#tma is making me feel...... many things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ghelgheli · 1 year ago

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i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

#ask answer #whipping girl #text

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jonnywaistcoat · 1 year ago

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Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

#writing advice #rambling #first drafts #gotta say not mad on being called a horrormaster #feel like ive a ways to go yet #horror journeyman maybe

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genderqueerdykes · 3 months ago

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My MtF friend and I got on the topic of TME/TMA bullshit the other day and she pointed out something I wanted to share (with her permission) "The whole concept of TME/TMA can even result in trans women never wanting to come out to avoid being associated with such shitty believes. If my first interactions in the trans community was someone who believed in it I would probably never admit to myself that I was trans cuz I don't want to associate with a group whose entire personality seems to be victimizing the trauma olympics I-Am-The-Main-Character all in one. Hell they would've probably told me I wasn't actually a trans woman just because my egg cracked late and exclude me anyway."

thank you so much for taking the time to send this, i really appreciate it, because your friend said it better than i ever could've.

I don't want to associate with a group whose entire personality seems to be victimizing the trauma olympics I-Am-The-Main-Character all in one.

this is something i've been wanting to flat out say for a while, so thank you very much for this. it literally is very VERY petty behavior at this point and i'm not humoring it anymore. we have to call things for what they are and admit that a lot of transfems are using this as an opportunity to wallow in their misery so they can control others to make themselves feel better because they feel powerless in cisheteronormative patriarchy. it's not fun or quirky or progressive.

i am very much over making queerness about who is the most oppressed or who is the biggest victim. i feel like a lot of people forgot what a victim complex is for the sake of mining pats on the back from strangers. so many transfeminine people right now are replacing their personalities with being a victim and it needs to come to an end. womanhood is not about being a victim, no matter how hard that woman has it. a lot of transfems genuinely do have this "I Am The Main Character" behavior. a lot of transfems genuinely do believe they are the protagonists of the queer community due to how bad they have it. we have to call it for what it is at this point. it's not an attack to say it.

i've been trying to point this out for quite a while: the TME/TMA binary and man/masc hating in general hurts trans women who are questioning, just now learning about transness, stealth, need to stay in the closet, are never transition, who struggle to pass, who don't want to pass, who are butch, who are gender non conforming, and those who are also men. but this especially hurts questioning and newly introduced trans women because nobody wants to be told that they're shitty for being a man one day, and then babied and patted on the back for being a woman the next. the whiplash from that would be damaging alone

your friend brings up a good point too because what about the trans women whose eggs crack later in life? what about those who don't realize they're a woman until they're in their 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s...? what about trans women who only interact with or present their womanhood sometimes? what about trans women who are content being seen as a man in society, but still identify as a woman inside? what about the trans women who don't ever want to tell another soul but are still women despite that?

this behavior hurts genderfluid and butch transfems a lot. this behavior harms masculine trans women so badly. there are transfeminine butches that want to present butch and i don't care if you read them as a "Cishet man" that's a trans butch and they're not obligated to be less masculine for anyone to accept them. trans butches face so much bullshit for how they dress, appear and act. i'm sorry not everyone's womanhood is feminine, but transfeminine butches deserve to present however the hell they want to and not have anyone call their identity into question.

it really affects trans women who don't pass, don't try to or don't want to.

it really affects trans women of color.

this behavior hurts so many people and i really want everyone to understand a lot of those people... are trans women. please be more considerate of those around you. thanks for taking the time to send this anon, i really appreciate it. you can let your friend know that was deeply insightful & exactly a point i've been trying to make for months. thank you both. have a great week, stay safe

#asks #answers #tme/tma #tme #tma

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velvetvexations · 1 year ago

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Thank you for sticking up for transmascs while being transfem. Not a lot of folks would do the same. It really, really means so much

I have trans masc friends who deal with it a lot and it's really frustrating to see them have to put up with this kind of bullshit in my name.

But it's also at least a little selfish, because the 'in my name' thing really fucks me up. TMA/TME discoursers want me to be the biggest victim in the room and they actively prevent me from feeling like that's true. Trans mascs getting ran through the dirt to elevate trans fems feels like I'm the Bad class of person the same if I were a cis man or something. It is literally accomplishing the opposite of their goal lmao. So, I try push back against that, and hopefully make trans mascs feel like they have trans fem support.

