rhiannon

@transcect.bsky.social

227 Followers 93 Following

trans woman, author, mets fan https://www.scribblehub.com/profile/152720/transcect/ https://www.patreon.com/c/transcect

photo from nats park in dc
the picture is of the aquarium fish floating in the sea at the end of 'finding nemo'. in the movie, they say 'now what?' in this scene
I have a front row seat to the mind of man. It is hideous. They will chant for each of the answers. The question does not matter, and the answer does not matter, and the crowd will drive to frenzy the worse it is, the more nonsensical it sounds. And the teammates will chant, and they’ll look at me and the board, me and the board, and they’ll say Good answer The answer does not matter. The answer has never mattered. All that matters is my face, the externals of me, the sight of my pain at the revelation of man’s brain. And I will stand on the spot as I should, and I will control my face as I should, and the producers will whisper kind words into my ear, whisper how well I have done, how well I have shown my disgust at the machinations of humanity, at the way our brain twists. It is worse when I have the same, fleeting, horrific thought as the contestant. It is worse when I understand that I am not alone. Worse to know that the horrors of my mind are not singular. It is worse. The contestant is pondering. She is pondering a question I have barely heard myself say, and she is drumming her fingers at the base of the mic, and she is staring at me. And I am refreshing my mind to the question. What word would you use to describe gameshow hosts? A dig at me. An opportunity for me to react, for me to show my face again to the audience, to be clipped. To go viral. And so I prepare my face, and the woman stares, and she gives me a small smile, and she says the answer. And it will not be on the board. It will not be on the board because it cannot be, but the thoughts in my mind are not singular. It will not be on the board. But I am not alone. And that is worse. I keep my face as it should be. Dumbfounded. Confused. And I blink slow and heavy at the crowd, and they provide the laughs that they should. And I spin to the board and stretch out an arm, palm pointed up, ready for the buzzer to sound, for it to reject, resoundingly, the woman, the answer, my brain. Show me boymoder!