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Transmission on 4zzz, amplifying the trans and gender diverse community of Meanjin, Brisbane and beyond. My name is Rae, I use they them pronouns and you are listening to Transmission on 4zzz. I'm very excited to be in the studio this morning and I'm all by my lonesome but definitely not alone completely because I'm really excited to share with you some some highlighting some local poetry readings that I've gathered together over the last month or so. We'll be hearing from incredible poets Jack Anthony, Lillian, Martin, Key Stone and Shibboleth. Absolutely amazing local poets. And I'm also going to be reading out and highlighting some poems from a new poetry book that was released in the last couple of months called Trans Voices in Horror and that was released by Bloodletter in the us. But before we get into all of the poetry goodness, let's have a chat about some news as well as some upcoming events. And there's quite a lot of both in news. I'll be talking about some transphobia and definitely a trigger warning for that one so the LGBTI legal service has filed an application for judicial review in the Queensland Supreme Court on behalf of a transgender young person person impacted by the Ministerial direction to ban gender affirming care through the public system for new patients in Queensland. On 28 October 2025, the Health Minister issued a Ministerial Directive under section 441 of the Hospital and Health Boards Act 2011, which restricts access to gender affirming care through the public system. Minister Nicholls made the direction on the basis that banning access to care for new patients was quot necessary in the public interest. The LGBTI Legal Services case states that the decision was made unlawfully on four grounds, including because it was not in accordance with human rights and went beyond the Minister's powers under the section 441 of the Act. If successful, the case will mean that the Ministerial directive is unlawful and has no effect. The parent of the transgender young person bringing the legal action has shared the following statement As a mother, I just want the best health care for my child. The care should be a medical decision between our family and our doctors, not a political one. The government have made this decision to deny my child a service that was life changing as a family. We now have to go through the private system at great cost to ensure that my child has the health care they need. How can it be in the public interest for families to take on additional payments and stress to access health care privately during a cost of living cris crisis? The transgender young person bringing the case has also shared the following statement. To have our medical decisions made after years of consultations with specialists, therapists and family overturned by a political agenda is shameful and crosses a multitude of boundaries of human rights in events this coming week we have Queer Cryptid, which is an improv comedy at Big Fork Theatre in Fortitude Valley and that's happening Friday, January 16th from 7pm A night of zines, improv and legendary storytelling. This show is a celebration of queerness through the blended art of zine and improv. Riffing off Big Fork's mainstay show Cool Storey Bro and a regular performer, Big Fork Cryptid has crafted a zine featuring queer moments in their life for the audience to choose which storeys they would like to hear. Cryptids fellow queer performers will then use those storeys as inspiration for a night of improv hilarity. Now, Queer Cryptid is also a really important event because it is helping raise money to pay for Cryptid's upcoming top surgery at the end of January and all profits from the show will go towards the anesthesiologist fees, appointments, insurance, all that kind of jazz. So if you head to Big Fork Theatre, that's on Friday the 16th and that's Queer Cryptid. We also have two beautiful events that are happening on Saturday. One is Diverse Connection, Care and Community. Time to shake off those blues, Post Holiday Blues and connect with Community. That's on Saturday 17th January. That's from 10 till 2pm So 10am till 2pm at Alexandria park and that's on Gregory Terrace. So if you want to go hang out with some lovely folks at Community and look at they're going to do some crafts, some lawn games, snacks and plenty of space to relax and connect. And then that gives you an hour to get to celebrate LGBTIQA Love and Joy, which is also happening this Saturday the 17th of January. That's at 3pm so straight after the other event, hop to it, that's one is going to be in West End at Bunyipa park and that's West End Uniting Church, Equal Voices, Trans Justice Project and meganjan People's Pride are all collaborating to host this free celebration of love and joy. There'll be live music, local queer artists and a family friendly picnic and there will also be a parade back to the church and they'll and after that there'll be an arts and crafts space. So it sounds like a jam packed Saturday for incredible trans pride, love, joy and definitely something that is very needed in this time that we are going through at the moment. We sure are having a time here for trans rights, which is why I wanted to chat to or I chatted to a bunch of local poets and asked them if they could send me recordings of their amazing poetry. Now I frequent a lot of poetry events including poetry open mic, Echoes from the Cave Inn and Speakeasy and both of those events have incredible humans who read out poetry every month. And so I asked a bunch of people from those events to, yeah, to send in some poetry readings and poor boy, they sent in some amazing work. So first up we're going to hear from Key Stone and this is the poem Verb, Adjective, Noun hi there.