And like, for all they want to say that believing in transandrophobia is a TERF dog whistle, it's like, hello? The narrative that the trans community favors AMAB trans people and walks all over AFAB trans folk is a huge TERF thing, what the fuck are you doing walking into this bear trap. Making this fantasy scenario TERFs made up to paint being trans as a patriarchal psyop a reality does nothing but invalidate me and cause serious damage to the entire community.

The weirdest thing is that a lot of it is usually trans masc or otherwise AFAB folk. I'm not saying no trans fems do it, obviously, some do and I truly, truly hate them, but so many are 'TME' folks throwing themselves off a cliff trying to be 'one of the good ones' and it's surreal and kinna disturbing to supposedly be done for my sake. But the plus side to that is that they usually need to take my voice seriously, if they don't just ignore what I have to say.

#transandrophobia #transmisandry

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catticry · 1 month ago

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‘Are those things really you? And if not, then what is?’

TMA OC + Statement | The stranger | Gosha (Tomasz Olbrych)

Tomasz Olbrych, lead singer of the 5 person band ‘Gosha’. Grew up as a kid with a love for singing, but a fear of performing for a large audience. After joining his friend’s band and becoming their lead vocalist he learnt to deal with the anxiety.

After years of successful performances with Gosha he lost himself in his stage persona and forgot who he was before their breakthrough. When he gets called in to fill in for a band last minute, he encounters a team of strange make-up artists who make sure his face is ready for the show…

Statement of Tomasz Olbrych, or Gosha, regarding his performances with his likewise named band.

Statement begins.

I used to hate performing when I was a kid. Ironic, isn't it? Considering where I am now, performing my music live in front of an even bigger audience than that little kid could have ever begun to imagine. It wasn't the acting, the singing nor the dancing I hated, it was the performance itself. In fact, I loved to sing and play my guitar back then too. I liked to do it when I was by myself, alone in my room without any prying eyes from people who had opinions. When I did plays at school, I'd always try to get the most insignificant role of the performance possible, or a task somewhere behind the scenes where the audience could not see me. I felt safer behind the thick red curtain instead of on the wide open stage.

I could only avoid participating in our shows so many times before a teacher started to notice. Everyone was expected to put in the work and perform their piece, they said. It didn’t matter how much I begged for them to exclude me, they wouldn't hear it. They’d nudge me forward and put me on the spot for everyone else to see.

That’s what I hated- all of those expectant eyes staring at me… wanting to be entertained. Surely enough the day came where the school had its little theatre show. Family members of my classmates and I flooded through the large doors to take their seats, ready to watch their children perform. Some kids acted out a short scene in homemade costumes, some of them danced to loud music in groups, and some of them showed off their skills on their favourite musical instruments.

My teacher had convinced me to play on my electric guitar and sing a simple song for our audience - despite my unenthusiasm. Something about ‘stepping outside of your comfort zone’. As I heard the teacher announce my name, I started to feel nauseous and short of breath. My hands trembled as I waited behind the curtain. I couldn’t do this, I wanted to go home! I turned to leave, but I was already ushered forward onto stage by kids behind me who were waiting for their own turns.

I stumbled forward. The stage lights directed towards the microphone were blinding and so hot they made my face break out in sweat. In a panic my eyes darted around the audience to find my mother, but I couldn't make out any of their faces against the harsh light. The fact I knew the crowd was there and that I could feel their eyes boring into me expectantly, but I couldn’t actually see them do it didn't make me feel any better. My throat closed up and my fingers curled around my guitar in a tense fist. I tried to fight back the stinging sensation I felt behind my eyes, but it was useless. They wanted to see a show... and I couldn't give them one.

It was humiliating to cry on stage in front of every kid in my year, including their family members and all of my teachers. I ran off stage as soon as I felt the tears run down my cheeks and hurried to lock myself in the bathroom.

That memory still keeps me up at night sometimes. That feeling of standing on stage, feeling so utterly wrong it hurts you at the very core of your being, while everyone stares at you like you’re insane for feeling that way.

