’Cos I’m mad slow these days when it comes to blogging, this is from September 29th at the south-west end of the perimeter road where it joins onto the square-paved area I think was used for parking planes. I needed a sitdown (thx chronic fatigue or whatever’s been non-consensually buttfucking me for the last two months) and “Ooo! isn’t the sky big as!” Photo obviously doesn’t do it justice but, too big to see all at once, and, so big I feel like I’m falling up into it, is the kind of massiveness which is usually reserved for deserts and the outback.
And separately, yeah, I do have other things I would blog about besides endless photos out at Tempelhofer Feld, but I’m tired and quite a bit can’t be fucked.
From my Sunday wander, where I also saw the DVOR, a Kestrel or Hawk or something, which I’ve seen and heard a couple of times before, and this time followed me to my usual southern hangout area. Also might have found a spot where they did a murder, all feathers and bones in a little pile. And found the sheep! In the bird sanctuary. The birds are well stealthy hiding in the grass.
Seen on Columbiadamm yesterday on the way for my daily-ish stroll around Tempelhofer Feld. Madness. Iridescent ultramarine with airbrush ghost flames spewing off the front wheel arches all the way to that tight spoiler! Those chrome rims! That body kit referencing the 2001 Opel Astra OPC X-Treme prototype! (Shoulda been xXx-Treme. also Vin Diesel approves.) It’s got Color Concept and Nightmare Custom decals on the back wheel arch, who might be responsible for this absolute delight of an early-’00s import tuner scene whip, but no real trace of either in the internet. Possibly my fave piece of hoonage in Berlin? I’d steal it. “See man driving a German Whip.”
Speaking of walking instead of riding, I walked my bike (on its autumn cyclocross tires and wheels with the very loud freehub) to Tempelhofer Feld yesterday, with snacks (flatbread with yoghourt harissa, duqqa, and parsley) and a book for some quality putting in the steps and lazing under a tree time.
I went to where Aisha and Arwa hang out (that’s a novel reference), south side under the trees and lucky me found a tree I could lean against. This photo’s from earlier in the week when I also went there and walked a blister into my left heel, but it captures the autumn mood when the sun’s lower and it’s the last days of heat and blue sky.
Been thinking about it for a long while now. My biggest fear is I’ll get back into swimming, and start riding my bike without socks because triathlon.
I haven’t had running as a part of my training routine since Adelaide, and even that was mostly scuffing around the South Terrace parklands. But I think I enjoyed it? Anyway, not really dancing anymore and certainly not going to morning ballet class. The last time I went to one of those was mid-2018, and the last time I was in a dance studio was early-2019. So my bones are not getting the workout they need, and as much as I have superhero bones (and apparently I did not blog about my epic bone density), cycling is guaranteed to not do the job.
So, running? And off-road / trail / cross-country running ’cos my deep cyclocross love cannot abide anything else. All of which has to wait until this so far several weeks of chronic fatigue fucks the fuck off and I can do more than walking. The colour of these shoes though is way more mad hectic in real life.
I feel like the inability of white Germans to say the Race word is probably why the rest of us don’t want to talk to them about racism.
What you on about?
Reni Eddo-Lodge’s 2017 book Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race got translated into German in 2019 as Warum ich nicht länger mit Weißen über Hautfarbe spreche. ‘Race’ mysteriously becoming ‘Hautfarbe’, skin colour. When I first saw this (like 2-ish years ago, when it was first translated), a friend said Rasse sounds very strong and would turn people off from reading it. Apparently because white Germans associate the word ‘race’ with Nazis. I strained a muscle side-eyeing at that.
I’m not aware of the full convo she had in Berlin in 2019 when asked about this, beyond her saying she was ok with the translation because she wouldn’t want to be associated with Nazis through the German word, and the audience being dissatisfied with the title. Which again, to my mind, plays into caring for white Germans feelings over the very long, multigenerational history of BIPoC Germans and specifically Afrodeutsche and Turkish-, Kurdish-, Arab-Germans who have to suck up white Germans discomfort with facing race and their own racism. And not even mentioning Jewish-Germans there ’cos we all know how white Germans’ discomfort played out there.
When I titled this, “It’s Rasse, Not Hautfarbe” I mean the title of the book. And yes, it’s also about skin colour, and a bunch of other things that combine in various shiteful ways. Just that when race becomes specifically defined as and reduced to skin colour what that in fact means is ‘skin colour which is not white, or perceived as not belonging to a white person‘.
The dead staunch Nadine Chemali said, “Tell anyone in Australia you’re an arab or wear a hijab down any suburban area and tell me we are white.” while talking about this, a conversation that’s been had in Australia for a long time now. It feels to me that this inability to say ‘race’ in Germany, in conjunction with redefining skin colour as race, pushes that whole conversation of pale-as-fuck and what it means to be ‘white-passing/appearing and not white’ far down the line. They’re digging a deep hole out of which we’re going to lose another generation of time to because white Germans refuse to learn from people who aren’t white.
I started on pills in Tāmaki Makaurau, Aotearoa (Auckland, New Zealand) way back when I was a young thing. A daily combo and I did not enjoy swallowing them. In Naarm (Melbourne) my best ever doctor gave me the choice of pills or injections. I knew about injections but didn’t think they were available and was very immediate unequivocal yes on them. First shot in my arse in my upstairs room in a flat in Carlton.
I did injections all the way through VCA, and all the way till I came back from some overseas trip in maybe 2005. They were perfect for those long travels, the same doctor — or when he left, his replacement — would give me a 6–9 month prescription of them and I’d bundle them up with the needles and syringes, taking up hardly any space. And I never had to use the letter they provided for if I got questioned in Customs about all those drugs.
