)
ANDREW SULLIVAN: —testosterone that enabled the male zebra finches to sing—
(LOU SULLIVAN creeping up on him)
ANDREW SULLIVAN: —injected mute female finches with testosterone—
(LOU SULLIVAN catches ANDREW SULLIVAN first try)
ANDREW SULLIVAN:
(Frustrated, from within the bag, but not to be silenced:)
Sure enough,
the females sang.
Collages on Shabbos
This week’s collage is “Kiss Me, Partygirl” by Pilot Jeanne Gosh.
pilot jeanne gosh is a mother, a friend, and a 30 ft tall wolf. her work has been featured in Spy Kids Review and Voicemail Poems. she enjoys riding the train and lying on the floor listening to someone play video games.
River Furnace’s Fashion Issue is absolutely everything.
Fashion has always been a point of contingency for me. Fashion is made to a standard size or specification than it is to order. It’s like an ancient text that seems to offer an inventiveness for Black people and Black folk’s pleasure where the rest of the world vehemently rejects it. However, the marketing, fashion and entertainment industry aims to exploit these inventive Black spaces. It obfuscates just as much as it brings to light.
~ Juju
Fashion is more than expression. Fashion is denial, refusal and incoherence where they are not allowed — and through this defiance, self fulfillment. Fashion, like art, is the product of imagination, of energy and soul put to purpose for a goal that is under no obligation to be explained. That vacates still life to give birth to more. This, too, is fashion.
~ Warpath Slave
Fashion occurs at the intersection of body and world, an opportunity to (non)conform. Online, it is an invitation for commentary, which you can ignore. But if you’re ditching the lesbian sport shorts to go out in a dress, prepare to absorb their stares, or have a hand on your mace for when the men follow. Remember, t/girls, our accessories are also part of our fashion.
~ Neptune
September 9th, 2020 / 1:30 pm
Collages on Shabbos
This is a series where I post collages people sent me just in time for Shabbos.
These collages are by Roz Leahy.
Roz is a hot, gay, trans woman. They try really hard to make interesting things and they’re on Twitter @allthingstruly.
If you want to send me a collage to post on a Shabbos to come, you can do so at collages::a:t::undying.club.
If I Detransition I’d Still Be Fucking All Your Dads: from the Vimeo account of Joss Barton
I discovered Joss’s writing from Clutch Fleishmann and Torrey Peters talking about her work on essay daily. Lines like “She need mother’s milk! She need semen and salt and sick nations on her tongue!!” (from “Lord Be a Femme“) had me immediately. Reading them I was like, “Wow, I also need semen on my tongue. She really gets me.”
Joss’s writing is funny, dark and drips with the cadence of ball culture. She manages to be absolutely trans, absolutely the recipient of a voice that feels handed down across generations that fought to be heard. There’s a bite, a tenderness, a dense lyrical complexity. I find myself revisiting her work often, even years later.
At this point, six and a half years since I came out, most trans coming-of-age/coming-out stories kind of blur together for me. But Joss’s Untitled: Transgender Amphibian Femme Songs stands out: vulnerable and, as I have come to expect from Joss, totally horny on main. She talks about wanting to tell her dad, “If I had been given a choice, I would have asked to be born in another dimension, where sissies conquer planets and enslave nations of men hung like Sampson.” I can’t argue with that.
You can read Joss Barton’s most recent story at heartspark.
Maison Book Girl / karma -Mii remix-
I think I’m drawn to bands with “book” in their name.
Toys
by sung
Ed: There is depiction and/or mention of suicide and child sexual abuse in this, jsyk. Take care of yrself.
If you hold your breath, doesn’t time stop.
In her world there’s no wondering what to wear and everything fits. She can stand for hours without getting tired and she always feels at home. Her name is molded a thousand times in glossy plastic so she never has to wonder who she is.
I want her pore-less skin. I want her fixed smile. I want to be her. You have no idea how bad it gets.
The thing about a Polly Pocket is that there’s not much you can actually do with one.
They come in plastic cases that open like clamshells to reveal tiny dollhouses inside, decorated according to common girlish themes such as tea parties, mermaids, and beauty salons. The classic Polly Pocket doll is less than an inch tall with stiff, joint-less arms. Her feet are fused together forming a circular base that snaps into pre-determined slots in a few locations such as in the kitchen or at the bathroom vanity. The house is in large part purely decorative.
It’s the kind of toy you stare at more than play with. It’s the kind of toy I stare at and cherish too much to touch.
I’m sitting on the balcony with a pink umbrella when it’s dry out. It’s summer. I’m five years old.
I’m sitting under the umbrella and daydreaming. I pretend the umbrella is my own little house. Some day someone will tell me this is a very autistic thing to do but the fact is not everything can be afforded the luxury of a name. My mother doesn’t remember this game but I sit here staring into space often. Everyone thinks there’s something wrong with me because this is how I wile away so many hours. I sit and stare a space into being.
Someone in a movie says things seem so big when you’re a kid.
I remember being a tall, ungainly thing. I remember being in the way.
There was this commercial in the early 90s where a little girl opens a bright pink box and out pops a doll. As the doll is engulfed in CGI sparkles, the narrator’s honeyed voice tells me to imagine a doll that grows up with me. She’s called My Little Friend. The doll emerges from the glittering fog transformed into a life-size version of herself, rosy face pressed against the little girl’s as they embrace.
I imagine she’s warm.
I imagine the future.
READ MORE >