text art things


In Between

published in we were here (we were queer) issue 01: the edge of the rainbow

0. vapor, pride, and queerness do not have an edge (or so i thought)

existing in their irritating iridescent glory, a concept and a gaseous body of years

but if a line has an edge, a curve will find one soon

as a child, i wanted to be a circus performer, for no queer reason at all

a balancing act, suspended high in the air, in between anything that wished for an in between

staged and clipped to a rope between the drying poles, the third pole raised in waiting

an edge can cut, sure. but even a spoon could be a deadly weapon if it wished for it

a slap with an open hand may not perfectly equal a fist, with blood vessels exposed and singing in reds, blues, and purples, but it nevertheless exists, suspended between the gazes of the audience that wishes it could be something different.

i assume that's what you wanted. something different.

give me a point, and i will rock the world upside down. in a pinch, a spine will do, strong as steel and a bundle of field grass hugged together, unbreakable, even if you wish for it not to do so.

i do not wish for anything. there is no difference to be made.

to feel is to differ. taking away the feeling is hard, but not impossible, a body of years never finished. you can sever the umbilical cord wrapped around your ankle and float upwards, into the vapor, body of years rejected, a rope for an anchor never made, never woven.

a rope tied in passion is better than the rope tied in restraint, however misguided it might be.

1. up there, here all of you are, celestial otters holding hands in fear of getting lost in cosmic glory.

you proudly show the rest of the rope, still tied to your ankle, evidence of being born and rejected, whichever way you wish to think about it.

you think, misguided, passionate, that because you are up there, everyone should be.

you would snip the rope that still holds those who can both walk and float a little bit, those still accepted, those who accepted themselves. you build a sky castle, laying everyone down so that their spines form something that can withstand violence and weight: as above, so below

you wish for everything. i wish for nothing.

there is difference to be made, but you wish for things to be the same, just higher up.

you rock the world upside down with the spines that are not yours, suspended and lost.

2. down there, here all of us are, the dirt and dust clinging desperately for anything that will allow us to stay, to exist at all.

i crawl into the burrow when i hear your faint call, ear on the ground, trying to hear anyone who would want to sing this far below

we are not at all alike, our skin electric, voices hushed, singing a song no one knows the lyrics to.

we talk and we pause, breathing deeply, folded on each others laps and shoulders

and with silence and voice the burrow expands, our lungs expand, as we watch our eyes transform to recognize the fact that we are


i see a mark that the rope left after balancing act stretched out so thin and so long on everyone's feet as we breathe in deeper, lost in being profoundly found and seen, in between things that can't hurt us anymore even if we sometimes wish for them to do so

we are accepted by the pride and vapor on the edge of things

and if we forget, we'll breathe again to accept one another wherever we are.

3. the space in between edges cannot be sharp (or so i thought)

existing in its irritating iridescent glory, a place and a conceptual body of years

but once you find a way to escape, you will escape needlessly, involuntarily

as an adult, i do my balancing act on the tip of my tongue, suspended in between my teeth

your hand never formed a fist and knows how to wait before touching the layers of rope on my skin that i wove to stay close to the ground, before cajoling it back into muscle, stiff and riddled with spasms, before glitter and vapor and pride explode and i burst into the air, suspended between edges, tied by my ankle to the castle in the sky and by my throat to the ground, crying and whimpering and pointing at everything, anything at all to say

i assume that's what you wanted. something different.

you point straight up, at anything and nothing at all to say

this is the one i want.

out of the stars and the dirt, this is the one you want.

and i want you.

and one day we will float in between in betweens

where no edges can reach us

and be everything

and nothing at all.


mother tongue

written during ideation meeting for mother tongues by frank theatre

я думаю о ней, мать, родина мать, родина мать отечество, родина отчество иванович, ты чей ребёнок, где твоя мама? почему мама тебя здесь оставила, знаешь ли ты? когда ты узнал, что ты можешь убежать, можешь провалиться через границу реальности и спастись? ты об этом знал? мы тебя здесь не любим. никто тебя здесь не любит. смотри для себя сам, в какой компании ты окажешься. и знай, ты всегда можешь вернуться домой, если ты скажешь, что очень сильно раскаиваешься.


i think of her, mother, mother land, mother father land, mother patronymic ivanovich, whose kid are you, where is your mama? why did mama leave you here, do you know? when did you learn that you can run away, can fall through the edge of reality and escape? did you know that? we don’t love you here. nobody loves you here. see for yourself, in what company you will end up. and know that you can always come home, if you say you repent.


queer community is so open, there are no walls, no ceiling, it fell down, friend of dorothy, as you stomped your feet on the dance floor, we all know that you come from somewhere you can’t go no more. there are plenty of doors though, please show your gay card, please show your pass, are you passing, are you passing by and why? english is a no man's land, so you can stay for as long as you can tolerate. we can find a word for everything, a world for anyone, but we won't. what's the use of a word no one wants? what's the use of a word everyone wants? words are not the issue. do you see me? just nod or shake your head. that’s enough for this homosexual.


я тебя не вижу. как вампир, не отражаешься в зеркале, твоё отражение заражено, в карантине, в топке, зацензурено, защищено, очищено, поражено. я тебя не вижу, потому что тебя никто не должен видеть. я только головой качаю, когда ты проходишь мимо. мне ничего от тебя не надо. ты здесь был, может, я здесь был. и слов нам не нужно. я киваю.


i don't see you. like a vampire, you do not reflect in the mirror, your reflection infected, quarantined, burned, censored, protected, refined, astounded. i don't see you, because no one should see you. i just shake my head when you walk past. i don't need anything from you. you were here, maybe, i was here. and we don't need words. i nod.


unapologetic melodies twirl in the infinite jubilant light

the sound escapes my lips

not quite a laugh, not quite music

this body knows its joy, unique and great

it breaks and recovers, coos and yelps

free in its comfort of care

it knows its limits and bends them anyway

fresh in its unknowable ancient wisdom

it hums and clicks the tongue, rocking back and forth

the feet turn inwards, dragging

the fingers spasm and go loose in its ancestral rhythm

this body knows joy and sorrow and pain and gravity

it knows itself

it knows to serve the people and bite the hand, for run and for duty

it recovers memories and stores sounds and unleashes twitches

it is here

not quite mine, but not yours either

the joy of having a body

might be hard to praise

for it needs not

words and cheers


water and soup and hugs

to know

that it is perfect.