My name is Keystone and I use any pronouns. I'm a poet on Meanjin, the country of the Yuggera and Turbal peoples. I have a self publishing Instagram called tarsofsaintclements and have been published in issue one of Transitive Rag. This poem is called Verb, Adjective, Noun trigger warnings for some self harm imagery and references to bad parental relationships. I am not a brave man. I feel the lie die in my throat before it can come up for air. And the truth gave up her fight a long time ago. So here I am bound in silence so familiar, baptised in your blood with the weight of your expectation pressing at my temples. It is not something I can stand to witness. So I will leave out the back door with the holes in the flyscreen, the one you always slam shut. You need not wait up, I won't be coming home. I am not a brave man. The calluses are growing back after disuse, the pain of their strings a reminder of failure. I am 10 years old again, Too clumsy with my fingers, too flat with my voice. I rip the skin from my nail bed, watch the blood run rivulets down my knuckles. I don't know if it's a punishment, I don't know if it's relief. You are three for three on children who do not talk to you. I am 4 for 4 on parents I can't bear to see. I am not a brave man. I watch the frangipennies fall off the branches as the lizards outside the library pick off their skin. Time is a steady march to infinity. I cannot keep up with the pace you tell me of your grand Plans moulding fate Like a sculptor I rest in the stagnant water, feeling the bacteria eat at my skin. When the procession moves on without me, I don't think you will notice. I'm trying not to let that bother me. I am not a brave man. I leave possibility on the valley curbside at 3am with the ash of a cigarette. She asks me if I have any acid and with a heavy heart I have to decline. She looks like me when we said goodbye. All sharp angles and barely disguised fatigue. I feel your lips on mine for the first and last time. The ghost of regret claws at my throat. I want to tell you that I am sorry, but terror stills my tongue so I leave you with nothing but an empty platitude as the asphalt swallows me whole. I am not a brave man. All I know how to do is run, cut the line, take a bow, get out before you drown. Everything is changing. I am unmoored in the wine dark. You are upon the shore, steadfast and strong. Graceful temptation, a siren or a lighthouse. I grasp the shimmering air, some beautiful mirage. I have never been strong enough to save myself. I only watch in chosen helplessness, My body splintering against the rocks. I am not a brave man. I hope you can forgive me for it.

My name is Ray. I use they them pronouns. And you're listening to transmission on 4 triple Z. I did want to chat about the beautiful track Fae with Egg because I really liked how. Because we're talking today about trans poetry and trans poetics and hearing from local poets. I wanted to chat about this beautiful album Life in Cycle, which is Eleanor Ramsey's meanging based experimental ambient folk project. That's Fae, which combines ethereal haunting vocals with organic instrumentation and raw percussive production. And they said about Life in Cycle and talked about it and said that it's an exploration of the human experience through the quiet complexity of metamorphosis. And across the 10 tracks of this album, it follows the life of a single butterfly, tracing through its predetermined path from egg to larva, cocoon to flight, each stage reflecting the human condition. I just really love that statement about this album and that track because I feel like it. It really reflects, you know, becoming and transness and gender diversity and the beautiful, you know, cycle that we have. From egg to larva, cocoon to flight, as both butterflies and also as trans people. So shout out to that amazing local artist. And that's the new album, Life in Cycle. I'm very keen to now play you another poetry recording from one of our local poets, and this one does come with a trigger warning, so I'll state it now and then our lovely poet will also state the trigger warning for you again so you have time to turn your radio down for a hot minute. This poem goes for about three minutes and I'd give a content warning for heavy topics and themes such as intersex genital mutilation, sexual content, swear words, and coarse language.