It took me a long time to get over that feeling. If it hadn’t been for my roommate Daniel Gater who asked me to join his band when we were in our early twenties, I wouldn’t have been where I am now. I had my doubts when he first asked me, but it turned out I was a great fit for the band’s alternative style and joined them quickly after a few try-out sessions. I was the lead singer, Daniel was our guitarist, he was backed up by his boyfriend Nick Horton on the piano. Then there was our friend Joanne Avery on drums and Ezra Sampson from our school year, who was our bassist. When I played with them I felt composed, that sense of unease I felt on stage started to drift off into the background. We called ourselves ‘Gosha’ at Joanne’s request, she thought it was fun to combine our names together into one catchy band name. I didn’t really care for it, but the others were enthusiastic, so ‘Gosha’ it was.

We played together for years, eventually we got good enough to get small gigs. Sometimes people would come up to us after we finished to tell us they liked our music, or to book us for some other event. The band usually nudged me forward to talk to these people. I was the lead vocalist after all, the face of our band and the first thing people focused on when they saw us together.

We started breaking through when we were in our late twenties. At that point we decided to put some more effort into our stage presence. Daniel had always been a fan of dramatic make-up and flashy clothing so he suggested we try that. The idea of being on a stage dressed in bright clothing with make-up on my face made me a little nervous, it would surely draw extra attention. We got together and gave it a shot. Nick set me in front of a mirror and painted my face with a white face paint, and my eyes in a deep dark red. I saw my own face disappear in the mirror as he caked it with the dramatic make-up. As I watched him do his work in the mirror, I became an entirely different person in front of my very eyes. I thought it looked crazy at first, but that’s actually what I liked about it. There was absolutely nothing about this face that looked like me. This was the face of the band, the one people would think of first when talking about Gosha. I felt this surge of confidence. He was a new person who could play and sing and dance without being burdened by the weight of the audience's expectations. On stage I could be Gosha, at home I was just Tomasz.

We got a manager, Lila Price, and started playing more frequently, at bigger venues and for a larger audience. We’d even go on tours throughout the UK. The nights were long, we’d perform an entire show and then go to parties for the remainder of the night. The new lifestyle was… tough to keep up with. That’s what made me start drinking. I felt it helped me let loose on stage and give the audience the unforgettable performance they were hoping for.

Once I was out of my make-up and hunched over the toilet bowl for the entirety of the next day, I’d regret my decisions. I finally had time to myself at home and I made myself spend it in my bathroom. I wasn’t really happy when I was off stage either… my band and I didn’t hang out much outside of performances and I didn’t have any friends besides them. I’d sit in my bedroom alone and crave the attention I got when I was on stage. But those people didn’t care for Tomasz, they cared for Gosha.

One day I got a call from our manager, she told me a venue had contacted her to ask us to do a gig that very night. She gave me the details: the venue was quite new, I don't remember their name... it was something Russian I think. Apparently some band had to cancel last minute and they wanted us to fill in for them. I tried to protest, to say that a few hours wasn't enough time for us all to be ready, but she hung up on me before I could even begin to decline the offer. I hurried to call her back but it went straight to voicemail. This was so unlike her, she’d never arrange last minute gigs for us like this! After some time cursing to myself and collecting my things, I set out to drive to the location she sent me.

Sure enough, the evening rolled around and I arrived at the venue. The building looked fine. It was big, grey and unremarkable and I could see some damp stains on the outside brickwork. I saw the van we usually transport our gear in parked near the back entrance, so I figured they were probably already inside and waiting for me. I didn’t see anyone queuing up in front of the building's entrance, so I headed for the doors to register myself at the desk and hopefully find Lila.

To my relief, she was right there at the front desk talking to the woman behind it. Lila was quite short with long brown hair and usually wore her signature blue blazer, but today she seemed to have picked a more flamboyant and colourful option. She turned towards me and smiled when I greeted her. She told me everything was already set for my performance and started to lead me down the hallway that led into the backstage area. I found she was strangely upbeat for such a rushed evening, but I followed along regardless. Her unmoving optimism was so intense that I’d feel bad if I’d messed it up. I wanted to bring up how frustrated I was, but something about her voice, her smile, the way she moved just… made me feel uneasy. It was like her motions were a little too slow some times, and a little too fast the other. I brushed my feelings off and just thanked her for getting us the gig on short notice.

