1. |
They Know What I Am
04:50
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She desired him to serve her, and protect her temple,
And said: “Wish you might be a boy forever.”
He promised to be true, and said: “If I’m lying
May the love I fall in be my last love.”
He did fail [...]
Attis was maddened, and thinking his chamber’s roof
Was falling, fled for the summit of Mount Dindymus.
Now he cried: “Remove the torches”, now he cried:
“Take the whips away”: often swearing he saw the Furies.
He tore at his body too with a sharp stone,
And dragged his long hair in the filthy dust,
Shouting: “I deserved this! I pay the due penalty
In blood! Ah! Let the parts that harmed me perish!
Let them perish!” cutting away the burden of his groin
And suddenly bereft of every mark of manhood.
His madness set a precedent
(Ovid, Fasti, Book IV)
The market is no place for the fear in my eyes
The market is no place for my kind at all
Braids ripped loose and clothes torn open
Flat chest and rouged cheeks for all to see
Half man and half exile
An ass fucked faggot with no place to go
Kept like a woman by a man with coin to spare
Before his fists drove me away.
I'll always deserve this
They know
They see me
Long hair and red cheeks and plucked face and smooth chest
I feel like a lie pulled into being
Broken since childhood, cocksucker all manhood
A collection of holes to be used without care
He beat me and the blows felt like kisses
More than I deserve and better than I can earn
Cast into the gutter, a leaking obsession
A cum dump with bruises fit only for worms.
They know what I am
They know what I am
They see me they hate me they know me they fear me they touch me they hate me they beat me
To know is to kill
Can't hide from myself, can't hide from the others
A creeping despair, I know myself covered
In shame and in filth and the handprints of real men
A half girl disgusting and fit to be burned
Fit to be burned
This marketplace should be the death of me
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2. |
They Come Not to Worship
03:04
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They come not to worship
Though our goddess is here
We come for their coin
They come just to stare
We dance
We don't dance for the crowd
We dance for Cybele
My hair in the dirt
And my eyes on fire
I can feel her love
In the scars on my loins
Pearls before swine
Deep magic for fools
I swirl and I dive
And they'll never understand
Slack jaws hard dicks
Eyes wide hands tight
Set light by beauty
Beyond their tiny minds
We shine with the beauty
Of Attis made woman
We shine with the truth
Of bodies made our own
We dance
This marketplace is beneath us.
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3. |
She Reached Out Her Hand
04:30
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She reached out her hand
Hunched and crammed into a corner
Dust and crowds and sadness hides her
Misery etched on her face
Beneath the rouge, above this place
Nothing of the crowd in her
Something made divine in her
A stray hair stands out on her cheek
No reason she should be this meek
She reached out her hand
I know her not to be a man
The goddess in me knows her better
Than she's ever known herself
I crouch down with the mountains ringing
Leopards singing in my mind
The Mother of the mountains has me
Reach out my hand
Reach out my hand
Through crowds and dust I watched her dance
A shining creature from beyond
The world of shame and shadows
Where I've had to live for oh so long
Her hair whips round in golden trails
Her tiny breasts, her perfect nails
She's something so much more than I have ever
Tried to be and failed
Something quite divine in her
A goddess brought to ground for us
The crowd looks down and sneers
As she circles with her begging bowl
I see the same looks on their faces
They keep for me in marketplaces
I look up, she crouches down and
Takes up my hand
She takes up my hand
We stand together hand in hand
Eyes locked together, mind to mind
Reflected in each other, heart to heart
Bodies calling to each other as the recognition sets us both aflame
We know each other not to be what this marketplace says we should be
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4. |
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What is a womanly chasm to you Baetica Gallus>
This tongue should lick the groins of men.
Why cut off your dick with a piece of Samian tile, if the cunt was so attractive to you?
Your head should be castrated.
For though you are allowed with the groin of a Gallus
Nevertheless you cheat the sacred Cybele.
In the mouth you are a man.
