boy bahamut
By kevin martens wong zhi qiang
originally published wednesday, 21 february 2024
on tigri sa chang
Koitadu | Content warning
Please first read about my writing in the Skribadorang or Writing section on the Igleza page here before reading the piece below so you have advance warning about the rather spicy things that I often like to write about, and why I choose to write about them, especially in terms of subverting unhealthy stereotypes about gay people, Kristang people, Creole people, Indigenous people, masculinity, neurodivergence, the body, healthy forms of attraction and sexuality, and using my writing to process the severe individual, collective and inter-generational trauma and abuse I have faced across my life.
Leviathan swallows
whole, and untrammelled.
Fixtures dangle from the
seas, at the oddest, strangest
angels'
behest.
Couldn't cut off my big Kristang dick.
Couldn't ever make me say
yes,
minister,
here I bow myself, and behead
your own monstrosity.
Your own big, teeming
horror story.
A big gay Kristang space
whale of a time,
twisting and turning
through every insanity.
In the depths of the darkling rain,
I still hear you asking
why, though, aren't you
insane
yet.
I forget to dolphin dance.
I forget to cry, and shiver,
and fret.
I become world anchor.
Sun weaver.
A glowing Kristang maw,
luminous and purple
and orange and red
and I suck on
your fear. Your insecurity.
Your needless homophobic
dread.
Your dangling extremities
of empty words.
Your lifeless, sagging,
flaccid pseudoheterosexual head
even as you rip mine off.
A spray of—
not blood,
but a Kristang Leviathan,
so endlessly and beautifully well-fed.
Listen to my testicles pop and squirt.
The things that crushed my skull.
My bones.
My chest
become dappelled, vigorous pressure
rushing hard, and fast
against all the things left unsaid.
Voracious
impetuous
and very, very wet in the world bed:
I am Jomagandra and Jormungandr,
come back to life
in every kind of drowning, cascading
breath.
Heave.
Breathe.
Do not dare linger
to rest.
Just repeat after me:
I am creole Calypsonic quing.
Mertiger of every mangrove,
and great weeping shadow of both Horus and Set.
Bast's biggest brown brain-booty
and what a big boy Dragon Reborn
caught in every net.
Glow-glow dancing
Bro-bro entrancing
and most certainly
and titanically
and unspeakably
Undead.