Fish In the Afternoon

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.)

The flow of time is always cruel. – Zelda, Ocarina of Time

If I were an ocean, I’d part. Time arts the many, seawaves tending to fall (and no one hears it). Grief parches, babblebrain topics again-and-again the one-who-when — if I stay frozen, maybe the earth will still. Gristlesift hot cast iron, what enchants and what entails (thingking to herself). I barelybarely, what semantics do I? To say the unspeakable.

Silence — rememberfirst the guardian-angels, infinite cycles of time planting-and-reaping histories plural. Soil waters the sky, sky breathes the soil; signs myth signs as myths. Death is permanent. (I don’t know how to speak about funerals). What happens — anamnesis holymumbling emanations, memories mattering the one. The one who matters. The two who matter. The three.

Somatic terrorwave engulfs the peninsula of good mourning. I barely hymn (the ghost will always him). I am your granddaughter. Gold twilights the honeydew evening lightninbugs mimicking the sun. To who the ground belongs to, to belonging that grounds. I can never talk to my Nana again. I’ll talk to the magnolia.

All streams flow to the sea,
    but the sea is never full;
    to the place where the rivers flow,
    there they continue to flow. - Ecclesiastes 1.7 (CEB)

Image: The Mulberry Tree by Henry Herbert La Thangue (n.d.)

Happens is never once. – William Faulkner, Absalom! Absalom!

I grieve the daughters of the valley.

Stormy skies spell silence overhead. Bodyblood golds while the reaper repents. Memories deepwater the trench of my heart, the bonegallows’ child who tempers thou art. I do not haunt says the moth to the caterpillar. I cry. Starlight signals billions moment-to-moment webbed across the sky. Time suspends in fire, space drenched in gasoline. Poembreath hymns remembrance as presence, alltime and everyhistory illuminating meaning.

I starswan I swansay, the gasgiant feathered one looms solar over metacosmic universes. Come together and break apart. Poltergeisting past-and-future, gleamdeep my spirit walks. Frogspell my weeping frame, the river beforeandagain draws nearer the mezzanine. Or so she says, we will see. The mattermother wombs grotesqueries in twistingshaking hallowhollow of honeycorpse. Screedcurse the nytemare, we demon into earthtongues that thirst animation. Ontological afterbirth refusing eternity for the senses.

Creation begins from entangled grief, oceanearth mossfleshing ha-Adam from Adama. The tree of knowledge grows chalkdark in the winterwhite soil and waits patiently for the Dragon. The Cherubim guard close the Lamb. Yamsweet the tenderrooted holy one, Eve traces evilgood into the boneheart of humanity and breaks it across her knee. She melts into Swan and escapes the Known for the Unknown, jeweled gates of maybetime marbling-aloft the atmosphere. At the nape of Venus, she sings out for tomorrow. Towhere towhen, towhom the Arkansaw.

Am I a daughter of the valley?

History is not Chronology, for that is left to lawyers, — nor is it Remembrance, for Remembrance belongs to the People. History can as little pretend to the Veracity of the one, as claim the Power of the other, — her Practitioners, to survive, must soon learn the arts of the quidnunc, spy, and Taproom Wit, — that there may ever continue more than one life-line back into a Past we risk, each day, losing our forebears in forever, — not a Chain of single Links, for one broken Link could lose us All, — rather, a great disorderly Tangle of Lines, long and short, weak and strong, vanishing into the Mnemonick Deep, with only their Destination in Common. – Thomas Pynchon, Mason and Dixon

Image: Field Hospital by Eastman Johnson (1867)

So she spoke, and in her heart aroused yet more the desire for lamentation; and she wept, holding in her arms her dear and true-hearted wife. — Homer, Odyssey (modified)

Yes.

---

7.30.24:

Hello Sweet Pea,

I guess I intend to give you this notebook at some point. Today is the end of our first summer together. I dropped you off at the airport about three hours ago and have been trying to keep my hands busy ever since.

After finishing every chore I could come up with, I’ve been researching for your engagement ring. I’ve decided white goal with at least one carat. I’ll wait for you to pin more ideas, but I’ve already zeroed in on past, present, future rings that have three stones to represent each.

