Saturday, May 31, 2014


the very last night, unwittingly, in the place i'd lived in since last year mid-september. time to say goodbye to the memories i hugged to my soul. to the  things that have ravaged my soul that it became unrecognisable with all the bruises. to the obsession that had ruled my life where nothing remained in it but just one face. thank you to all those times i sat in the darkness hugging my knees, caressing the air and letting my tears of the past and present, and the feelings of the now flow. to all those times i sat in the bathtub hugging myself screaming inside my head and sometimes, out loud, voicing despair of being unheard spilling out in long moans. to all those times i had chosen to drown in my delirium, for anything was better than my present. to all those genuine feelings, shared, that were shunned at the end by he who came into my life so meaningfully, but left it so meaningless, left it so meaninglessly. time to say goodbye. right? right. am ready. time to explore the new territories of the heart and soul... oh, but the feelings, the feelings  remain. if i could only kill them...

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

the movements of the psyche, soul, body

“Poets are shameless with their experiences: they exploit them." 
― Friedrich Nietzsche

impending bodily space move coinciding with the final goodbye to the obsession that now ends on a peaceful, peaceable note for all that it has been worth of to finally start writing the ending of the story of a soul movement of molten gold and rainbow arrows ushering in a renewed era of the forgotten peace calmest on its deepest undertone of a wave of the blue-turquoise cool. final goodbyes. the story ends like all stories end, absurd in its simplicity. le fin. grateful i am.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

өөрийгөө зодож ханалаа

зүүн мөр маань гараа хөдөлгөж боломгүй хөндүүр. хөдөлгөх гэж уулга алдсаар. их л эвгүй унасан, угз татсан. хоёр өвдөг нил хөх няц. баруун гарын нэг хуруу тулсан. баруун хацар бас нэлээд эвгүй, хацраараа газар мөргөсөн. өөрийгөө баахан зодсон. энэ сэтгэл санаа, бие бялдрын өвчнийг зогсоох, тавьж явуулахгүй бол сүүлдээ өөрөө өөрийгөө тахир дутуу болгох нь. хэдхэн жил үлдсэнээ хүн шиг, дотны хүмүүсээ зовоочихгүйхэн шиг мөрөөрөө яваад үхье. одоо боллоо. хүн зовоож, өөрөө зовж ханалаа. зовлонг сонгохгүй. өөр сонголтууд байна.

Monday, May 19, 2014

love... hate... love... hate... love... love... love...

суу. ярь .ярихыг хорь. ярь. уйл. буузан нүдтэй болтлоо уйл. үзэн ядаж байгаагаа хэл. хайртай. үхэх гэж байгаа юм шиг хайртай. үхнэ. минут бүр. цаг бүр. үхээд босно. босно. босож л таараа. босож байсан учир. боссоор байгаа учир. далан таван хоногийн дараа тэрийг хараад үхтлээ баярлаж, шунасан сэтгэл...

юу ч гэх юм. буудъя, өөрийгөө.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

acts of violence

acts of violence are unacceptable in any shape or form. sometimes, though, people violate each other without meaning to, as in the case of emotional violence that comes down to simply not having the common denominator for concepts that need to be communicated, a common language, if you will. those i leave aside. 

on the night from thursday to friday at around 1:40am i got a call from tulgaa who was obviously in hanzo judging from the background noise. he said something about a picture he was going to take, that he'd call me back. 10 minutes later, there was a knocking on my door. i wasn't expecting anyone, so a little scared i still went asked who it was. it was tulgaa. i opened the door, let him in. he was quite drunk. since i was working, i put aside my comp, tried asking him what was going on in his life, why he was there on a weekday night, whether he didn't have work the next morning, because i had. he said he didn't go to work last two days, what i cared about whether he went to work. having been a friend who was at some point in love with him, a friend who cared about him, his well-being, of course, i cared. he was simply walling off any and all questions, and started getting aggressive. i know better than to quarrel with drunk people, but when he said that he was there that night because he felt sorry for me, because everyone was laughing at me, because i apparently was writing about him. i got offended, said that i was not to be pitied, that i didn't need pity from him, that i was writing about someone else in the first place, that i wanted him to go because i didn't need his aggression, i didn't invite him in the first place, stood at the door waiting for him to leave. he said i was a bitch, a whore, a female. he rose to leave, took my cigarettes, crumbled them and stomped on the pack, shoved me, hurting my throat. i got angry, grabbed a chair, swung at him, he grabbed my dreads, pushed me to the ground, i grabbed his hair, he wouldn't let go of mine, i bit him in his thigh, let go of his hair, he swung me by my hair onto the ground, he kicked me in my stomach, kicked and punched me on my back, my head. i was in shock. all i wanted was for him to leave. after he had enough of kicking and punching me, he tried to console me, touching me, while all i did was shiver and cringe. he said he could kill me, that he wanted to kill me. i said i wanted him to go. he said he wanted to sort things out. i said there was nothing to sort out, what else did he want. he said he wanted peace. i said there was no peace to be found there. he said how come i couldn't create peace. i said i would have peace if i had what i wanted. he said what about the stuff i wrote. i said i wrote about someone else for the past five months, never about him. he said he wouldn't be in this state had it not been for me, and that he would hate me for the rest of his life. i said hate would be mutual. when he left, finally, after an hour of violence, i crawled into my bed with a bad headache, all of the next day, i had a terrible headache, concussion, obviously, and inability to concentrate on my work. yesterday, the headache was better, but still there. it is still aching even now.

