“Write your self. Your body must be heard.” Helene Cixous (1975)
How much of our wants are manifestations of neglect?
Inside this somatic posturing, this restless hustle, our bodies are celestial. Distillations of notional constellations open and wide.
It is true: commitment is not exclusive to monogamy.
Come prepared.
Always dress your best
for the world may end.
Flashbacks are low-grade returns.
There is seduction in being loved.
There is always something you can learn from an interruption.
A moment when clarity finds you knowing.
Look how much you
love me. Little maps.
from Bruises by Leah Horlick
The clouds formed an amphitheater
over a city transformed, a super city.
Its atmosphere thick with performance
and domination within its own limits.
Listen to the bubble pop pop pop.
Queering our gratification
– delayed to a frothy anticipation –
is an economic ritual with historical reputations.
Golden greeds and lusts as deep
as the veins that financed this spectacle.
Ceremonies of repressed aggressions
baptisms unfurling (catch and release)
physical bodies manifesting, hands cupped,
entertainment as reward and pleasure.
A violence that feels good.