I expected to see my mates when I stepped into the backstage room, but they weren’t there. Lila reassured me that she already ‘took care of them’ and promptly turned around and left. What did she even mean by that? That was the moment where the frustration started to creep up on me again. It had already been a horrible few days full of hangovers, and now I was in this unfamiliar venue without any clue of what to do.

I got out my phone and dialled Daniel's number to ask where everyone was, but he did not pick up. I did my best to get here last minute while unclear on what the plan was, and they couldn’t even pick up when I called? I sat down on a slightly uncomfortable chair and decided to wait, the show didn’t start in a few hours anyway, we still had to do soundchecks too. Luckily the backstage room had drinks ready so I helped myself to… a few. It got me to calm down somewhat.

Soon after I was startled by the door swinging open with a loud thud from the handle hitting against the wall. I craned my head from my snoozing position on the chair to see who had entered so energetically. Lila was standing there in the doorway, and next to her stood two tall people who I did not recognise. They barged in without saying a word and started emptying their bags onto the vanity mirror. Behind them followed Lila who answered my questions before I could open my mouth. My make-up artists, she said. I stood up and shook my head. No, we did not have make-up artists. We applied it ourselves every show!

She told me to not worry and reassured me I was in good hands with that same optimistic smile from before. I grunted in response. At this point the evening had already been a confusing mess, so I didn’t have any words for her anyway. Lila left me backstage with these two artists I had never met before. Something about them made me feel uneasy. They were intimidating and slightly lanky. Both of them wore colourful make-up and bright clothing that looked like it was a few sizes too large for their bodies. Despite my nerves, I held out my hand for them to shake but instead of the introduction I expected, the taller one yanked me forward by my wrist. I stumbled into the vanity chair and they spun it around theatrically until I was face to face with myself in the mirror. My heart jumped, it was completely uncalled for after all!

I told them off for it, there was no need to be so aggressive about this! I was going to comply if my manager had arranged this for me somehow. I turned to snap at the taller one, but as I did I saw their face up close for the first time. It was… smooth. Unrealistically smooth. Like their skin was stretched taut over their skull without any creases in it. Make-up was plastered all over it, and at this distance I could see their faces were not what they looked like at first glance. Their eyes, their nostrils, even their smiles were painted on. It was at this moment that I realised that neither of them had spoken a single word to me so far. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, the way those eyes stared at me… or rather how they didn’t, rendered me speechless.

When they noticed my attitude towards them change, the taller one rushed to hold me down. The shorter one held up a tube of face paint to me in the mirror. My eyes darted from their face to the tube. Something about their expression made my heart sink. They held it up like it was some sort of torture tool they were about to use on me. The taller person’s fingers sank into my shoulder blades like needles, pinning me to the chair. Before I could scream, the shorter one yanked my head backwards and clamped my jaw shut. I tried to wrestle myself free, to scream for help, but it was no use. I gasped for air when I saw the short one hold up the sponge with the white paint and began to apply it to my face forcefully.

It wasn’t like any paint I’d used before. I felt a burning sensation wash over the areas they applied it to. At first I thought I was having some kind of allergic reaction to it, but that wasn’t it. It was as if my very skin was starting to boil, like the paint was being absorbed into my skin with a scorching heat. I screamed, yelled for them to stop or for someone to come help me, but it was no use. I was sure they were going to kill me, that my face was melting away like hot wax dripping down a melting statue in large gooey chunks.

The taller person increased their grip with surprising strength and looked me dead in the eyes when the shorter one finished applying the white paint. They held a finger up to their smile as the short one placed its cold bony thumbs just below my eyes and began to press. I grabbed its arms, trying to tear them away from my face but it was unmoving, like it had been bolted in place. I thought they were attempting to poke out my eyes, but when I saw the scene reflected into the vanity mirror, I saw they were applying the finishing touch to my make-up look… the dark red eye paint. They pressed harshly, etching the paint into my face. The sight of their unfaltering smile was the last thing I saw before the pain made me faint.

I woke up on the floor hours later… at least I assume it was, because as soon as I opened my eyes, Lila came in angrily gesturing to me about how I should be on stage already. I couldn’t really hear what she was saying. I felt disorientated. I looked around for the two… things that hurt me, but they were nowhere to be seen. I glanced at myself in the mirror, expecting to see my face burnt and bloody, but it was… normal, and the paint looked great. There wasn’t any injury to take note of whatsoever. I was starting to think I had dreamt the whole thing… maybe I drank too much and passed out on the floor after doing my make-up myself? Quickly, Lila began to usher me towards the stage door. I was still feeling nauseous and confused so I just complied without question. If everyone was already on stage, I couldn’t turn around and leave. There were people out here waiting for me… waiting for Gosha to start the show.