(Martial, Epigram LXXXI)
Footstep after footstep she leads me through the dust
Now yellow hair weaving trails alongside her's
We dance by day we dance by night to drums and beating hearts
Our bodies move in worship of our goddess and each other
I taste her as my feet move
I feel her as my arms swing
The wind in my hair as her tongue in my mouth
The beat of the drum is a rhythm in my ass
We're as hard as her mountains in each other
As hard as her lovers
As lost as her lovers
My tongue in the cleft of the scar left by what she gave so willingly
Her hands in my hair pressing down as my throat swells to take her
Her prick in my mouth sweeter than any man's
Salt honey clear as dew on my face as she leans down to kiss me
In my mouth she is no man
In her mouth I am her woman
We dance a new dance whenever we touch
With our sisters we make a new language
With our love
We dance a new dance
We love a new love
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5. |
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The crowd swells and stares
They know
Nothing of us
There’s joy in this crowd
There’s joy in our dance
Some connection is made
And they see us as we see ourselves
The patterns we weave
Bring meaning from their deeper selves
The great mother is with us
And her joy dances in their eyes
But for one
Lust conquers joy
The need to possess
Anger and longing
Eyes full and grotesque
He beckons to me
His purse full and fat
I feel hunger
He feels need
Transaction sealed
I lead him to the tent
His erection feels
Like a statement of intent
He touches me
With a stink of desperation
He talks to me
Like a fucking apparition
He touches me
He touches me
He aches to fuck
Someone lesser than he
He wants to feel
A goddess's asshole
He'll never see
Anything but an object
He'll never feel
Anything but this tightness
He's inside me
And I could never hate him more
His face twists as he comes
A tribute to the treasure in my asshole
And she's behind him
A smile on her face
Her hand in his purse
Like his on my dick
A fist full of gold for a fistful of semen
A fist full of gold for a fistful of semen
We'll take what we need from you
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6. |
The Reason of the Galli
04:11
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I hold my sisters close
I know what we need from each other
We lie interwoven like the finest clothes
Our bellies and our hearts full
With what we have brought home
All roads lead to Rome
I have never called the city home
I've never known belonging
They whisper in my ears
As they fumble at my chest
Their hands across my body
As their words set light my mind
We'll paint the streets with fresh blood
In our mistress's name
And on our shoulders bear her effigy
Set fire to our shame
Touch me there and touch me harder
Put it inside me I love to feel you there
My thoughts dissolve
In a whirlwind of hands and tongues
Sweet liquor in my mouth
A goddess in my ass
My prick hard and pumping
As our bodies melt into each other
The knowledge of their flesh
Is a knowledge of my flesh
Is a knowledge of our goddess
Cybele calls us and names us and claims us and makes us her bearers
We'll dance and fuck and bleed and fight for her
We'll beg and steal and fuck and love for ourselves
We're her girls in the streets and her girls in her temple
Drink deep drafts of madness, that's reason to us
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7. |
A Masquerade Barbarian
03:14
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And still another offers up his genitals.
To please the goddess by his manhood’s mutilation,
He makes himself a half-man as a shameless gift.
The source of seed is hacked away to give her food
And help her grow from his abundant flow of blood.
Both sexes fail to please the goddess’ sanctity,
So he retains a gender in between the two:
He is no longer he, yet cannot be a she.
The heavens’ prize is won by wounds that do most harm.
(Prudentius, The Crown of Martyrs, Poem X)
These motherfuckers love a show
They love to see blood flow
Half man soft skin faggot freaks
They love to see us twirl and shriek.
The goddess perched up on our shoulders
They take this as an act of worship
A little show to make them feel they understand the threat they feel inside
This shit means nothing to us
Throw us coins and throw us baubles, the blood is cheap and prayers just babble.
Broken tile made sharp one side
The cut will bleed but heal tomorrow
Scatter blood across the crowd
Show them their idea of frenzy
True worship they could never take
The eager mouth, the asshole gape
This pantomime is all for them
A masquerade barbarian
The catacombs are where we meet
The catacombs are where we worship
The catacombs are for our mysteries
Beneath the earth, beneath their view
Girldick hard and proud as any votive statue in a niche
We get down on our knees and worship
Open mouths and assholes say our prayers
Hairless, small, ball-less, scarred
Hated, loved, defiant and meek
This flesh is ours to love with meaning
This flesh illegible
This flesh unreadable
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8. |
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Linen wrapped tight
Pressed on skin already soft
Made new, reborn through subtle herbs
Their bitterness lost
In budding breasts and flesh relearned
Just one more thing
To leave that boy behind.
Their absence never marked
Their loss nothing to mourn
This barely counts as sacrifice
The goddess claims
A flesh so pitiful and poor
A manhood never wanted
Waste flesh for the catacombs
I'll wrap my balls in soft cloth
And leave them for the goddess to devour
[Smoke wafts up
A haze descends
Cold metal clamps down at my crotch]
Cold. Metal. Clamps. Hard.
[Visions rise before my eyes
Cybele beckons from her altar
Cold sharp stone heavy in my hand.]
Sharp. Stone. Bites. Clean.
Just one cut
Just one cut
A blade like a lover, holds me softly
A blade like a lover, quick and sharp
A blade like a lover, parts me like the sea
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9. |
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Breathing smoke
...skin flushed and eyes wide and...
...wounds fresh and vision clear and...
No pain, no thoughts, no terror in the dark
In the tunnels my sisters make obeisance to our marks
Scars worn with pride and wounds glow with ecstasy
This ritual, this offering not blood only love
Our mother calls
A vision of the goddess
An offering of manhood not bloodshed nor flesh
Meat turned to metaphor and buried in fresh salt
Our balls freely given, not sacrifice but boon
Granted our womanhood under mountainside moon
She takes my face in her hands, first among equals
I love all my sisters but it’ll always be her
Who saw me and saved me in that marketplace drear
Who taught me I could be much more than I feared
The world swims and faces in the darkness come closer and kiss me with a passion rarely known
Insides and outsides and fingers and tongues
My sisters inside me my skin shivers cold
Sweet honey on our bodies glowing soft in the smoke
Sweet nectar in our mouths dripping down to our breasts
And this is a place of becoming
And Attis
wakes.
Wakes in the arms
of the mother goddess of all gods.
Calm of frenzy
Awake
Fresh from cutting, fresh from dancing,
voice clear.
(Catullus, 63)
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Without History Wales, UK
Without History is one trans girl, her bass guitars and her looper. Exploring trans history through neofolk and post punk inspired music these songs try to imagine the lives of our trans ancestors in all their messy queer detail.
Without History recommends:
Left/Folk and A Blaze Ansuz curated compilation in aid of Residential School survivors on which one of my forthcoming songs appears.
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