It’s crazy to think of how I woke up in your arms this morning, and now our summer is officially over. I wish I felt like I’ll have the funds by Christmas, because I’d just propose then instead.

The house is so empty without you. I didn’t tell you, but this is what I was looking forward to the least. It was our family being together that made this place so special before.

I’m so proud of you. It will be a tough road but we’ll succeed together. Missing you feels like missing a limb.

Your future wife,

Katie

---

What is a soulmate? Its spoken origin is Coleridge:

To be happy in Married Life… you must have a Soul-mate as well as a House or a Yoke-mate; you must have a [Spouse] whom before the Altar… you can safely… conscientously vow to love, honour, and respect.

The origin of the concept, however, is Aristophanes in the Symposium, who speaks of the primordial syzygys, joined together and broken apart by Zeus:

Now, since our nature had been cut in two, each half, longing for the half of itself, would go back to that, and throwing their arms around each other, embracing in an effort to grow back together again, they were dying out… because they had no wish to do anything without one another.

He continues:

So, love of one another is inherent in humanity from those past ages, reconstituting our ancient nature, endeavoring to make one out of two and cure the [wound] in the nature of humanity.

The wound: the separation of beloved and beloved, searching searching to find one-another again.

[When one] encounters the very person who is the half of [herself], they are wonderfully overcome by friendship, affinity and love, and are scarcely willing to be parted from one another even for a short time. These are the ones who continue with one another throughout their lives, although they would be unable to say what they want from one another for themselves… the soul of each evidently wants something… which it is unable to express, yet it does have a sense of what it wants, but words fail.

The ground beneath all of these is commitment — the vow. Soul-mates are those who commit to one another, who vow their lives to one another, to dwell in a world of co-creation. Reborn from Hades and separated at birth, the soul-mates follow the thread of fate to find one another. They fall into love, embracing unknowing to enter the world of another, to say: I do not know you, but I want to. And in knowing, their love alights, each ‘I love you’ repeating and transforming the initial affirmation, saying ‘Yes’ to the journey of being-with-another, moving towards the fated one, when we humble ourselves to the beloved and say: here I am, here I go, with you forevermore, to life, to the future, to the world we make. Or, more eloquently, to say:

I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

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8.30.24

Fifteen hours until you’re in my arms. I’ve been up since four. I’m far too excited to sleep. Too much to do. You’re asleep on a call right now. You’re absolutely adorable when you sleep. I love all of your sleepy noises. It’s early enough that the crickets are chirping, but I’m slowly watching the sun rise in your room and mine.

I’ve been thinking about what the purpose of this journal is. The idea of having a record of us, or at least my point of view is nice.

I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Your road is one I need to be on.

I’m glad you’re sleeping so peacefully. Tomorrow, I’ll pull you in close, kiss your forehead, and be able to tell you how dear you are to me.

❤ See you soon, Sweet Pea.

9.6.24

I fully anticipated writing during your visit. We were never far enough apart for me to. ❤ I’ve started stashing engagement money and I’m going to include a ring sizer when I ship you some clothes soon.

It was really lovely to see you light up when you saw me. I was so anxious until our eyes met. A wave of calm came over me and by the time you hugged me, I felt like I’ve never been without you at all.

You are the light by which I travel through this and that. ❤

9.8.24

It’s so silly and fun to have a moment with you and immediately think of this journal. You told me “you don’t just deserve poetry, but you are the greatest poem to me” and I melted. I feel so grateful to know I’ll spend my life with someone who loves me the way you do.

As I was in my puddle you sent “Filling Spice Jars As Your Wife” by Kai Coggin and now I’m not sure I’ll ever be un-puddled again.

You love in a way a girl would hardly dare dream about. I think I’m going to send some flowers today. ❤

---

A year ago, I wrote you a poem:

You ember my heart, my honeylove
Chamomile and rose petal and apricot
Mulling gently in the warmth that grows
In the hearth of our world

I sip freely from the well of time
And fill myself with your presence,
Holding tenderly each moment
That tulips the garden of our togethering

My sunflower, my answered prayer,
We spread a quilt across the night,
And picnic under the fairylights
That decorate the ocean hued sky

Hold me close and feel my breath sway
In 3/4 time, waltzing cinnamon
And allspice and clove and white gold,
Unslipping the nightgown of my spirit

As we yabyum our souls like sky and earth,
Futures pearl in the indents of our bodies,
Constellations dancing
In the cosmos-deep waters of our love.