I stepped on the stage, mustering up all of the theatrical enthusiasm I could find within myself at the time. The air in the venue was thick and humid and smelt like the smoke from the haze machine. The bright stage lights hurt my eyes and they were so hot on my face I could feel sweat drip down my face. It reminded me of that awful dream. I greeted the audience enthusiastically, like I usually did at our shows. The large crowd roared with excitement. I was surprised to see how big the room was. The building had looked sizable from the outside, but I had never thought the room would be big enough to have several balconies. From what I could see every seat was taken. This made me feel another pang of nerves. Sure, I had played for large crowds, but I had never played for this many people before. I had to give this my all, I couldn’t disappoint them.

I jumped at the sudden sound of a drum and a riff off an electric guitar. I spun around to see my bandmates. I forgot we hadn’t actually met for a soundcheck tonight, but they were all set up and ready, smiling at me enthusiastically. Everything was so off. Their faces, their limbs, that dream… had it even been a dream? I was uncomfortable. Nothing made sense, but the crowd was looking at me expectantly. I felt their eyes bore into me, into my very being. I knew it, even though I couldn’t see their faces because of the lights. Despite my confusion- I had to deliver. Gosha had to deliver. I couldn’t let them know I was underprepared, I couldn’t let them know I was scared.

My band started playing our opening song, starting out with just one instrument. Nick played a steady rhythm on the piano to hook the audience and to introduce them to our sound. I followed his lead and started singing the lyrics to our song on autopilot as more instruments joined in. Ignoring my uneasiness, I put on a show as the music started picking up. We sounded so alive, and the audienced loved it. I could see they adored us. They cheered wildly for Gosha, several people even tried to reach up to the stage to touch me. Would they have wanted to touch me if I wasn’t on this stage and not in my make-up and costume? Would they want to when I was just Tomasz on the bathroom floor and at my worst?

No. Of course not. They did not love me, they loved Gosha. And I was here to play him for them.

That’s when I heard it- the saxophone. I was caught off guard - not that it didn’t sound good, the opposite actually, it really added something to our music. It was surprising to me because of the fact that no one in my band played the saxophone. I tried to spot which of us was playing it, but I couldn’t make out my friends’ faces through the thick haze of the fog machine. Then, another new instrument played. A trumpet. It was not part of our original song either. The tempo of the music started picking up, it was much faster than we had always played it before. I did my best to keep up.

A cello. A tuba. A violin. None of this was right, but the music was incredible. The crowd seemed to think the same thing. People danced. Wild hands waved in the air. They sang along to the lyrics at the top of their lungs. I started singing louder too. It was intoxicating to sing the lyrics as loudly as I could, putting all of my energy out through my vocal chords. The audience went crazy for it. They loved Gosha- they loved me. The more energy I put into the lyrics, the more wild they became. The dancing became thrashing, the waving hands started clawing, and the singing became screaming. People tried to climb over each other to get to the stage, their arms and legs contorting at strange angles. They were tearing each other up just to try and get closer to me. I felt as if something clicked within me. I smiled. They loved me. They really loved me.

As the music rose to its highest point, I gave it my all. My newfound confidence boosted my energy to really give that final note the fire it needed. I had never felt so connected to my music before. It was as if everything became one sound, the music, my band, the audience and I. When we hit the crescendo of our song, so did the screams of the crowd.

When I opened my eyes the following morning, I found myself at home, face down on my bed. I was still wearing my costume. Usually I’d wake up hungover after a gig, but today I felt great. I got up to stretch my muscles. That’s when I saw my hands. It took me a moment to register what exactly I was looking at.

Blood. They were covered in old brownish blood. My silver rings were crusted to my fingers because of the thick dried substance. I hurried to the bathroom to wash it off. As I scrubbed my hands clean I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. It was equally as bloody and I was still wearing my facepaint. No matter how much soap and water I used, the paint would not come off. My make-up was stuck there, etched into my skin like a perfect tattoo.

