Blood Letting and Grief Rituals

I wrote these three pieces sometime in the past year and read them at my dear friend Ana Armengod’s book release for 17 Years of Slumber in June of 2024.

Writing about tattoos and bloodletting ceremonies and public wailing and memory holding snap in and out of this current moment the way that the past 7 months have felt

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I’m reviving the ancient tradition of blood letting.

Blood bonding.

These marks don’t fade, they hold memory

The marking of time to let it be known a transformation has occurred here.

There can be no revolution without it.

And the small revolutions that build up to bigger ones are not lost on me.

But tonight I’m alone. By the motel pool drinking pomegranate soju out of an ice cup and listening to Sudanese jazz.

I cut my thumb on the bottle and have been leaving bloody fingerprints everywhere - not because I want to

but because I don’t have a band-aid.

And this motel that is cheap but not the cheapest one in Long Beach.

I read the reviews. It has a nostalgia to it.

And I’m thinking about how good being alone is for writing.

I wake up early and don’t use the pool.

The world around me is a facade that demands a bulldozer to be ran through it.

And the tension in the air just waiting for that moment.

Edging

The violent colonial reality that separates Americans from the effects of our oppulence

In the wake of multiple genocides

8 thousand Syrians swallowed by the earth last year

The world that moves so fast, tragedy after tragedy how can anyone keep up?

When strangers make racist remarks behind my back, loud enough for anyone to hear,

I don’t correct their use of pronouns.

Even though I’m in the liberal hell that is the San Francisco Airport.

Yoga rooms. Gender neutral bathroom stalls

And a dog room with artificial grass and a fire hydrant

that a close friend pissed on because he could.

Instead I sweat and try not to spit in anyone’s face before I get to my gate.

I fantasize a bulldozer ripping through the terminal.

I found myself screaming a language I’m still learning

Finding the words in real time

More comfortable with mistakes

And less in love with people I thought I would be in love with forever

Writing less but also still writing

Just to catch up. Not for any other reason

Just to archive the mundane and the tragic and the joy when it comes

All parts of living. To remember

My Jidu lost his memory towards the end of his life

He couldn’t ask. He couldn’t respond. But he could sing.

And when he would sing tears would stream down his face

I think about reviving the ancient tradition of sacrifice

Not tainted by evangelical dogmatic practice but something else that runs deeper

Not related through blood but through shared mythology.

In a broken world

A shared desire.

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Where does your anger live?

Is it inside your body that is weak from fasting and sleepless nights?

Is it trapped in your throat? Voice lost from screams that are never heard

Is it in your blood? Coursing through veins and passed down from generations that swallowed anger for your survival.

Is it in your tears? Streaming down cheeks warmed by the sun coming in from your window on a Sunday.

Is it inside your work? Not palatable or relatable to the masses

Afraid of anger and what it could bring

Anger so big it cannot make it through most doorways or fit on most pages.

Anger so deep I couldn’t possibly tell you where it started

Anger that I foolishly thought I could not possibly feel more of.

But it grows and swells, rippling through space like a riot

And it threatens to destroy our home and everything in it.

They tell me anger is a tool but I feel immobilized.

Rendered ineffective consumed by raw emotion that is inescapable

Is the only way to act reasonably to be removed? Dulled down?

Numb to my environment?

“Just doing what I can”?

Pressure builds when it is suppressed

Rots when it is still

When I see my own face,

Calm in the mirror

Lips tight, eyes heavy

Ravines where my cheeks once were

A bitter taste in my mouth

Known by generation after generation

That swallowed anger

Fashioned it into a tool

And used it to fight

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Written for my great Situ Nassema Dayoub who I’m named after. I’m grateful to cary your blood in my veins.

Disassociated some place above my physical form - I look down on the body I’ve made.

A place of worship. Built by the memories of ghosts related by both blood and spirit.

Every apparition that inhabits my altar is crucial to its architecture.

I set out food for them.

An offering of pomegranates, halawa and rose water. 

The question that’s been haunting me since I first read the words - “How do we care for the ghosts that take such good care of us?”

I care for my body with the knowledge that it is the culmination of many ghost’s accidental conception

Our ancestors prove to us that our lives are livable because they have in fact been already lived. 


I can wake up with the knowledge that these eyes have opened before. And will open again. I’m always existing in the middle of a past I’ve never seen and a future I will never know. 