Returning to Australia with a half-year supply remaining, I found that injections were no longer available. Which had sent the entire trans (-gender, -women, I forget what we were called back then) community into a spin. And six months later I joined that spin. I went on multiple different pills which had random unenjoyable side-effects — despite my doctors assuring me they were “all the same”. And then I moved to Kaurna Land (Adelaide) and because of differing State legislations I had to face the gatekeeping of the Gender Clinic for the third time.
Back in time a moment. Immediately prior to seeing the doctors in both Auckland and Melbourne, I’d tried to get into the Gender Clinics, only to be very stringently denied. Stories for another time. What’s pertinent though is both doctors I saw who did prescribe me hormones either wobbled the interpretation of the law or lol fuckit toppled the cunt. Both were very much of the harm reduction school. Not so lucky in Radelaide. Where the skeevy predatorial extremely conservative and heteronormative old codger and his matching twin old cunt presided (fun story, they still do).
I could have just got a flight back to Melbourne to score a repeat script (with what money, exactly?), but decided I wanted to attempt the surgery route again. And endured some pretty fucking humiliating humiliation at those two’s hands. Which also eventually got me an official hormone prescription for the first time in my life. More manky pills which semi-worked along with manky side-effects, in a city which, at that time, had effectively no trans healthcare. Though I did find probably the one good doctor (who I took out for a night at SO36 when he came to Berlin).
And then Berlin. Also astoundingly lacking in trans healthcare. I mean it does exist, but primarily for white trans men and mascs, and the same tired cis-het-normative expectations. I went through so many truly awful GPs (what gets called Hausarzt), and endocrinologists to get similarly truly shite pills which were slowly fucking my liver. Because pills work by overloading your liver which otherwise filters out all the hormones ’cos that’s what livers do (or at least that’s how I remember my good doctors describing it). Which left me constantly tired on top of the fun rando, life-long other hormone problems I’d had.
This is turning into a long story, innit?
Finally, I accidentally found a good endo. A young white German man who talksveryfastallatonce and is actually kinda educated about trans stuff — and from all the above I’m pretty fucking qualified to make that assessment — and actually cares and takes an interest in his patients (i.e. me) as a person and not just a recipient of a prescription. And I should mention since being in Berlin, my ‘official’ status as ‘transsexual’ (yup, 20 years behind on terminology here) is very conditional and there’s a lot of goodwill on the part of doctors to prescribe hormones to me because I don’t actually have the paperwork or proof I did two years of therapy (’cos I didn’t) with those sign-off letters from gatekeepers. All very tenuous, and as much as the world is moving towards an informed consent model the reality remains very much ‘fucking lucky to get them’ when it comes to hormones or anything else transsexual.
So, he prescribed me gel, which I describe as, “getting jizzed on your arse and then you gotta rub it in.” Which I’ve been on for most of a decade after he talked me into trying it ’cos I was really, truly jack of pills fucking with me and not in a great place, and having some actually proper serious repercussions from those life-long hormone problems (also another story, and no, you TERFy cis cunts not caused by taking hormones). And which, along with surgery back in May ’09, has given me a fairly stable, acceptable several years on meds.
But I still miss injections.
Because they’re one and done, once a week, quick and easy, no mess no jizz, I felt better on them, don’t fuck my liver, and are by far the best route to get hormones into me. And for the majority of the last 15 years haven’t been available (unless you’re in Mexico or the US or some other random countries). Until a young trans woman I met here told me she was on them. Which was a fucking eye-opener.
And she gave me the name of them and where she got them from, which I asked my endo about and he was kinda suss about it, ’cos he thinks the curve with injections (peaking then trailing off) is not desirable and favours the flat dose of daily gel, and thinks I’m a weirdo for wanting the former. Nonetheless, he gave me a prescription, which isn’t covered by health insurance, and I went to my local Apotheke and was told, “Yaaah, around 25€ and might take 40 days?” and got a phone call 2 days later, and here we are. Thanks rando pharmaceutical company in Czech Republic!
Which is me wondering what the correct dose would be after all these years. ’Cos my endo doesn’t know, I can’t remember the strength of the injections I used to take, comparing it with jizz gel isn’t a direct one-to-one, I have no long-term medical history ’cos I’ve moved so many times and so have my doctors, trans healthcare is an actual fucking trash heap on fire, and I find myself on rando internet forums trying to scrape through DIY hormone convos by people who very much are not doctors or endos. And there’s whole conversations to be had around how we, as trans femmes, trans women, transsexuals, whatever the fuck we’re getting called this year, are resorting to buying hormones from non-medical suppliers like other trans women who started making it themselves and now sell it (just to clarify, this isn’t what I’m taking). And that if we want actual, up-to-date information, we have to look to those same trans women and assemble something meaningful out of our decades of collective experience. Which is not to throw shade on them or the hormones they’re making or our collective knowledge. We do this because we’re denied real, affordable, accessible healthcare. Because we’re ultimately still seen as mentally ill in the head fucking trannys.
So finally I have injections again, and because I don’t trust anyone, let alone white German healthcare and the white German government (come on, the potential Merkel replacement let the n-word slip out her mouth, this is where this country is at), I’m thinking that getting a stockpile first is good Auntie planning.
(ot technical note: I ditched Photoshop a while ago and have been using Affinity Photo, which is much nicer and not Adobe. But my workflow is still kinda hacky, especially with RAW processing and colour balancing. I think this is a better job than Infinity Net A, but equally might be over-saturated and over-processed amateur hour.)