Since 2022, Charly Murmann has been developing a writing practice comprising biographical short stories linked to their lived experiences as a queer, trans-masc, non-binary autistic, and disabled person. Their short stories are about queerness, sex, dating, identity, and the relationship to/with their body and others.

The Circle, in repeat

Charly Murmann

Hard to know how and where to start to write about you, where is the beginning and where I choose to draw the end. End of what of our mixed feelings for each other. Others we both became to one another through our time.Time is a delimitation translated from lights in the sky to numbers for capitalism or an indefinably long moment that gets lost in the nothing. Nothing is never the feelings that I will have for you, if I wish deeply to. To you Too. Too young. Young, we were teenagers.Teenagers who knew nothing about themselves, that they slowly discovered and knew nothing about love or sex. Sex was our first common discovery. Discovery of your skin. Skin under our fingers for hours and hours. Hours and hours to play with our bodies. Bodies that we will play with. With consent and lust, our bodies. Bodies that were not really ours before we were together. Together we were a few times. Times of repetitions. Repetitions of several breakups. Break ups that were often chosen by you, because I was lost, having too many feelings and not enough purity for you. You were committed in everything that you invested your time and energy. Energy for your metal band, your pencil drawings and love until it faded. Faded we both have in different ways and in different time lines. Lines of our sketchbooks from our art school in different cities and years. Years of teenagers time and again ten years later. Later you thought I will fall again. Again I did fall but got lost. Lost in my own narrative of you saving me when my mental health dropped, again I was lost. Lost in sex with you, until a discovery years later, that sex can be amazing with many people. People are humans who we are choosing to live with, next to who we talk to or ignore. Ignore our messages and not our games. Games where played between us often and we do not really know who started the game. Game in singular was not ours, always plurals and in repeat: games, until one day: one game. Game over, it should have been earlier, I think. Think that it was not the right time line. Line where is the right: “us” to be together. Together, we were so in love. Love, I thought it will always be with you, you kind of convinced me. Me with the years understood that monogamy was not my space to be. Be is being present in the moment. Moment of looking into your eyes and knowing I am falling for you again ten or fifteen years later. Later is too late. Late is everything. Everything is all the molecules and particles of humanity. Humanity, I will be happy to fuck you. You suggested we stopped fucking, sorry, making love. Love is falling too many times on me. Me, I am not resisting a good fuck, or the opposite if I am to uninterested I am mentally doing my shopping list. List of films and countries to watch and travel to, together. Together we were good and safe. Safe that I felt with you at the beginning. The Beginning of something new and that I experienced for the first time, my first love story. Story of princesses and princes. Princes, I am one, and also into them. Them are all the people that I fall for and want to fuck. Fuck to make babies, you plan. Plan to stop using condoms and see what God would like to. To be political and free. Free from charges and normativity. Normativity is construction. Construction are made to fall and be rearranged and creative. Creative, we were both. Both in different ways. Ways is how you express your way of being, your character. Character change during a lifetime, especially from your teenage years to your adult life. Life is a time determined on earth. Earth is soil where humans are living. Living is an action of being who is made by different people in different ways and possibilities, in different countries, in different housing situations and creating communities. Communities are a way of being together. Together we were. Were is in the past. Past is what happened before today. Today I am struggling to know how our relationship was, if it was good, bad or a multitude of layered feelings. Feelings, I always had too many. Many mixed feelings, trying to sort them out, like finding the other sock of your favourite pair in the washing machine, too many favourite patterned socks, too many. Many are too many. Many is a number which is not counted. Counted how many times we had sex, arguments, or we said I love you. You called me your blue angel. Angel as a teenager and demonic as an adult, because I am horny. Horny you were all along with me. Me and you, we were on different planets in opposite universes. Universes where both of us had a lot on our plates. Plates were made from different shapes and textures, yours were handmade