Hello, I am shibboleth. You will use it it's pronouns for me. I live in Mian Jin on unceded yuggera and turbal lands. You mostly can't find my work, but you can read about my dead mum in transitive rag issue 1. The content warnings for this poem are harsh language, intersex genital mutilation, and sexually explicit content. This poem is called Ask Me About My Child Sized Vagina. I came out pink and screaming and covered in blood. You'd be forgiven for assuming that was the important part. My healthy lungs in terror at being suddenly alive. I had a head full of hair. How times change. I had 10 fingers and 10 toes and the first thing I did with them was to dig my nails in and not let go. They kept wiping the gore from my tiny crotch as though the picture might become clearer, as though it was a trick of the light. Something was supposed to be divined and declared and rejoiced and it wasn't and they were all constipated about it. I got taken away for further investigation. My nails dragged longways against my dad's finger. Cutting him. He said, but that seems unlikely. But I don't know enough about babies. I like the idea that my first act was to cut. It gives everything else an air of retribution, like I'd earned my punishment. You were a mean, rotten, awful little baby, so they stole your malformed balls like a misbehaving tomcat. Didn't stop me peeing everywhere. Now I meditate on the nature of mutilation for four hours a week, cumulatively, always with smooth purple silicone stretching out my child sized vagina. Scar tissue does not grow with you. My cunt failed to convince the rest of my biology to go with the plan and then I drove it proper off the rails because the thrill of choice made my vestigial cock hard. The older I get, the more it seems. Mutilation is just the government name for every act of radical autonomy. Much concern over ruining a body that will always show the life you've lived anyways. Much fuss over permanent change, as if there Is any other kind much hand wringing about exactly whose will is allowed to act on my body? I slide two fingers into my hot, slick political statement. I will never know what life would have been like unchanged. And I will never know the choices I would have made if I were given the opportunity. I come hard with the body that was made for me. I know that a tool cannot be evil.

My name is Rae. I use they them pronouns. And you're listening to transmission on 4Z Z. I am very excited to be feature featuring local poets this morning. So we've heard so far from Keystone and Shibboleth and I'm now going to be playing a recording from Lillian Martin who's an incredible local poet. And Lillian's going to be reading their poem Witches Brew. And if you do want to, if you are interested in poetry here in Magangin and you're trans and or gender diverse and or queer and you want to, you know, come along to a really amazing inclusive space. Echoes from the Cave Inn is a poetry open mic that happens on the first Tuesday of the month and it happens at the Cave Inn. Highly recommend going. It's wonderful and you can, you know, read out your, your cool poetry, anything from something that you've, you know, really polished and edited and stuff to like something that you wrote like on the bus in your notebook. So it's, it's all go. And there's also an amazing open mic happens as well called Speakeasy, which I sometimes help host and that's at Echo and Bounce. And it's also a beautiful welcoming space and very queer focused and all of these poetry events as well. One of the important things that they do is before you read out a poem, you tell, you know, the, the trigger warnings for your poem. That's really important to creating, you know, safe spaces especially for, you know, trans and gender diverse folks. So very much looking forward to the next open mics that are happening here in meganjan. But now I'm going to play for you Lilian Martin's incredible poem.

G' day Lilian Martin. Here I go by they them pronouns and I'm a writer, zine maker, editor and poet based in the lands of the Turrbalunyangara people here in Meanjin. Today I will be reading my poem A Witch's Brew. This was originally published on Enby Life Journal. I hope you enjoy. My soul is a witch's brew, masculine and feminine, swirling and incensing in a cauldron. Its cursive writing in the morning and blocky letters Come the evening it's driving along a sun kissed highway and wading barefoot by a meadow. Its shaggy hair untamed from the night before and wearing sunglasses like Lennon's August 1974 and feeling fucking cool. It's thumbs slipping into belt loops of jeans and standing like a sheriff. It's rubbing essential oils onto hairy armpits and putting them onto display. It's a challenge to men, but a lure to women. It's flattened breasts in a tight T shirt and packing in floral panties. It's rebellion. It's your mum and your dad. It's expansive, like water seeping into a grate. It's hand sewing skirts and then k arsen them. It's Carrie Fisher and Paul Simon at the London premiere of the Empire strikes back in 1982. It's an itch coming from my stomach wondering if there's more words to describe what's brewing in my soul. It's clutching at the beads hanging on my neck as a growl of self doubt comes from within. A growl that calls me a girl, a faker, a try hard dyke, but never my name. My gender is a witch's brew and it is mine to conjure alone.