I write to shed light on a subject that's been haunting me for every year I’ve been alive. 

This body is not just mine. 

I’ve shared it with countless lovers and every ancestor whose memories live within me. I’ve offered it as an example. A blueprint, a map on my flesh of someone (like everyone else) trying their best to get free. 

I glance down to my altered skin.  Almost every inch is filled with skulls, snakes and flowers.

A client's  mother once told him - after seeing the tattoo I made on her son 

“Its like graffiti on a marble wall” 

What she doesn’t know is that we are constructing the temple we’ve found ourselves inhabiting. Finding more and more presence with every alteration. 

I wasn’t born knowing myself. I’ve learned about myself by seeing my own reflection.

I saw reflections of me by studying older dykes, feeling so incredibly drawn to them.

Seeing their photos in books and in manuscripts.

Hearing whispers of their existence in stories that always contained a tinge of envy. I started  studying my history. A queer arab transsexual history.

The lived reality suggested in the studio portraiture of Hashem El Madani. A Diaspora struggle shown on every face caught on film.

“The past is in the present - in the form of haunting. This is what we imagine for queer history, since it involves openness to the possibility of being haunted -  even inhabited by ghosts”

(Carla Freccero “Queer Spectralities: Haunting the Past”)

Possessed by the past,

I hold stories and experiences that spill over the edges

of the here and the now.

Memories of our bodies intertwined

not knowing at which point I entered and you began.

Knowing that it is not “god who’s in our hearts” but our very selves within the heart of god.

Being in love connected me the legacy of meaning making.

I learned that an experience is not lessened because it has been shared.

For surely the love that you and I are experiencing now is the same love that flowed through Audre Lorde, Mamoud Darwish, Khalil Gibran.

The love that countless ancestors found realized in corners, whispers and dreams.

And we can only hope to experience it again and again.

The definition of magic is ritual with intent

Each tattoo is a ritual and the best tattoos I’ve made were not made by me at all but rather uncovered.

Letting the ancestors do their work. Letting the image organically unfold.

Some of the most valuable tattoos I’ve ever made were absolutely free.

A gift with more intention poured in than if it were bought.

Someone asked me if I was sick of doing the same tattoos. Repeating the same image. Over and over again.

It's only repetition in the way that ritual is. 

Each time I am grateful. Each time I am grateful.

An Incomplete History of Trans Immortality by Zeyn Joukhadar

Sharing this because its one of my favorite things I’ve read in the past few weeks.

I’m so drawn to Zeyn’s work for the obvious reasons - we’re both transexual Syrians living and making work in diaspora. His existance alone would be enough for me. But this piece of his writing speaks to my soul in ways that go beyond our shared identities. He is speaking to transness as part of a lineage that goes beyond our understanding of time.

Zeyn writes “Terrible things happen all the time, I assure you, of which most of us know nothing. My question is what we do with unanswered prayers?”

“What do I do with the past selves who live in this body that slips through time?”

questions that I’ve asked myself without the words to formulate the question

“The body was a door for the sacred.”

and

“If what Ibn ‘Arabi says is true, then I possess immortality—like eternity—in this very moment, in my very body. Listen: I am trying to arrive at the miracle by the door of my trans flesh. I will not believe them when they write that I am dead.”

the final quote that has stuck with me

“I can’t pluck my past selves from the rack of pain, just as I will never know most of the trans siblings who were afforded no miracles. I came back for myself, as we come for each other.”

You can read the full article here: https://electricliterature.com/my-transition-will-never-be-finished/

Blood Oath

The demo tape for my band Pure Terror is out now.

I might write more later - but I’m really proud of this one. Thank you John, Dani and Nader for everything. Thanks Matt for recording this in your basement and thank you Will Killingsworth for mastering it. Thank you Nour for coming to one of our first practices and telling me to “bring the heat little man.” And thank you to everyone who offered to help us put this out.

We have like 3 more shows this Summer?

PAN ARAB HARDCORE

As Ancient As Time

Lately I’ve been thinking about transness as a sort of timelessness.

Or at least, the closest I’ve come to it. Trans time really shifts the narrative of a linear timeline - at least in the way that we see it played out in the lives of cisgendered folks. Trans time is an expression that is often used in the communities I’ve been a part of. Trans time is when you go through multiple puberties - sometimes as late as your 60s. Going on and off of hormones, picking up where you left off. Trans time is when we reparent ourselves, nurturing the child in us and creating the childhood we wish we could have had. Trans time is sometimes loosing years - even decades - to dysphoria. Living lives that are unintentional. And as Audre Lorde says “the unintentional are those who do not wish to guide their own destinies.”

