My life it comes and goes It comes and goes
Have you ever felt safe in your body?
I don’t / glamorize / I don’t rank this death I felt dying its impact on my body / a color I found that turned to poetry I have feeling / which is also illness / that continues and was altered against mountains.
There is a Devil inside me
There is a Flower inside me
All reading is blood
Take us out,
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
shitting flowers Take us out
In In One Form To Find Another, Lewty feels through the body’s ferocious, complex response to trauma while refusing to create an linearity and narrative arc which names or details the transgressive / traumatic event. Further, the book chooses not to provide moments which point, with comfort and clarity, towards recovery, forgiveness, and a knowledge found and made sense of. Rather, Lewty’s book is told, as Ferrante describes, from the whirling, the dizzy spell, a movement bodies know / try to navigate “memory” from.
The Queen of the Night is the story of a woman who is continually told she has no power and no choice. It is the story of a woman who continually insists on having power and a choice, a voice as she moves through impossible European landscapes and climbs up through Paris’ dangerously complex social circles.
I sometimes take days to write reviews, maybe weeks, but it has never been months / of revisiting / of so much thinking. The wholeness of this book / the book, the radical, important length of it (186 pages) makes me want to respond in these complex fragments I’ve attempted to assemble / in utterance after utterance which chokes on the blood in gold flecks. “Most of the writing we do is actually a performance of stuckness,” says Lauren Berlant.
I write reviews of work and pain / of the people I love or admire or read because I want to learn from registering what is not known to me / what has / what hasn’t been shared. My inability to see a person / my ability to continue to try / to be alert. Imagine if humans felt they were obligated to work through and consider other relationships / unions the way they are supposed to work through and consider coupling / the responsibility a person supposedly has to find a (hetero) soulmate. “Oliver, what you can do for me is a gingery dream, / the sweetest of white boys / can conspire with me and my triangulated support / of their violent home improvement” (Kingdom of Heaven). To move within the knowledge of any body is raw and violent and loving, / a transgression of the lines that appear everywhere.
It’s easy, given these facts, to assume Bandit is an untypical story, a story of uncommon scope and drama. But what is unorthodox about this story and its circumstances is also vividly fixed by its terrifyingly traditional foundation: Bandit is the very American and not unusual story of a person or a woman who must reckon with how a man altered her life without her permission and, seemingly, without much thought for her.
Where a Venus is a neat, easily (re)producible / easily translatable male fantasy, the Venus of Willendorf is a protrusion. I was going to use the word invasion here but that is incorrect in that it suggests that her presence is somehow too much / unwarranted. Though, of course, any space the female figure / the head-dressed figurine takes up / can be deemed too much / at any given time / in any (public) space. No, the Venus of Willendorf is a growth, a presence, a luminous ne(gate)ion. “N, I wanted to insulate and poison this body that made me to suck and taste and god there” –“[letter excavated from the willendorf tomb].” If the sculpture / the form is in conversation with anyone in Roman / Greek culture it is Baubo*, the oft excluded life / language who is described as bawdy, wise, loving, and cumbersome, who later serves as a model for the nurse character in Romeo and Juliet, who encounters Demeter wandering the earth mourning the loss / violent abduction of her daughter Persephone. Baubo lifts her skirts, exposing herself to Demeter, and it is this act that restores Demeter, it is this act that allows Demeter to act (to demand her daughter’s return) despite her grief. The cunt as revelation / as “vulva clown” / as compassionate exposure / as sharp, soft edge / as ward.