All I could do was grin. I recalled the night before clearly. I know what I saw. I know what I did at my performance. I remembered how loved Gosha was, how loved I was. It all made sense. Tomasz could’ve never played like I did last night. He would have been scared. He would have ran off terrified with tears running down his cheeks. But not me, no, Tomasz was dead, and in his place stood Gosha.

#magpod #the magnus archives #magnuspod #tma #tma fanart #horror #illustration #tma oc #tma the stranger #gosha

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ultramarinaa · 8 months ago

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I love how now my thing is cat tma apparently, honestly incredible

On unrelated note I had random horrible vision at work and now I have literally worst possible ending for tma 200 stuck in my head

More below due to… you know spoilers

So I saw many people enjoy the idea of John becoming blind after getting somewhere else as his connection to the eye is permanently lost

But now picture me this

They are somewhere else, but it’s not a dimension

They are stuck in horrible place in between dimensions (bc of conflicting powers, one wanting its people to stay in their original dimension, the other trying to pull them with rest of the fears and tapes)

But the fears aren’t there, they can’t die either, John is blind.

Martin lies to John to make him feel better „we are somewhere else and we are safe”, he makes up stories he tells John to make their situation feel better. He describes the dark and miserable place they are in as full of color and beauty to quiet John’s concerns. John doesn’t question it, he wants to believe it and it’s not like he can just ‚know’ anymore.

Absolutely fucking horrible. I hate this thought.

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pawberri · 1 month ago

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hi! ik its not ur job to educate anybody or anything like that so feel free to ignore this and also kill me forever but if it was possible could u explain the whole discourse around transandrophobia/transmisogyny and tme/tma etc? ive been seeing it drift around for a while but i dont think i have a full grasp on what it's actually about and looking for explanations hasnt helped me

Its a cycle that has repeated in many spaces for many years

1. Women talk about feminism

2. Minority men notice that they are mistreated in society, sometimes in a way that is related to their gender, and sometimes even by the people who call themselves feminists.

3. Men talk about this to feminists. Some feminists make theoretical frameworks that account for the issues, and some do not. Minority feminists point out that those issues are a part of a spectrum of oppression that they also experience, but many try to make concessions to their counterparts' experiences. We're in this together, after all.

4. Minority men now have the choice to accept the intersectional feminist theory that accounts for their experience or reject it. The ones who reject it make a new phrase for their Movement of Men Who Are Oppressed For Being Men. They insist feminist theory is unconcerned with their plight.

5. When minority women in their community refuse to say that the men in their community are free of any misogynistic tendecy, structural privilege, or ability to cause harm, the movement shifts to center all its dialogue around the hostility and cruelty of Minority Women. This is framed as love that is so powerful it even transcends the hate the minority man constantly receives from his beloved minority women. Any minority woman that contradicts this is lumped in with whatever type of feminist theory the minority man can point to as opposing his community, whether they actually support that or not. They claim to support the Correct Feminism and tend to appropriate the language of feminist theory but Reversed.

6. Minority women see the futility of the argument and start to just state that minority men treat them like shit. They stop playing the game. They get mad. They say angry things, even mean things. A couple of them might even say Bad things.

7. Members of the group give up the pretense and just talk about the ontological evil of minority women and how they are the main oppressor of the minority man. They will develop their own talking points about all the structural privileges minority women have over minority men and will use and abuse any woman willing to shill for their ideology. They will probably point to some other community as a tokenized Oppressed Male while ignoring the women in that same community.

7. Eventually, the idea of this being a specific minority issue mostly falls away, and minority men start to point out the ways that even the straightest whitest cissest richest man is oppressed by feminism itself. Assured that no one is below them and they can do no harm, they comfortably form spaces that will accept any man but refuse all but the most servile of women. Their rhetoric trickles down in subtler forms to help get new recruits into their movement. Each new batch of men converted to their way of thinking can simply be blamed on feminism failing to account for them, no matter how hard minority women work to include men in their theory.

