show number 3 was EPIC

2024.12.04

I bought this top from Shein close to six years ago (hey shut up Shein was great for a closeted trans girl trying out things) and until tonight I had never worn it out of the house. And a lot of the compliments I got throughout the evening were about how good it looked on me, which yeah, not disagreeing 😜 💅

But on a seriouser note, another lot of compliments was about my set and I’m so very happy about that. Talking about and sharing my trans experience on stage in a standup comedy setting is a great way for me to feel like I do my part, as small as it is, to bring my community to the light and bring out awareness with laughter and good vibes.

The crowd last night was amazing. All the comedians were brilliant. And the atmosphere was absolutely fucking incredible, full of joy and allyship and love. With everything that’s happening in the world from the US to the UK to France to even Spain now, last night was validating as fuck, not just as a comedian or a transgender woman, but as a human being. And I felt so good today, you guys. So good. After weeks of depression, it’s a breath of fresh air and I needed this, so much.

Thank you AtoMIC Comedy Barcelona for nurturing this safe space for women and LGBTQIA+ comedians in Barcelona ❀❀❀ This AtoMIC baby is very grateful.

ashes (poetry scraps #15)

2024.11.07

I don’t know what it is
I don’t know what it isn’t
That for some reason
I am not worthy of your love
I don’t know what it is
I don’t know what it isn’t
That for some reason
I am not worthy of my own
Maybe this is the answer to that
Maybe the mirror cracked
When I looked at it
Presumptuous and vain
Thinking I was ready
Maybe the mirror cracked
To show me not the way
But my distortions
When I knew them by heart
and thought them conquered
Presumptuous and vain
Running not towards light
But false reflections
When the mirror cracked
And I realized that for all my efforts
I would never reach
When the mirror cracked
And my distortions exploded
And my hopes were shattered
Into as many razor-sharp shards
Presumptuous
Vain
Vanquished
I don’t know what it is
That makes me recoil
The reflection showed a broken path
And I fell
And maybe this time
I am tired
And maybe this time
I don’t get up
And maybe this time
I learn the bitter lesson
I don’t know what it is
I don’t know what it isn’t
That makes me so
But the die is cast
And it is faith gone
And it is hope lost
Because the mirror cracked
And the light was snuffed
And I got lost
In the ashes of dead dreams

fue como un adios (fragmentos poéticos #14)

2024.11.06

y por si es la Ășltima vez que nos escribimos,
rayo de sol entre las nubes mĂĄs oscuras,
si este hilo de Ariadna que te dĂ­ acaba roto
por culpa de los ladrillos agrietados
de esos muros que construyo a mi alrededor
que sepas que nunca te quiero olvidar a ti tampoco

me impediré buscar tu nombre en aeropuertos
en canciones o poemas
en hilos, en conversaciĂłn, en redes
ciega serĂ© para mejor despertar, algĂșn dĂ­a
con gratitud intacta, y paz, y amor
anhelo y esperanza de un corazĂłn abierto de nuevo

a poetry brothel…

2024.10.05

I went to something super special tonight, called prostĂ­bulo poĂ©tico, or poetry brothel. It took place in an old basement, reminiscent of a speakeasy, or maybe more accurately a Spanish interpretation of one, or one of those old-school interwar salons full of drunkards and writers, dreamers and hedonists (but aren’t we all one or the other?) with all the accoutrements of seduction and decadence, that feels both clandestine and deliciously subversive.

The event is hosted by a Madame, (obviously) who introduces her girls one by one, before they recite a piece of poetry. Then, as patrons mingle, drinks are bought and cigarettes are lit (indoors! another act of rebellion), if one doesn’t have a token, one can play dice with the Madame for one. The token is an extra, the price for asking one of the poets in a vis-a-vis, a personal recital.

In exchange for the token, the chosen poet takes you to a secluded corner, away from the crowd, and after a brief conversation, she asks you to close your eyes, and whispers a poem to your ear, just for you. Then she releases you and you both rejoin the others, and she wanders, waiting for the next one who will call to her.

It was godamn fantastic.

poetry scraps #13

2024.09.24

No one
No one’s first thought in the morning
No one’s good morning text
No one’s “tell me about your day”
No one’s “this made me think of you”
No one’s “welcome home”
No one’s “I love you”
No one to fill the void
No one’s someone
Invisible
Broken
Alone
Watching the sea erase
My footprints in the sand
Til not a trace remains
That I was ever here
But there’s no one
To notice

three little words (poetry scraps #12)

2024.09.23

how is it that three little words can make a heart feel so big
yet make a soul feel so small
a cry for connections impossible
unanswered prayers lost in the depths
though the heart stays afloat, fighting against the current
pretending to swim as it tries not to drown
elated yet crushed at the same time
wondering why it keeps bidding for attention
desperate compulsion born of desperate thoughts
three little words that carry so much weight
but they’re so deep inside it can’t be freed
dark waters rise under the shadow of an indifferent moon
and the cold light of distant stars
the heart feels
but the soul knows
and pain overcomes everything
until my feet touch the bottom
and I can finally stand and breathe
on Lethe’s shore, the final crossing
forgetting everything and everyone
forgetting these three words
even existed
maybe then, peace



fragmentos poéticos #11

2024.09.17

Alma rebelde
Y salvaje
Que se libra
De cualquier jaula
Alma bella
Y brillante
Que ilumina
El mĂĄs oscuro de los dĂ­as
Ojos que reflejan el mundo
Con sed de horizontes lejanos
Anhelo de tierras desconocidas
AlegrĂ­a del movimiento perpetuo
Sin anclajes
Solo quizĂĄ, un hilo
Invisible y delicado
Que te di como Ariadna
Confiando en que no lo soltarĂ­as
Un hilo precioso y frĂĄgil
Uniendo nuestras almas
Mientras espero tu regreso
Pajarito salvaje
No seré nunca jaula ni anclaje
Sino nido, abierto y cĂĄlido
Un refugio seguro
Siempre que quieras descansar

poetry scraps #6

2024.09.01

Thoughts racing
Like windmills
Heart rushing through,

Don Quixote under spell
Brain, a futile Sancho
Trying to bring it to reason
Dry plains under a harsh sun
Dreaming a promise of rain
A Summer marked by falls
A Fall that begins with standing up again
Picking up the pieces
The endless cycle
This is not the end
Just a new beginning
Again,
And again,
And again…

Niagara Falls, September 1942

2024.08.21

Yann chuckled.
“Treasure hunt, uh? Coming from you Tim, I’m surprised. Didn’t think your king needed another sapphire on his crown!”
Sir Timothy smiled and shook his head.
“Gold, Yann. Gold that’s been waiting, lost in the wilderness.”

poetry scraps #5

2024.08.05

Hey girl, it’s me again
Always thinking too much,

Always afraid to overstep
Wondering about that leap of faith

And we seem to have it good
Around you I feel alive again
But I can’t see what’s on the road

What’s next lies behind a curtain
All the banter and no pushback
Still I’m never sure if you like me back
Sometimes curled up I let my mind wander

But then I call it back, too afraid it’s a goner
I thought such fears were in the past
I’d given up, that die was cast
I thought l’d never get another chance at this
Life was always less hit and more miss

But here I am, butterflies in my head
Wondering if fate is really this kind
Doubting the truth of what I see
Wondering
If you really like me