My name is Rae. I use they, them pronouns. And you're listening to transmission on 4Z Z and that beautiful track was Bodies of Divine, Infinite and Eternal Spirit. With the track up my shoulder and on that track or on the album which is called the Shames, Bodies of Divine, Infinite and Eternal Spirit said these songs were recorded at home over the last few months, each performed at the first read through of new poems. And I thought considering that we're playing a lot of poems today, that that was an interesting track to play and I really, I loved how much time we got to spend kind of listening to because it was an eight minute track and I think it was just, it was, you know, all killer and it was just beautiful. And I'm just, I'm really pleased that there's people creating work like that and work similar to the track you just heard with Eileen Miles, you know, doing some spoken word to music. And you know, at the end of the day I think that anything that is, anything that you want to call a poem, anything that you want to call music, you know, is poetry. It's music, it's all art, it's all beautiful. And at the top we had Tommy Beats with Begin and that's from the album 216, which is kind of part beat tape, part radio play. And it's Tommy Beets Backhanded Love Letter to so called Australia's featuring a kind of refined social critique. There's instrumental beats and Tom Browning, who is Tommy Beets as a disabled, transgender queer artist living on Stolen Terrible and Yuggera Land. And to quote, they said that the. It's 216 years to the day when this album was released after Captain James Cook departed Plymouth on the Endeavour and Tommy Beets was born on Stolen Land. And the album is sampling 1970s educational records of Australian history. So really interesting album. Definitely cheque it out and we're going to continue listening to our poetry today. I've been. I said earlier in the show that I've been chatting to local poets and asking them to record some of their work and, and, you know, see what they come up with because there's so many incredible poets, you know, trans poets here in meganjan and I really think that they, you know, need a platform and you all need to hear their voices and their storeys. So I'm really excited now to play another one for you. This was a recording that Jack Anthony did for me for the poem Short Release.

Hi, my name is Jack Anthony. My pronouns are they, he and I live on Yuggera in Turboland. You can find more of my works on my Instagram. Janthany writes, this is a poem about my experiences with adhd. It contains some course language and themes of the more negative aspects like executive dysfunction and task paralysis, but also positive aspects that are enabled by finding the right medication. It's called Short Release. I take a tablet to escape the paradox. Oh, you didn't know? Some people don't realise. They think I'm lazy. But yeah, I experience time differently. I only found out about circadian rhythm recently. I'm on some other shit doctors haven't figured out yet. Anyway, I exist in semi stasis. Don't ask me to elaborate. I'll get distracted and we'll be here for ages. I've only got an hour and a half till I reset.

Huh?

No, I'm not distracted now. This is me at 100%. What was I saying? Oh, right, the paradox. Basically, I've lived a thousand years my time, but for most of it I've only felt a median 45. If I don't take the tablets, a simple task like brushing my teeth turns into eternity eternatith. A morning routine is Sisyphean. And if I manage to floss, that's a lifetime achievement. If only my gums didn't bleed from the infrequency. And if only the sun wasn't setting. And if only my cheap watch didn't stop, start, stop. Because if the watch stops, I have to cheque my phone to reset it. And if I open my phone, the world stops. Another day gone. You have 24 hours, seven days a week, probably roughly 80 years to live. You probably have a watch that works. I have a thousand years in an hour, maybe one hour in a day. Lifespan unknown. Long term effects debated. Those figures may be unreliable. I wish you hadn't let me ramble. See the countdown? I'm running out of time. But it's okay. I can buy it with a hesitantly handed prescription at the chemist's for $30.62 20 milligramme doses. My day extends to a solid 8 hours. Combined for a brief window, I can reach the hilltop. I can brush my teeth. Goals become attainable. You've seen interstellar, right? Remember the scene in the wall? Remember all the effort, the loss? Remember how you felt at the the end? With the tablets, I can untangle time's web, pull threads taut, make mess into something intricate, clear, radiant in the morning sun. Good luck, Charlotte. You can't trap this Mayfly. Because when I take the tablets that pause, the paradox, the euphoria is spectacular. Technicolour, torturous, fleeting. My output miraculously average, to be honest. But that's miraculous for me. Oh, did you hear that? The timer just went off. Once again the sun sets like a boulder on the wings of the mayfly. Sorry if this got kind of erratic towards the end. I'm sure you've can guess why.