i never want to see him again in my life. enough is enough is enough. i never want to be violated by people i considered close who take a dump on me literally, figuratively. enough is enough is enough is enough. what it all came down to was that he never got over the fact that i was no longer in love with him, that i would no longer give him anything and everything he wanted, including my limitless heart. now, there is nothing for him but a void. oh boy, his karma's fucked.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014

shiny, golden, silver

silver was the sky today. silver were the tiniest snowflakes dropping from the clear skies. when i stood outside smoking my cigarette, they continued to fall. i caught one. they were not snowflakes of ethereral icicles travelling to kiss the earth, they were tiny droplets of starmatter, shiny. golden was my soul when i saw him walk down the road, flicking his beautiful raven hair, bouncy, flamboyant walk of a happy man. golden were my eyes that drank him in, insatiably wandering over his skinny-encased legs, the gentle curves familiar to the point of tearing at my insides. no bleeding, just tearing, just flowing. golden was my heart today. golden was my smile today that lingered through the meetings with some of the most controversial political figures. golden was the glow of his happiness that lingered in my soul. golden are you, golden am i...

Sunday, May 11, 2014


some people are addicted to sweets, like i was until the time i could buy and eat as many sweets as i wanted with my own money. when i got there at the age of 19, my addiction flew out of the window. sure, i still do eat sweets, especially dark chocolate, and if it's with chilli, oh yeah, stuff my face with it! some people are addicted to alcohol as in the case of a dear friend who has drunk away the last two years of his life over something that even he can't define or begin to articulate. alcohol for him was and is a means of escaping his feelings, deadening them, denying them. i learnt to drink with him because i was so head over heels in love with him that i learnt to love what he loved: escaping the reality through artificially induced intoxication. some people are addicted to the feeling of being in love, like i am. the euphoria, the feeling of groundlessness, lightness and symphony of music and colours... when things don't work out the way you felt, all that is left is a cacophony, of course, which is painful. some people are addicted to pain, self-inflicted, inflicted by others, no matter. the more acute the pain, the better. they seek out all types of situations where they will but fail, lose, disappoint just so they can feel that pain. it comes out in self-harm as well. those addicted to pain often cut when the situations of pain arise, whether through others' actions, or their own. some people are addicted to hate. they choose to see only the negatives, the horrid in people and things. and they hate, with all their tiny heart and soul. some people are addicted to the idea of themselves. in fact, most are. themselves being the centre of the universe. themselves being the right ones, the righteous one, the eternally undoubting ones. oh, hate-full they are. no matter what they say, their actions speak louder than words. and what it all comes down to is that addictions are bad. addictions are basically neurons wired to receive only certain impulses while blocking the others, meaning that all the other impulses are perceived as negative. any and all addictions are bad. with that note, just saying that i'm trying to get over my addiction to love...

Friday, May 9, 2014

bleeding putrid iridescence

the heart wants what it wants. the heart wants what is denied. the heart bleeds endlessly, profusely, mutely, locked up, frozen in the moments of the past where there was but a burst of molten gold and rainbows. now the heart bleeds only putrid, grey, lonely ghosts that wander from room to room, soul to soul, body to body searching for peace, but never finding it. infection of putridity, the muddy, impure iridescent splotches of radioactive slime poisoning everything around. the heart wants what it wants. the heart bleeds green pus, no more purity, no more joy. agony. -- A.N. 2014/05/08
last night i was at the brink of self-destruction. all i felt was pain, unbearable, because i don't lie, i can't lie. i can't even look at someone with untruth. i knew from the beginning that i was pouring out a piece of my putrid, rotten loneliness into someone who was kind enough to give me a temple of their soul. then, the whole day i sat, worked, and unmoved down to the core of my soul, i questioned myself: "what am i doing? my heart wants what it wants, but it can't have what it wants. am i now condemned to kissing other lips, caressing other hands, drinking other odours and to remaining undeniably putrid on the deepest levels because i can't have what i want?..." she waited for my call. i never called her. 

sometimes when your heart wants what it wants but can't have it, you choose inexistence. i welcomed, for the first time since 2011 the idea of a very public exposure of my transition, the state of my here-now to which i journeyed all my life, where each and every event of my life led me incessantly, step-by-step, where i am finally happy with what i look and sound like, but which brought more soul pain because people are blind, figuratively, and most everyone sees only the surface... once i begin the public exposure of my life, i will be hounded, hunted, violated, tortured in a way not many would be able to imagine, but which might finally set my soul free and lead to better protection of lgbt people here. i welcomed the idea of liberation from this body. i saw the process, i heard my own screams. screams of agony finally bursting out physically as my soul left my body...