and with care but was broken from the start but glued back together. Together, I was surrounded by industrial plates, counted in numbers but mine were built from a translucent fragile porcelain and were covered in bubble wrap, wrapped was my universe. Universe, universes who fell apart for both of us. Us is something that existed for me as a teenager, but you created an idea of us as an adult. Adult you waited for my christian religious awakening. Awakening, I had a few, including: a lesbian one, that I told you about almost crying at yours, after you closed your laptop quickly, a porn animation was playing, that I saw through the blink of my eyes. Eyes were brown and blue. Blue like the tattoo that I have on my right wrist. Wrist is the first body part that I got tattooed, my emotional containers are in my wrists. Wrists are part of my body that no one can touch, because of trauma. Trauma, we shared ours, deep, hard, raw, scary, in shame and in secrets. Secrets from each other we had some. Some that my best friend told me. Me, I wish you have had shared them with me. Me and you, we are both into kink but the other way around, for you at the beginning it was liberation of your own engraved storyline and in adulthood wanted to become chaste. Chaste is not what I am going into. Into bodies I wanna go. Go with the flow. Flow and stop thinking so much but just living, being, floating and live. Live without you. You are living with her. Her is the perfect girl. Girl I am not, I am just a boy. Boy, you are not gay. Gay I am. Am I happy for you and everything you built? Built, we both have. Have grown since then. Then is in the past. Past is in repeat. Repeat, we play the games many times. Times, where, often I was the leader. Leader of control not leader of my own desires, wishes or needs, was I my own leader? Leader was not my best period of life. Life is now. Now I have no regrets. Regrets are not useful to have. Have you had one or several children? Children, your children are for sure happy, because your classical dad from the 90's just left when you were a child. Child you had a lot on your plate. Plate was not empty on my side but made from porcelain. Porcelaine is a fragile material. Material is something that artists are using to create art. Art is what makes us meet again, and again almost all along, each couple of years. Years passed and the last message you sent me, I said let’s stop there. There is a time where I felt a shift and I was unfair on you, just seeing each other and fucking and being romantic, way too romantic for non lovers. Lovers, I once wanted to be with you, I suggested that we were just eating in restaurants and visiting museums and hiding away all our values. Values are in the heart of our bodies. Bodies are where souls are being kept during the time they are living on earth. Earth is the place where I create, challenge, meet others, fall in, fall off, fall for, build community, explore sexuality, kink, conversations about being, reading books, watching films and I am always hungry for new people on the way. Way off. Off you. You needed to stop, to leave me alone. Alone, I always felt better. Better I would like to be. Be was always hard for me. Me, was so fragile and then you created a net of safety. Safety is how I felt with you. You became other. Other is when someone is changing. Changing is the process where human beings go through their own life experiences, socio-political environments, climate, and choice of loved ones, through which they become others. Others, once. Once I will see you again. Again I suppose so. So you will not recognise me. Me, has me. Me as a trans masc. Masc is the hard soft bites in me that I want to show for myself so I can fall in love with me. Me is just what it is. Is, is a conjugated verb. Verb is an action. Action is something in movement. Movement is what is becoming, transformative, it is what my fingers are doing when I am writing about my memories of my first boyfriend. Boyfriend, I will have a few. Few is the sound that my body is making when I am done with romantic relationships. Relationships are between humans. Humans were just you and me. Me and you for sure learned something from each other, maybe just kindness to our bodies, to our skin and giving each other second and third chances. Chances to give me a few, where I had a crush on this guy in my class. Class where you were not in and a class where I was not seen as the boy that I am, that space which was not mine. Mine, I loved my time. Time for myself, my time. Time is something precious that you were not always keen to give me in some part of our relationship. Relationship with others, we both had. Had crushes on girls, both of us, but untold. Untold the stories of your lovers, each time that we meet up years after years, you touch my hair and caress my cheek. Cheek which is mine and is too easy to blush to. To your defence you were just insecure and wanted to play it safe. Safe, was it the word or manipulation. Manipulation