The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens,
Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light—
Were all like workings of one mind, the features
Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree,
Characters of the great Apocalypse,
The types and symbols of Eternity,
Of first and last, and midst, and without end.  

(William Wordsworth, "The Simplon Pass")

Being-trans is neither essence nor accident. It is neither modern nor ancient. Being-trans is an expression of melodic variations in gender-being across world-time, the unveiling of a form-of-life. Transition is revelation. Being-trans is apocalyptic. 

So they say: trans-ness is eternal, permanent, and inescapable. True, there is no a priori gender-being much less a primordial dyad; trans-like gender-beings echo through time; and being-trans emerges from our bio-ecology. However, being-trans remains a rupture in history, a prophetic calling-back-and-forth across world-time. There can now be trans ancestors because we have the grammar of transition, an event that occurs in the margins of Leviathan. 

Being-trans reveals itself in the eclipse of modernity, the twilight of the Lutheran world, which tried to naturalize and discipline those outside of the Adam-Eve dyad. History transitions from one mode to another, and being-trans calls attention to a transition in our gender-being, a revealing of gender-being as such. This is not to say that we are New Beings, the 'New (Wo)men' born from capital's cataclysm. We are a dance of apocalyptic agency.

The regime terrorizes being and uses gender as monster to subdue it. The soul becomes an instrument in the smog of quantity, obscuring trans-being in the libidinal machinery of capital's technological expansion, the grinding of variable into absolute capital. As the gendered body of trans-being is made pathos and pathology, the transsexual cogito remains disciplined by surgeon, pharmacist, and therapist, priests of clock-time barely concealing quantity's demiurgic haunting. (Clock-time: Einstein's physical time quantized; the opposite of Bergson's human time; measured, regimented being-in-time; dividing the existent). 

Trapped in the medicine cabinet of biopoliticians, bodily transformation rebels and becomes alchemy. The regime bows to Yaldabaoth, the putrefied son of Sophia who garbles wisdom into information, building temples of lithium to hide the revelation of the Unique. Being-trans prophesies in whispers: our sensed-self is the energeia that proceeds in us- and world-creation, an ever-begetting incarnation of past-present-futures. Being-trans myths again being-human by making magic the always-unfolding logos of gender-being. The eclipse of one onto-mode is the eclipse of a regime; base and superstructure form one cohesive net that frays at the edges before collapsing and re-webbing. Being-trans ruptures the onto-mode of quantity that snakes through modernity, echoing the Unique as wizard of being. 

The Behemoth crawls from the wounds of Leviathan and speaks the Dragon. The fasces returns as the insignia of Empire, the Caesaric collapse of the republic that heralds the New Babylon. Each apocalypse is proleptic of the next and myths the Last Judgment, telling-again of two foes: the Beast & St. George the Dragon's Death. Each revealing has its call to reveal, and every call calls from the Millennium. Holy holy holy seraphim swallow the dawn, hark the herald angels sing: glory to the River of Life. Harrow hell, O history, the Holy Saturday of being-here. Being is never One, but cosmos: anew anew it rays the coming night, flicker good morning the new ontology. 

Being magics being.

17 Then I saw an angel standing in the sun, and he called out with a loud voice and said to all the birds flying high overhead, “Come and gather for God’s great supper. 18 Come and eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of generals, the flesh of the powerful, and the flesh of horses and their riders. Come and eat the flesh of all, both free and slave, both small and great.” 19 Then I saw that the beast and the kings of the earth and their armies had gathered to make war against the rider on the horse and his army. 20 But the beast was seized, along with the false prophet who had done signs in the beast’s presence. (He had used the signs to deceive people into receiving the beast’s mark and into worshipping the beast’s image.) The two of them were thrown alive into the fiery lake that burns with sulfur. 21 The rest were killed by the sword that comes from the mouth of the rider on the horse, and all the birds ate their fill of their flesh.

(The Apocalypse of St. John 19.17-21 CEB)

Image: Apocalypse du printemps by Jean Messagier (n.d.)