As trans people we have taken the reigns, shaped ourselves and stepped into the power that has always been ours. We as trans people have existed since the beginning of time. Cultures have feared us, revered us, acknowledged us and tried to hide us. But we have always shaped culture. We have always created community. We have always held our own and we will continue to do so with grace, dignity and power - despite whatever authority tries to strip us of all of the above. Our power is undeniable. Why else would they feel so threatened?

I’ve been thinking about the old tattoo adage “As ancient as time, as modern as tomorrow” often used by traditional tattooers who acknowledge the ancient history of tattooing. And in this time, when its terrifying for me - as a trans person to look at the news, I see how this very same truth applies to my own gender. Which runs deep as time itself. Every queer ancestor who has existed and loved in spite of impossible circumstances has brought us this far. We know that the powers that be are fighting a battle they can’t win.

My heart is broken for every trans sister who has been lost to trans-misogyny, every child that will grow up with oppressive laws that strip them of their basic human rights, every trans person who has to feel the fear that I know we all feel. Its really hard to wake up and just exist these days without feeling the weight of this reality. I saw a tweet that went something like “If you’re trans your existence is a gift. You need to just keep existing, everything else is bonus.” And I think about Miss Major, Tala Brandeis, Pat Califia, Akwake Emezi and the multitudes of queer and trans friends and family who have made me who I am today.

All we need to do is exist. Make it from this moment into the next.

Angela Davis has spoken on the importance of our transness - showing the possibilities of resistance:

“And I don't think we would be where we are today—encouraging ever larger numbers of people to think within an abolitionist frame—had not the trans community taught us that it is possible to effectively challenge that which is considered the very foundation of our sense of normalcy. So if it is possible to challenge the gender binary, then we can certainly, effectively, resist prisons, and jails, and police.”

Some days I don’t know how we’re going to make it. But I know that I can look to my elders and ancestors for wisdom. Our trans ancestors threw bricks, resisted oppression, lived entire lives but always looked after their own. And I know that if we continue in their footsteps - liberation is sure to come.


Mix for A Better World ✧・゚: *✧・゚:*

This past month I had the honor of showing work along Em Aull and Zakiya Mowat at Blade Study - a gallery in the lower east side/ chinatown area of Manhattan. The show was curated by superstar Paula Martinez and the whole experience was truly so inspiring.

A few weeks after the opening Em had the idea for all of the artists to compile a mixtape of some songs that inspired the work in the show. We had a week to put one together and then he dubbed them on cassettes that were available at the gallery while the show was up.

While the show just came down yesterday - you can still read about it here. And you can listen to both sides of my tape below.

For most of my life I’ve seen myself as primarily a visual artist - even though I’ve always been a part of some music scene. I’ve made flyers, merch and have been road dog for years. But I finally started playing with a band this year (Pure Terror - tape coming soon) for the first time since high school (shoutout to Chemical X). It’s been so incredible to break out of my own expectations of myself and make the music I’ve always wanted to make.

This is one of my first mixes so excuse the hiccups! I want to eventually re-record these and start putting together more things like this. Music includes: Egyptian Lover, Sade, Myriam Fares (the music video for this song was a key point in awakening my sexuality lol), Chris & Cosey and more.

I hear the tapes will be available soon through the Demystification Fanzine Store <3 <3 <3

Thank you Em, Paula and Ambrose for making this happen!

You Make My Desire Pure

This is a video I’ve been wanting to make for a long time.

I’ve been trying to find a way to blur the lines between blood and pomegranate juice, in a sensual and compelling way for years. As tattooers - we work primarily with blood. So much to the point where we almost become desensitized to it. But blood can mean so much. It’s our life force and what ties us to our ancestors. For this project - I wanted to explore blood, outside of the literal sense. I wanted to have fun with it.

This is the first video I’ve ever made and I’m super grateful for my friends for letting me pour juice all over them for a few hours on a Chicago rooftop in late summer. Very grateful to River for lending me this video camera. And very grateful to Heather and Seth for letting me use this track.

(which you can purchase here: https://hide3.bandcamp.com/album/girl-on-girl)

I hope you like it.