is something that you learn to survive as a kid. Kid we were not but young, we were. Were we? We have faded since so long. Long is the time past since the last time I saw you, nine years. Years of mystery from your life to mine or the opposite. Opposite, I knew you got married and it felt like such a relief. Relief to know you were settled and you will not look after me, again. Again, just to be sure if I did not finally believe in God. God was so important for you. You said that faith was just a folder icon on your laptop, which had many more folders to offer. Offer me time, you thought you would connect me to faith. Faith was not one of the icons on my laptop. Laptop is not a synonym of my being. Being is the envelope of my body on earth and the organs are my values. Values cannot be superficial. Superficial values do not exist. Exist for who you are. Are you there? are you still alive? Alive I hope you are. Are you sorry about us? Us, we did not work out well, because we were too young for promises. Promises are still something that you are practising? Practicing safe sex, art practice, writing practices are precious. Precious was our first love. Love can exist in many ways, forms and layers. Layers of clothes and layers of bodies. Bodies, I hope we both love ours and become at peace with them. Them is my pronoun. Pronoun is used to talk about someone else’s and describe people’s identity. Identity can be nuanced and fluid. Fluid was our connection but you wanted more connection. Connection, connecting, connections, we had many. Many were unfair. Unfair because I settled in needs. Needs to be protected and loved. Loved we were, from each other and a few others around us. Us still happening in the twilight. Twilight, I am thinking I am too old to use this word. Word, from the Internet that I was not born with. With words on papers you wrote me many letters that I have binned since. Since when did you apologise to yourself for being real? Real and raw, we were building trust and faith in self esteem, we fought to be surviving in the world around us. Us not made for us. Us, our younger selves were too judgemental and were critics about what it is to be human, caring for each other, and for yourself. Yourself are you in peace? Peace is a hard work never solved. Solved is not happening in real life, we are just going to be in solidarity, in peer support, in acknowledgement, in conversation, in trying to understand each other. Other than you were, I thought of you when I saw mango yoghurt in Sainsburys. Sainsburys is like a shop in Switzerland: la Migros. Migros is where my mum bought us the blue Lemon ice tea packaging that we drunk in litres when we carresed our bodies, fucked, watched films and laughed, in the spare room, in the basment at my parents. Parents were complicated conversations. Conversations about the ableism of my dad, I sincerely apologise for it. It is still an issue. Issue happened often like a verb in repeat, with my parents. Parents are hard work. Work, for sure you are doing, if you are a dad. Dad is a role, a status which is not overrated. Overrated, are all my exes making babies? Babies is the subject that I do not want to talk about. About my exes I do not want to talk about, so I am writing about them. Them is a part of my story and an amount of my exes. Exes are numbers of experiences and stories to talk about. About is one of the sections of my art website where I show my art work. Work is Art. Art is work. Work of rewriting all my memories of my exes, sex and all the in between. Between the heat on my body and the candle light, I want to smoke a cigarette. Cigarette, I just rolled one. One, just a number. Number one of all the numbers in my diary to know what to do and in order. Order and planning my diary, you hated it. It was an object because we needed to plan ahead to see each other months in advance. Advance planning is something that is happening in polyamory sometimes. Sometimes you are going with the flow. Flow is not my full time job. Job is not my life. Life is meant to be lived, but the hours are getting eaten by work. Work I wanna do for my polyamory being. Being with a cat. Cat is my companion that I am missing now and often. Often it is in repeat with Testosterone, I am often hungry and horny. Horny brain is such a teenage boy. Boy is off playing. Playing is just a game or sex. Sex is important to me and my body in pain. Pain is another companion, who tries to protect me from myself. Myself is there and would like to make peace with you. You, the teenager in you. You with me, the unfair player, with you. You broke my heart many times, players or just lover, bombing lovers. Lover you will not be anymore. Anymore you are a kid. Kid you have maybe one. One circle all around. Around the earth, we did not travel. Travel around me thinking, you become a thinker, a priest maybe, a dad for sure, a loving husband, I hope. Hope you are fulfilled, in life, so hard.

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