who am i?



2025
HELLMOUTH
cultofthemothermachine
GOODGIRL act1
guts
eventide
rattlesnake
hold me before i drift off
untitled [ ‘archivist’ ]

2024
my heart knows a map of unsmooth flesh
the sun creates hope [via non-resolution]
score for getting     lost/going    off course
seachrome
co-parenting
engulfed//embraced
‘monstrosity’
PYROHEMIA

2023
Trans.Human
these hands were once so warm
THEHUNGER


apr 24 2025
creature compassions
Holy shit its been three and a half months since i posted on here. to be fair i have been stupidly busy. or have i been distracted? its kinda shocking how much you can do and how easily you can forget about your soft fleshy fragile body when you’re on prescription stimulants. in recent weeks and days however, i’ve been acutely aware of it. thats a good thing. the  world hanging heavy in your chest is a kind of discomfort that you’re rarely prescribed given tools to work through but an essentialy activating one.

but i’ve also been so scared, in a deep primal place that barely thinks. some nights i barely sleep. the bravado with which our culture cheers on violence makes me genuinely sick. my spine aches with fear. from worldwide genocides funded by our taxes to concentration camps to roaming fascist thugs [the police] to fabricated political attacks on the minority of the week, the wave of violence crashes down incessantly. im eagerly looking forwards to my/our/your future[s] but theres a simultaneous quivering trepadation. the experience of being a trans woman in public has attuned me to more subtle inflections and threats of violence that permeate everything. the way things are going its hard some days to even believe, in an honest way that i do have a future of existing in public as a trans woman. all of these examples of violence spill out of their contextual bounds, bleeding into and egging on one another.

these are not any sort of novel ideas i’m surfacing, many before me have said them more elegantly, but these things circle my mind and i must perform a psychic bloodletting to prevent this wound from festering. david wojnarowicz summarizes this in one of the simplest quotes that sticks with me everywhere — “history keeps me awake at night”. I’ve been thinking a lot on words, on his words, and on rituals to facilitate this bloodletting, and crack open a door to a future that kisses skin like warm sun. i’ve included some process poetics for a performance piece that i’m currently brewing to move through these emotional/political/bodily fugue states, as well as quotes from david wojnarowicz’s autobiography, “close to the knives: a memoir of disintegration”. if you are looking for words, poetics, dreamstates, and memories to crystalize the bodily fear that is inflicted by the state on those in its crosshairs, i could not reccomend this book more. we never have enough words to eloquate the experiences of fear that are held across so many bodies but rarely uttered.

i just wanted to share these murmurnings and motions that have been moving through my mind and body recently, and there will be something coming from this pondering soon enough. i think i’m calling it GOODGIRL act2. thank you kindly for letting my words touch you through your screen.

with love, aemonn

[process poetics]


[text from david wojnarowicz]

















jan 14 2025
LINGERING

im not really sure what im supposed to write here, i just want a space of my own to share meaning, observation, and thought. social media is indefinitely a dumpster fire where nuance goes to die, and if you find yourself coming across this little bit of text squirelled away in the recesses of the web, i applaud and invite you. currently im at a bit of an impass. my body is finally coming into alignemnt. i feel that ive begun to find my aesthetic tools, but as if a message is lacking. i try not to be too hard on myself but at times i wonder what im even saying... and why?

       i hate clean answers and i dont need myself or my work to be one, yet what is worse is hollow proclamations. all of these explorations are to come. the waterfall flows backwards already, and we need to shelter. the future excites and terrifies me, and the butterflies in my stomach brandish switchblades. stick around for more of whatever i end up doing, and hold yourself, each other, and what grounds you tight to your chest.