Basically a long series of choices where you're able to choose "belief in structural misogyny" or "belief in my own absolute helplessness," and you choose helplessness every time. At the expense of everyone in the world that you have the power to step on

#discourse #transandrophobia stuff #long post prohably

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nintendont2502 · 2 months ago

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finished season one of tma last night ! just gonna dump my thoughts here before i start season two (so i can come back and see how wrong i was lmao)

jon's va is a PHENOMENAL actor, holy shit. like dont get me wrong theyre all amazing, but oh my GOD

speaking of, while im sure the out of universe reasoning for jon putting his entire archivussy into the statements is just bc it makes them more interesting to listen to, i still personally choose to believe that the institute purely hired him for his voice acting skills

theres something.... interesting with jons role that i cant stop thinking about. jane prentiss only referring to him as "archivist". the transcripts (or at least, the ones im using) only referring to him as "archivist". his first impulse being to grab the tape recorder during jane's attack and record the entire thing. the title of archivist is kinda beginning to feel more like... a mask i guess? something that takes over and kinda overshadows your old identity. youre not jon, youre not gertrude - youre just "archivist"

(also something about martin being forced to move into the archives (almost becoming part of the archives) and sasha literally having her identity subsumed and stolen by. whatever the fuck not!sasha is. both of those occurrences only happening because they were acting on behalf of the institute. kinda noticing a trend of identities being lost or stolen or changed because of (and maybe by) the institute, but that could just be a "i connected two dots" "you didnt connect shit" moment yk)

i fully believe the role of archivist is cursed. like one hundred percent. theres something up with that shit and theres no way in hell theyre being paid enough to make up for it

tbf theres no way in hell anyone heres being paid enough to make up for the bullshit they go through. id say they should quit but,,, i dont think they can

except maybe martin. please martin. go live a normal life and write your poetry and stop needing to corkscrew worms out of yourself

"i refuse to become another goddamn mystery" :((

i dont trust the institute. at all. i think at best theyre just a shitty workplace willing to turn a blind eye to some things for the good of their research, and at worst theyre actively hiding something or lying about what they are. theres just been. so many small details that rub me the wrong way yk - the archive team not being allowed to research cases that involve the lukas family in case they pull funding, sasha mentioning research students testing artefacts, the way MAG 37/Burnt Offering starts with jason begging the institute to save his son before acknowledging that theyll never do anything (makes me wonder how many statements they read and dismiss. how many statements they never read. how many people have died because of them?) - and i mean fuck just the general regard for employee health and safety seems to be non existent. also. yk. someone in the building probably murdering gertrude. thats a big thing

worms and rot and decay in the walls and a dead body in the basement. i dont trust them at all

this is definitely just me picking up what the episode was clearly laying out but holy shit gertrudes death feels *wrong*. all this build up, all the signs pointing towards it being something supernatural (the archive being filled with veins (?) in The Dreamers, the ritual site filled with photos of her in Burnt Offering, jane directly threatening the archivist in her statement (which wouldve been gertrude at the time if im not mistaken)) and then its just?? a gun?? and no one finds her body for a year???

that being said the mental image of jane and her merry band of worms sneaking into the archive just to shoot gertrude with a Regular Ass Gun is fucking hilarious

the only episode that really got to me was A Sturdy Lock, and i think that was just bc i got unlucky enough to listen to it on the one night i was home alone. woke up at 4 am, stared at my doorknob for a few minutes and forced myself to go back to sleep

favourite statement is probably a tie between The Dreamers (i love how perfectly it captured the distorted, off, slightly... disturbing vibes i get in my dreams, and as someone who was really vivid really weird dreams - it hit close to home) and Hive (bc holy SHIT jons acting in this was insane. jesus christ. the writing was incredible too holy fuck)

favourite *episode* is Infestation, just bc im a sucker for hearing Jon out of character (for lack of a better term - its fuckin *weird* hearing him emote. i love it) and i love getting more of the other archive staff (especially martin. martin my beloved martin my light more martin forever please and thank you). also jon admitting that he does believe most of the statements and hes fucking terrified of them hits like a truck when youve been making "jon doesnt believe something - take a shot" jokes for the last 38 episodes like i was

jons such a bitch /aff i love him. pathetic wet cat of a man

i fully expect him to try and kill someone next season. potentially himself. hopefully not martin

leitner and your fuck ass books when I Fucking Get You

where is sasha. where is my girl. give her back.

mahtiin :(((

#if anyone spoils *anything* on here i will kill you btw :)#im having so much fun going in blind #jamming puzzle pieces together #me.txt #tma #the magnus archives #tma podcast

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