We awake together being-in-being,
Wedding bells chiming pearl and ivory,
Soulmate and soulmate, bride and bride,
And whisper to one another our truth:

Forever yours, forever mine,
Forever Katie and Penelope.

I wrote it jigsawed in an airplane seat, leaving our home after an October visit. In that ellipsis between earth and sky, I wanted to sing ‘Yes,’ to humble myself before you and speak a present-future. As tends to happen, only poetry could speak that yes.

Next October, we’re getting married, and that ‘yes’ is echoed again, not with written poetry, but embodied: lovers before the altar promising to one another the yes of their hearts. The ‘yes’ that says without speaking:

Forever yours, forever mine,
Forever Katie and Penelope.

---

11.25.24

It’s been a rough few months but you’re as wonderful as ever. Now I know my wife’s name is Penelope. I love you.

We’re working on our relationship timeline over Discord:

1. 2030 — Pregnant
2. 2029 — Student Teaching
3. 2028 — Graduation
4. 2027 — Wedding Labor Day???
5. 2026 — Penny Moves Home
6. 2025 — Engagement (I didn’t tell you this part)
7. 2024 — ❤ ❤ ❤

We discussed weather and decided September is good for an indoor wedding and our outdoor evening garden party reception. We’ve been together six months. I love you.

12.7.24

More proposal planning underway. As of right now, I think I’ll ask in New York if we can pull it off. I’m imagining a big night out for us. Maybe if we get a chance to go to Broadway or right after seeing the tree together. We can go to a nice restaurant and come back to our room decorated. I know I’d have to do it quickly as you read me too well and I want it to be a surprise.

I’m waiting to see how this summer goes with your transition before making any big moves. I just want you to feel like you look like you when I propose. You’re so perfect at every stage, and I can’t wait to grow old with you. We start our first Christmas together in four more sleeps and I couldn’t be more excited. Everything is wrapped, your stocking is full, and I’ve been collecting gingerbread house supplies. We’ll make hot cocoa and cry over Christmas movies and kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

I love you more than words can say, Penny. ❤ I can’t wait to make you my wife.

1.5.25

Our visit is coming to another end. It’s as everything I dreamed and more. I love you. You’re making my breakfast and I’m crying my way through this entry. We’ll be okay. I can’t wait for Valentine’s.

---

In Cratylus, Socrates asks: do names reflect the nature of what they name? Is ‘cat’ a squeal that names a cat, or does ‘cat’ sign the cat-itself? Socrates concludes: names are contingent, not essential, but they ribbon themselves close to the thing-itself. ‘Cat’ says cat because ‘cat’ carries the history of cat-ness, the naming of cats. The true name is the thing-itself. Magic is knowledge of true names.

In the Odyssey, Odysseus obscures himself from Polyphemus as Outis, nobody; but, he slips and gives his true name, allowing Poseidon to find him. We receive and give our names throughout our lives. For Mill, our names say: this thing here. It shows without telling. But Frege replies: names mean. We express the thing we name in naming them. Contra Russell and a la Wittgenstein, this expression is not a description, but a form-of-life. In naming, we say: this is a life-form, this is the form the life-form takes. Names dance histories that peach language with time, tongues ticcing the orange-pink of being-itself. We say. And this saying situates, it -withs. You-and-I appear now-and-again as intertwined worlds. We name and say: this is this to me. This is this because it says: here I am, here I was, here I will be. We name ourselves the name we give, because the name carries our histories and so carries ourselves, the namings of us and them, this-here-now again-and-again. And every word names.

