puck-jay

Latest Posts by puck-jay

“I haven’t cried since I started T” weird way to confess you’re not plucking your nose hair

Had a lack-of-soup induced panic attack now I worship the gods of old

Can we and by that I mean can trans allies stop assuming people’s transition goals please???

My trans to do list looks like 1) get hairier 2) dress like I’m in a fantasy cartoon 3) sleep in grey sweatpants and no shirt on. Enough with the fitness advice.

The first note on that was a trump supporter commenting “What” and low key I love that like. Hello conservative man on tumblr what are you doing here but also I hope me confessing my hormone induced hornyness for men made you feel welcome :)

The tBoy equivalent of ovulating is week 2 post shot and the third week is spent unfollowing all the hot men I followed bc of a thirst trap

The tBoy equivalent of ovulating is week 2 post shot and the third week is spent unfollowing all the hot men I followed bc of a thirst trap

Writing year 1 : Let me open a word document maybe my notes app

Writing year 3 to 9 : here are all my different apps I use them for character sheets and writing and formatting and timelines and

Writing year 10 : let me open a word document and maybe my notes app

So if you are normal, here, you should have said something like, WHAT???

Me, in my very serious uni paper

What I say in my paper: it cannot be said that emotional and moral complexity was absent from literature before the psychological novels

What I mean : if you EVER talk shit about my boy Claudas I will personally fight you.

What I say in my paper : this is an oversimplification that could almost be considered incorrect because of the lack of sources and hard evidence but it allows for a succinct explanation and a clearer point

What I mean : my mom is going to read this and if you’re making me write out the actual explanation for this you’ll be the one picking up the phone when she doesn’t understand

Today on things I wish I could actually say in my masters dissertation :

The religious texts sound weird because they are full of references like and then THIS GUY! showed up, and THIS GUY! is clearly super important, because he is hyped up for a full paragraph but then you get absolutely no detail on THIS GUY! it's just, And then it was HIM, wink wink. You know. HIM. THIS GUY WE DEFINITELY ALL KNOW ABOUT.

My dissertation if I didn't have to be a professional about it : you liked unreliable narrators, you loved dissecting author bias, what if I told you there was a THIRD SECRET THING THAT'S EVEN BETTER!!

When I say "I am a writer, but I'm a researcher first", one would assume that means I write smarter than other people.

It just mean my coffee shop AU and PWP comes with an attached bibliography.

Intro post, hi! Hello!

I'm puckjay, he/him sometimes he/they, trans and somewhere on the aroace spectrum (I usually just say queer)

I'm a creative writing student, and I specialize in classic literature (so medieval and before)

Other than that I write mostly prose poetry, theater and sometimes novel-like things (and fanfictions). Currently I'm working on toxic gay wizards because I support gay wrongs.

Other than that I'm a huge ttrpg fan.

That's most of my personality right there.

Spill, O muse, the tea of Achilles's anger issues

"Stop that. You do not flirt with me." "What? Why?"

The answer was, "because I already like you when you pretend to not not like me", and all of the humiliating consequences sweet words would have on his heart and his dignity.

"Because you're bad at it," is what he said.

I have been running to you since my first steps I have been kissing you since my first kiss My Ithaca

"You like them?"

"Yeah. They make the place look alive."

"I'll try extra hard to keep them alive then [...] I'm not much of a green thumb."

Around them, pothos happily climb around on the walls, exotic plants thrive and orchids flower. Less care had been poored into a King's garden.

Noo little German boy do not seek creative guidance based in literary theories that have been disproved since the seventies

It doesn't MATTER if there is a WEIRD ELLIPSE in the TOXIC WIZARD YAOI novel I am writing for FUN. IT'S FOR FUN. THEY HAVE MAGIC BIRDS AND PLAY FANTASY ROLLER DIRBY. I CAN PUT ALL THE WEIRD ELLIPSES I WANT. I CAN ADD WEIRDER WORST ELLIPSES ON PURPOSE. NOTHING MATTERS.

for you and your warped reflection

So writers joke a lot about "drinking the tears of our readers", but I want to be so honest with you when I tell you that making you cry isn't our real goal. Making you feel is.

Kicking your feet? Giggling? Can't stop smiling? And yes, crying? Feeling anything, everything. That's our goal. That means we did The Job.

On being gay (a poem I regret writing for class)

I am afraid someone will know. I am afraid they will smell the rotten thing in my mouth, on my hands, between my legs.

I'd like to proclaim this rotting growth is dying under bigotry and insults. But I grew around hatred, leaving a hollow shape that looks like kids carrying signs they can't read, holidays for mass I get dirty looks at, "sodomite" the worst thing to be called. My parched broken pieces embrace all too eagerly the sweet poison that smells like cow shit and magnolia.

"What have you done to my little girl", the sentence hovers, unsaid, the knife that is yet to be thrown, that already left a hole in my stomach. "What have you done to my little girl," dad, I'm going back to Ithaca.

Beyond the sea are the best part of me, the haircuts head in the bathtub that stinks of cheap dye and the tattoos I wanted when I was eleven. Behind the sea it's New York in 86.

