I’m Published Cunt

Look at my name in print like I’m an author and all.

Last year I emailed Lambda Literary about their Writer’s Retreat for Emerging LGBTQ Voices, and got told yes, me, as a not-American can apply to do the Fiction Cohort with the, the, fucking the Zeyn Joukhadar. I sent in the first chapter of my novel We’ll Never Be Remembered full of sexy trans femme Muslimah migrant sisters doing sex work and hooning cars, and a few months later I got accepted.

And the Retreat, which was online cos thanks ongoing epidemic, was fucking awesome. Which I never blogged about cos I’m a lazy cunt and pushing two years of slowly getting better chronic fatigue / burnout / Long COVID / Epstein-Barr Virus / or as I like to call it, chronic ijdgaf syndrome. And then Lambda Literary said we are publishing an anthology, send your best shit. Which is still the first chapter of my novel. At 10 pages or under that is, and contextually standalone. Some of the other chapters I fucking love too but the sisters, who moved into my head and apartment a couple of years ago, who all said write the stories we tell you and we’ll take care of the rest, said listen cunt it’s gotta be chapter one.

And then I got a copy in the mail and there’s my name in print.

Heaps big love to Vasiliki Lazaridou (who’s currently shooting their film and hasn’t slept for I dunno how long) and Gala Moody who both read the first readable draft, all 150,000 words, and provided excellent, and I mean fucking excellent opinions, criticism, advice, support and all. And to Zeyn Joukhadar who is the living embodiment of meeting your heroes and it being amazing and excellent. And to Lambda Literary for reading my very very niche shit and going yeah this is what we want.

Obviously I want you to buy it. Not only for me, also for the 50-ish other new queer and trans writers, many of whom are QTBIPOC. Their shit is gold. Support your local independent bookshops too.


Balcony Herbs

Obviously not blogging lately.

After a friend who shall remain unnamed shamed me for not using my balcony enough (at all), and I finally got my arse to the flower shop around the corner to get some bamboo poles for my floppy umbrella tree (I think that’s what it is), I came home with economically sensible herb plants. The kind I pay euros for tiny packets of dustiness and use excessively, and the kind that’ll handle winter outside. Bay laurel, thyme, and rosemary, with probably impractical desires on an olive tree too.


Eid Mubarak Bitches!

I did not expect that to happen. Vass, however did. Cheers bruh!

A month ago I was moaning to them about feeling stink ’cos I wasn’t going to do it. Then I said I’d do the first day for my granny and four weeks later was still doing the old “just do as much as you can, however you can,” when Eid rolled in a day early. Which was well confusing being on Sonnenallee on Friday and all the hijabis looking fine as fuck and the habibis too and all of them eating and drinking, during daylight what the fuck. Because Eid started Thursday night in most places west of Saudi Arabia, and started Friday night in Australia and most places east. Saudi Arabia using a high-powered telescope pointed something like 4 degrees above the horizon to even see the new crescent moon is a total other discussion about Saudi Islamic hegemony and bid’ah. And yes it was like always weird as fuck to drink water when the sun’s up, to scoff a bag of macadamia nuts, to taste while I’m cooking, to not go to bed with my guts full of water and a couple of hours later my bladder and then the toilet. To sleep in! It feels like finishing a big project or long block of training and the post-effort exhaustion arrives and I realise how much effort and focus and discipline a month of fasting requires. And it feels like a big offering to the universe and it replenishes me.

The trees turned green the last days. Dasniya, Yuri Niran, and Mark came over for an Eid feast of deer meat curry. Bluh! according to Yuri Niran, though they taught themselves to open the fridge for those delectable blueberries and Greek yoghurt, and I’m finding random pieces of flatbread with bites missing.

And I’m posting this late because I’m a thinking about it is the same as doing it procrastinating cunt, but anyway Eid Mubarak bitches, especially my trans and queer Muslim bitches.


Rainbow in Neukölln

The rainbow between storms which was the reason I pulled out my camera yesterday.

I am a) trying to blog more (haha yeah nah), and b) trying to use my expensive camera more. Because I’m heaps goal-orientated at the moment, I made both things weekly tasks. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I dunno, whatever works?


Ramadan 2023 🌙

Wasn’t going to this year. Last year I got about 2 1/2 weeks in and sawn on top of burnout / chronic fatigue / wtf ijdgaf syndrome left me shattered and pretty upset. I broke fast with my lifelong comfort food of peanut butter on thick bread.

Wasn’t going to this year. Even the thought of it got me stressy anxious sad.

Wasn’t going to this year. Told Vass that, they know what’s been going on.

Wasn’t going to this year. Day before convo with Vass:

“don’t reckon i’m fasting this year. kinda sad about that.”
“Yeah makes total sense”
“feels stink not to tho“
“I know 😒”
“still gonna try and fast the first day tho. do it for my granny”
“Ι knew you would 🥰”
“me, transparent as a window”

Got me the best Medjool dates in Berlin and a bag of Za’atar. First day was a bit hairy but found a way. Second day felt better. Third day. Still doing it for my granny. No pressure, can bail at any time, doing it lovingly and with care.

Bismillah al-Rahman al-Raheem. Alhamdu lillahi Rabbil ’alameen


Tempelhofer Feld, June & July 2022

’Cos obviously I haven’t blorged for a month, but I have biked to Tempelhofer Feld a few times a week and gone for one or two-hour walks, sat under trees, read, talked to birds and the earth, and on a couple of occasions the sheep. And the Feld is a riot of grasshoppers, insects, birds, flowers, and apples. The fields come up to my boobs and when the wind blows, it’s achingly beautiful.


German Whip: Mercedes-Benz W123 500CE AMG Coupé

Seen outside Café Fairouz on the corner of Reuter Str. and Sonnenallee. Tight as slammed frontend looking gangster on period-incorrect 500SL AMG Rims, 1984-ish silver Mercedes-Benz W123 500CE AMG Coupé. It’s been six months since I last saw any true German hoonage and I did a double U-turn stopping in the middle of the road just to admire this. Also pause to admire the habibis with their fades enjoying a Thursday evening shisha. Pure Neukölln this. “See man driving a German Whip.”