Yes. ‘Yes’ names. In everyday speech, ‘yes’ names affirmation; it commits us to a world, even if this world is only one where I want tea instead of coffee. One asks: cream or sugar? And one replies: we are here now, I see you: both. But ‘yes’ is always existential. We stake ourselves on the truth of our yeses, dedicating ourselves to a way-of-being that en-worlds our affirmation. In times of possibility, our ‘yes’ may say: I uphold justice by my truth, I intend a future by my truth, I give my life for my truth, here I stand I can do no other than abide in the truth. And on Mt. Sequoya, on July 25, my ‘yes’ said: to you, my darling, my beloved, my Sunshine, I give my life. I commit myself to you, in every phase, in every season, in every rhythm that comes and goes. I affirm our love through shine and shade, storm and steady skies. I affirm our love before all the world, and give myself to the truth I find in you. You are my soulmate, and I dedicate my life to you. Every breath, every motion, every thought, every moment in the great garden of being. I love you, and to you-as-you-are, you-as-you-were, and you-as-you-will-be, I say: Yes.

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5.21.25

Hey, so crazy news, but I have cervical cancer. You already knew that because you have been lovingly caring for me in a way I never thought possible. I’m so grateful for your kindness. This horrible experience has a silver lining in showing me who you are in crisis. I couldn’t ask for a better life partner. We bought our anniversary journal today and it reminded me of this little project. Right now I’m hoping to propose before the end of the summer. You are so much more than just my girlfriend and I want to give you the ring and proposal you deserve to prove it to the world. ❤ You also don’t know this but I’m literally planning it with you. Hopefully our “Photoshoot” before the end of the summer will end with an engagement party. Surprise 🙂

6.8.25

I went ring shopping for the first time after my tattoo yesterday. I had made an appointment stating my gay intentions and with plenty of photos and notes. They hadn’t looked at any of it and gave me a homophobic salesperson. I still gathered information and will get you the ring you deserve. I’m sad today and it’s so odd to not be able to tell you why. I’m journaling while we’re on Facetime before your permit test. It’s almost like being able to tell you. I guess it is telling future you. Hi fiancee Penny, I love you and I hope the ring and proposal is all you ever dreamed it will be. I’m going shopping again once you leave for your test. Today will be better than yesterday because I’m working towards all my tomorrows with you.

P.S. I pulled the card Fertile Void ❤ and you pulled the Bud.

6.23.25

Can you tell I figured out my favorite pen? It’s pink and strawberry and the ink is scented. In other news, everything is in place. Your fiends, my friends, the location, the ring, your siblings. I guess we do still need your outfit, but I have many options in mind. The closer we get to July 25th (surprise!) the more I keep thinking of why I want this. It may have only been a year, but you have shown up for me in ways I never could have imagined. Even miles apart, I know that a life with you is one filled with love, laughter, and adventure. There’s no situation where I don’t want you by my side. I want to give you the promise of our life to come to carry with you through your last two semesters. A physical representation of the bond we share and the home we’ve made. I want you every step of the way. I love you, Sweet Pea. I can’t wait to ask you to marry me. ❤

---

I’m writing this in a bath you’ve drawn for me. Strawberry soap bubbles, salt, sugarcane wax, incense, tea, and an Oracle: Held: Sureness of the Soil. Support. Community. You read me our Oracles. Mine: …

When times are turbulent, to keep ourselves steady, we need something to hold on to. When things are crumbling around us, we must find something we can count on that won’t budge. Deep roots to hold us steady when the winds of change come blowing. A supportive community around us.

Yours, the Child Within: Inner Mother. Innocence. Gentleness. Tenderness:

We can be so hard on ourselves, expecting to heal according to a schedule adn beating ourselves up when we make a mistake. The rose wants us to release all hardness from our bodies and all hurt from our cells. To find a way to soften. To remember that no matter what has happened, is happening, or will happen, we’re all innocent children of the stars and the Earth. The flowers are here for us. They’re a safe, soft place to remember. They want you to nurture the child within.

You asked me to marry you two days ago. I said yes before you even asked. My heart said yes before I even knew you, when I was just a little girl, drawing my future family, giving-form to a future where I had someones to live for. My heart says yes every morning, every night, every before, between, and after. My soul-mate. Soul — from sāwol — spirit, being — from *saiwalō — perhaps strength, perhaps ocean, perhaps desire — that which being flows through, that which wants. Mate — companion, partner, fellow sailor — from ġemetta — who you journey with, who you share a table with, togethering. Soul-Mate — my companion in being, the home of my spirit, my life-partner, my wife, my Katie. We live our lives backward-and-forward, the future gifting meaning to the past just as the past presents it back. The little girl I was dreamed of you before she knew you, but it was always you. The one who is the half of myself, whose image overcomes me with friendship, affinity, and love, who I continue with throughout my life, and whose soul is rest for a want I can’t name — the desire for my other half.