My name is Rae. I use they them pronouns. On the show today, we've been featuring a lot of local poets and their work and I'm so glad that we were able to, you know, feature the voices of local poets. And I'd like to definitely do that on future transmission shows. Before we head into our last last poetry recording, I'm going to read from Trans Voices in Horror, which is a beautiful poetry anthology that was released end of last year by Bloodletter magazine and it showcases contemporary work by dozens of trans, non binary and two spirit writers and illustrators. It's a collection that amplifies the genderqueer lens on horror and the way in which the trans experience informs the genre as well as the other way around. And for those who don't know about Bloodletter, it's a biannual feminist horror magazine and that's in the US So I've got some beautiful poetry here by we've got Veronica Rowan and for all these Poems coming up. I will give a trigger warning for horror and body horror. We've got some surgery and disposal dysphoria, so definitely tune out and turn your radio down for the next five or so minutes if that's not the vibe for this morning. So this first poem is by Veronica Rowan, who is a transsexual, writer, musician, community organiser and educator. She is notoriously sleepy and has been known to drift off in unfortunate places. She's a devotee of Sappho. Honestly, same. I'm always sleepy and I love Sappho. This poem by Veronica Rowan is called Mud Puddling. Be not afraid, my open wound fuck thing, dirty my skirts and bloody my wings. Your guileless, beguiling, fluttering, cunning. I'm a butterfly, mud puddling. You're becoming a crudely drawn angel to descend on your aching. A seeping of nectar overripe for the taking. A corona of moth dust, the sweet rot of forgetting. I've come to drink down your flood of bloodletting. I absolutely love this book. It's such a. It's such a slim volume. It's Trans Voices in Horror and it's the tiniest little volume of poetry and it really packs a punch. And I'm going to read one last poem from this collection. This one's called My Own Creature and it's by Sarah Neardorf who is the co director of the Final Girls Berlin Film Festival which showcases horror films made by women and non binary filmmakers. And they formally co organised the film series Queer Film Club and Women on the Verge. They also teach drums to women and queers and play drums in the bands Melodeath and Mad Kate, the Tide and Sarah Tama. So this is my own Creature from Trans Voices in Horror and once again a content warning for horror, body horror, horror surgery and dysphoria. I have two puckered scars across my chest like the sutured line on the forehead of Frankenstein's monster. I am my own creature skulking in the inter sizes. On January 27, 2025, I went under an almost retired surgeon. Warm hands on cold instruments abetted my vision. He carved two horizontal incisions, extracted the cumbersome protrusions, discarded the nipples and all of their unwanted sensations and coatings, creating a chest that does not attempt to look natural or conform to any norm and relieved me of scores of psychic and physical burden. The scars are puffy and pink, sometimes inflamed and angry, sometimes glowing with pride. Sometimes they ache in the night when I shift from side to side the new lightness tingles with jolts of queer wonder in my system. They poke out when I wear sleeveless shirts to the gym, Rebellious little critters sticking their tongue out at passerby. Sometimes people furrow a brow or narrow their eyes. What's going on here? What is this? An extra flap of skin lingered on the edge where the stitches didn't dissolve so neatly. She cut it off for me in May and showed the exiled flesh to me. Two chunks. Chunks. Two stragglers in the gloved hand, like two breadcrumbs, remnants of potato, chicken or some other morsel. The third chunk jumped away, the little critter. I peeked between clenched eyes. Okay, thank you, I saw and rushed to shut them again as the bandaging began. As someone who so adores the artifice of horror cinema, I cannot stand to gaze directly at the real thing. The bandages are my accomplice, shielding me from the hovering threat of woozy illness at what I've done to myself, the creature becoming, oozing and fusing hellraisers. Uncle Frank pulsating in peaked ecstasy beneath the floorboards. Part opened up, moved and shut. And with this extraction I became even more of myself, my own creature, less legible, abounding in lack, lurching toward formation. So that was another beautiful poem from trans voices in Horror. And I do want to play you another poem from one of our local poet. We heard from Jack Anthony before. And we're going to hear from Jack Anthony again with another of his poems.

Hi, my name is Jack Anthony. My pronouns are they. He and I live on Yugger and Turboland. You can find more of my works on my Instagram. Janthony Wrights the following poems contains references to negligence, transphobia and discrimination in a medical setting, as well as some coarse language. Here's your referral. Do you have any questions? There's no history of hair loss in my family, so why am I a hat guy at 26? Have you seen how thick my moustache is? Now imagine my shoulders. Explain the temple hair's migration to my biceps, nape and pinky toes. If men and women exhibit different symptoms for the same conditions, which should I look out for? Do you know when you looked appraisingly at my chest and said you could hardly tell the difference, what were you comparing to? What did you expect? Queer men still can't donate blood, but what if they fuck women too? What if that woman has a dick and knows how to use it? As a male gp, are you comfortable performing pap smears? Try not to stare. We're all boys here. Tell me Doc, did they teach you about trans bodies in medical school? Sorry, was that invasive? I'm just curious is all. Do you understand what I mean by trans bodies? How broad that is? Are you required to keep up with recent medical advancements, our evolving understanding of the post sex human body and the deconstruction of social biases? Or is it more of an elective? Are you listening? Are you listening? Are you? I appreciate the need for a second opinion, but you can tell me straight if I'm not taking the hint. If you're always going to refer me to a specialist, should I bother booking with you again? And if I book with this other doctor for the spotting I told you about, which neat little box should I tick to simplify myself? Gender affirming care, Sexual health, Women's health? Or just surprise them with standard consult? Have I made you uncomfortable? And do you still bulk? Bill.

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