Thursday, May 8, 2014

endless... mercy

to what extent should we listen to our hearts and to what extent to our brains? can a murderer be forgiven? should a murderer be forgiven? who am i to judge even those who, on purpose or accidentally, took someone's life unlawfully... no matter what i think and what i feel, their karma remains. it eats. it suffocates. it kills from the inside. people try to end their lives over even smaller things. mercy, above anything else. i beg for mercy for you, may you see yourself fully, may you make peace with yourself, may you reach buddhahood, may you live, finally, for your sake, for the sake of your child and another one on the way.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Онол номер 32: өнгүүд

Хоёр жилийн өмнө хэсэгхэн болзсон нэг охинтой өчигдөр уулзав. Миний ч мартсан зүйлийг тэр сануулав. Болздог байхдаа би түүнийг үнсэж үнгэж байгаад гараа ийш тийш нь хийж л дээ, угийн сахилгагүй бас нэг мудак царайлчихвал болдоггүй бортой нөхөр чинь, тэгээд түүний дотоожных нь өнгийг яв цав хэлсэн гэж сануулсан юм. Миний өнгүүдийн тухай онол: өнгө болгон өөрийн үнэртэй, бас энергитэй. Худлаа гэвэл нүдээ боогоод өөр өөр өнгийн цаасан дээгүүр гараа бариад үзээрэй. Эсвэл үнэрлээд. Би л лав өнгүүдээс зөвхөн харааны таашаалаар барахгүй мэдрэхүйн бусад таашаалыг маш их авдаг нөхөр. Гэхдээ миний ертөнцөд сүүлийн жар гаруй хоног саарал хар л өнгүүд давамгайлж дээ. Харин тэдний үнэр нь ганцаардлын өмхий үнэр...

Monday, May 5, 2014

sixty days

sixty days, give or take. sixty days of pain. of soul abcess. of solitary travels. of screaming heart. of disability. of watching. of caring. of wanting. of trying to reach out. of trying to say how much love i felt then and still do. of trying to still my heart till no beat could be heard even by me. of caressing the air. of always caressing the air, the remnants in the air. of holding on. of tenacious clinging in the dark. of shivering. of endless talk to all who would listen till they were sick of my sickness. of stalking. of being stalked. of uncertain knowing. of knowing void. of coming to terms. of trying to let go. of tears. of bleeding. of orgasming to the thought of hands, the skin, the odour. of comparing the incomparable. of coming back full circle. of trying to make peace. of bleeding snow. of running amok. of exhaustion. of being shut out. of incredulity. of trying to say that yours is the best kind of intelligence had you only allowed yourself to be. of trying to say that yours was the only kind of stupidity that you allowed to take place by listening to others. of trusting mistrust. of raging jealousy. of hope dying day by day, night after night. of shutting everyone out. of waiting, patiently. of patience bled dry. of our world slowly coming to an end. of being the one to blame for being too direct in my hopeless despair. of dreaming. of screaming. of not being heard. of waking with the only one in my thoughts, in my heart, going to bed with still that one only face. of caressing memories, the precious gems glittering in the void. of losing sight of those gems because love is blinding. of blindness. of endless echoes of dying hopes and dreams. of trying to move on. of how the end was the beginning, the beginning the end, and the end the beginning the end the end.

Sunday, May 4, 2014

raw, still, random

raw jigsaws of jagged edges of random "save-our-souls" drifting in from faraway linkages that linger as though they're still right next to me, inside me, knife my soul with bitter ironic scorn for all that there was, is, will be. i see everything, i accept everything. all i've done is to love, all i got back is bitterest scorn, denial and fear. i drift in all that is clear, heady, pure, consumed by the perfect now-here where i need nothing more, nothing less. to need is nothing, to dream is everything. in my perfect here-now, i still dream: dreams take the shape of my awful greedy desire spilling beyond here-now. the greed to connect, to validate, to know, finally. i look yonder, there, inside their warped universe and see a desire, too, but muddy, fragmented, tearing, torn and cut-up, the kind of desire that makes people go insane, the kind that curls in on its own essence, destructive and painful. so painful that it destroys itself, so destructive that to feel becomes painful. that is not where i want to be. that is not where i am. two months ago i left that space where i was bleeding, where i was bled, over and over and over again. now i'm drifting in my here-now of stillness, of waiting for the end, for the start of the eternity that will begin the day i will feel either the end of love, or the advent of love so all-consuming that nothing will be left of me. raw, i am, still.

Thursday, May 1, 2014


what the fuck is love?! why am i even questioning it at this time at this age?!... i have no answers except for the light i see in people's eyes. that should be enough. but i want lit-up eyes with me, in my life, but noone stays, and all i am is heartbroken, always, ever again. so what the fuck is love.


As many of you know, we are doing an online crowdfunding for the first time in the history of the Centre, and it happens to be for the Equa...