It's unfurnished apartments, empty cupboards. It's glitter and luxury just a five fingers discount away, envy like ice cube in the spine, anger towards all the honest people who don't convert prices into week-worth-of-groceries. It's sewing in a makeshift workshop when you don't know how to sew, under the careful guidance of a makeshift mother. It's the teeth, the biting, the original sin behind the masks of decency. It's ambition, desperate, relentless, bloody.

I see it, my Ithaca, on a stage in Marseille, and in Arial 12, black and white, on a flimsy piece of paper ; someone saw a man love someone like me and thought,

"This love needs glitter, warm lights and electric guitars."

This poem deserves a steady voice, precise gestures and a perfect mastery that gives an air of clumsiness. It is so sincere, so raw, that tenderness, it needs a ballet of smokes and lights.

Jean Genet loved Abdallah Bentaga and it's like a broken raft in my odyssey. Because I too am a painted creature obsessed with my own spectacle, and when Jean loves Abdallah, it's like he loved me too. 

Even if we need makeup to conquer the unthinkable, the grotesque of what we are. Even if our Venus got murdered on a moldy mattress in a cheap motel ; on stage, in front of a full audience, an old man almost touches an adonis. Even if a man lays with a man the way one lays with a woman, they both did something terrible. Even if we are out too late at night, we go home bruised or we don't go home ; on stage, in front of a full audience, an old man almost touches an adonis.

But maybe we are wrong and they are right to try to save us. Maybe God is real and he hates me. Maybe there is something profoundly treacherous and vile inside of me. Maybe I will have regrets and admit that Oh wasn't Troy that much better? Wasn't there in this time of bloodshed, some kind of comfort? Oh the honors, oh the glory!

But there is Philippe Torreton, at night, in the theater, under warm lights and glitter showers. And holy shit how hot are we, we the faggots, when we love each other on stage. How fabulous for a man to love an artist, how tender, for a man to love a boy trying to kill himself.

I recognized Ithaca when I picked my name. I disown her every time I introduce myself.

"Antharès? Where is that from? Is it greek?"

I answer well actually ehm basically it's it's a star in ehm a constellation and ehm well it shines brighter than the others.

Anthares, it's Trans, actually. Just like Noah, Aiden, Eliott, Alex, Sacha, Ariadne and Jasmine. To the mean laughter waiting to happen, that's the answer. It's trans, and when I picked it it was meant to be obvious. To tell the whole world, fuck the tides, fuck election day, fuck the groundswells, I'm going back to Ithaca.

Not as Captain, but as a half baked writer not old enough to be a fuck up yet, in all the the stain of my obsessive perfectionism, my obsessive ambition, my obsessive pessimism. In all the forbiddance of what happens in my bedroom.

I count the coins of my entertainer's allowance that I put in kraft envelopes for the black priest that will mutilate the divine feminine off of my body. And all of Ithaca's ghosts count with me. They smell of dirty streets and hospitals, they are made of glitter and seafoam. If they send me to hell I'll suck Lucifer's dick like it's the body of Christ and I'll know if angels are circumcised.

Michelangelo saw David in a marble cube, and he saw me too like I was always there. I sculpt the curve of my shoulders with a needle, the flat of my chest with a kitchen knife. I learn my voice and how I smell. I learn with the sweet words of the poets how you say sweet words to a man when you are a man. From boys I learn to be a boy, how to behave and what to say ; what is a man on stage on what do I need to do to be applauded.

I make myself with powders and push ups and birthday presents a body Argos will recognize. I was always there, like the flour before the bread, like the grapes before the wine, like the mud before the home. I am Pygmalion. I am Galatea. My hands are the divine creation. I am going back to Ithaca.

I have been running to you since my first step

I have been kissing you since my first kiss

My Ithaca

Today I made up sad edits of sharks in my head WHY YOU ASK BECAUSE OF A WRITING PROJECT MY FRIEND TOLD ME WASN'T THAT GOOD it was. It was that good and that sad. She told me there was a fix it fic in her computer where they just ate poutine and it made me cry harder

I wept as Cesar wept, I too was the same age as Alexander. Cesar had yet to conquer the world, I had yet to kiss a boy.

College : don't worry this is going to be so easy just follow the class schedule

The class schedule : so here's a list of dates with titles attached to them. Some dates have hours. Most don't. No title matches any of the classes on the official sheet. Each class could be on any of the three different campuses and 5 partner institutions that work with the college. There are also secret classes that weren't mentioned in this email. FOLLOW MEEEEEEE!!

truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.

Less magic schools. More magic universities. Unlearn the simplified models of your secondary education. Discover how to reference scrolls written by a wizard possessed by a different wizard. Identify bias in the voices that whisper from beyond the veil. Have your institution be accused of promoting a Merlinist agenda. Become addicted to energy potions.

I don't need a sugar daddy I need a very rich excentric person to have a fleeting but powerful fancy in my art so they give me a ton of money and when they go on to become a notorious historical figure I am but a footnote on their Wikipedia article saying we had a passionate friendship and maybe a scandalous affair, and weather or not we did hook up is hotly debated amongst scholars.

does everyone like my wizard idea