In a dream I saw a way to love. To survive the breaking of this body into loss. So we stood barefoot near some edge along a river. In mud. No one saw us. Or if anyone saw us, we no longer cared about their seeing. Only our bodies in this space here. Water moves over our bodies. To become awake on the inside of skin. My body alert to this becoming. Brings us to a present before the past disappears Kathy. To live with water washing our skin. I want to come to your body with my body. To come near your skin. To wound. To seize. I take a hold of your bones. You close your mouth. Somehow you keep your eyes open and you see something blue.Read More
And then I thought, better yet: what if we use a kind of what I would call a Carravagian ink, a pentimento-effect ink that allows evidence of a work printed beneath the apparent book to surface. So imagine using this kind of ink to publish the pathetic, evil, misogynistic 50 Shades of Grey. (A book typed (it was not written) to be given to the women who gave their daughters Twilight, talk about a built-in market.) As the ink of that piece of trite narrative fades under erasure, imagine Kathy Acker’s Don Quixote emerging, bleeding through 50 Shades of Grey.
I mean, seriously, imagine how beautiful that would be. As 50 Shades of Grey fades into the nothingness that it was to begin with, the beauty and true power of Acker’s writing takes over. Imagine the look on the faces of those bourgeois women, sitting in their comfortable chairs, sipping tea, safely reading 50 Shades of Grey when Acker’s writing emerges. Then imagine how these women would begin to re-imagine romance and desire. …Read More