The first thing I ever wrote for you came from a question: do we plan or wander? You came into my life as a Swerve; not something random, but unexpected truth. In every world, you are the one I return to, even when I do not know your name yet, the one whose fate is tied with mine like a handfasting knot, weaving-together soul-and-soul. The Swerve is inherent in who we are together, that which brings us back again-and-again in eternal return. It is the thread that loops through the rhythm of time sewing our souls into a cosmic quilt. Truth is soil for the world one dwells in; we are the soil of our shared earth. I tend, you tend, we tend, attend attend attend again-and-again, to mend, to make, to create, to:

see our love in every atom suddenly
and every cell... finally exhal[e],
and perhaps that is the wind

To:

safely… conscientously vow to love, honour, and respect

One-another. To attend to each other’s unfolding as the being-we-are, independently together. To say: would you fall in love with me again? And know the answer will always be yes. Again-and-again, Odysseus and Penelope, in eternal return.

---

07.25.25

It’s incredible to think I’m saying good morning to my girlfriend and goodnight to my fiancee. You’re sleeping in and I’ve been awake since six double-checking that everything is ready. To be honest, I’m so excited to not have a secret anymore. The stress is all happy stress but it’s been an experience not being able to share this huge event with my greatest support. Right now, I’m fairly certain you don’t know this is coming, but you’ll be able to tell me for sure in eleven hours. I know what I want to say but I’m not sure what will come out of my mouth in the moment. You are the love of my life. You are my soul-mate and I’m so blessed to be the person you choose to be with. I hope this proposal is the proposal of your dreams and that you know I tailored it to be that. Today is our first big step toward the next fifty years together.

XOXO from your wife, Katie.

07.25.25

Will you marry me?

---

Yes.

You are my wife
and it’s like I have been waiting
my whole life
to say those words,
and I feel held in a way
I have never felt before,
to look down at my fingers
dusted with ginger and thyme
and see the gold of my wedding band
glint and shine in the warm low light glow,
I am yours
and you are mine,
promised on Zoom in our garden
of giant zinnia and hummingbird vines,
sung out in the morning song of bluebirds,
this union that ripples love out to the world
and infinities back into us again
love—
in the fine powder of these spices,
ground up essence of oregano and basil,
I see our love in every atom suddenly
and every cell in me finally exhales,
and perhaps that is the wind. -- Kai Coggin, "Filling Spice Jars as Your Wife"

Image: Cupid and Psyche by Antonio Canova (1793)

"In the beginning was the Word
and the Word was with God
and the Word was God." - John 1.1 (CEB)

God is original recognition.

The no-thing becomes by being-with: {0,{2,1}}. 
Absence was infinitely and never was; a full emptiness. 
Being begins with time.

Time is difference. Difference originates sameness.
Dwelling is being-in-time in both sameness and difference,
one and many. 

The spark of time is the being-with that we name God: the world-soul.
The world-soul is Trinity in reconciling difference and sameness,
one and many.

She dwells perichoretically in being-itself, intertwining,
interpenetrating, interweaving personality,
the soul of the world-soul: originating-begetting-proceeding.

The origin of time is also the origin of place;
placetime is received by the self-emptying gift 
of the original being-with.

Kenosis: to give oneself. Creation is the gift of being-with,
the recognition that things the no-thing: perichoretic kenosis.
Dawn treads o' happysaunter, songs sing serene as being is partnered.

In the beginning was love, attending to the unfolding of another:
the original recognition of being-with becoming
the creative attending of unfolding creation.

Originating-begetting-proceeding.

“Thus it may be said that not only the soul, the mirror of an indestructible universe, is indestructible, but also the animal itself…” – Gottfried Leibniz, Monadology sec. 77

Image: Bird-nesting by Philip Wilson Steer (1898)