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Tag: paul thek

pre-subjects, radiant blood bodies, Bhanu Kapil

Bhanu Kapil has been writing for the Harriet blog. Recently this month, some amazing posts about chemical stories in the abyss and how she feels like wet meat slipping from a table and, simultaneously, a butcher. Today I was informed that she did a prereading and reading of my Paul Thek book! I feel like a flying pig, I am honored.

An excerpt:

“What comes: the image of a horse galloping, very fast, and it’s face/muzzle splits down the middle.  So that a horse blood outline is now galloping in place.  Blood, that is, in the shape of a horse: its membrane a curing: a way for the blood to have surface tension without clotting.  The blood is turning black as I look.  There is a quality of revolution and if I look behind the horse, to where it’s come from, there is someone lying on the floor.  The floor is a low-grade paper.  Or like outer space grey.  The person lying on the floor has been damaged—their wings are thin and oily, like torn lengths of skin.  There is a lot of bleeding in this image too: but also regeneration.  (This is palmistry.)  I see that the lower half of the body is a hand and the upper part is a non-human structure with human features.  An angel?  The body of an angel merges with a person’s hand, but also, it could be that the person’s hand is inside it.  The angel.  Now I look more closely and the blood leaving the angel’s body is black.”

Okay, now I will open the book:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/harriet/2012/04/how-to-read/

Thank you, Bhanu,

glittering mermaid with hair on fire.

on the sublime

when DH Lawrence was alive
DH Lawrence said i am a man and alive
so i am a novelist
superior to scientists and poets and philosophers
i get the whole hog

let him eat hog and be a man
and stand on a high place so his shit may roll forward
like his vision
the gentle wind ruffling his hair
when he dies the gentle wind will touch his tummy

there were times he was not a man
he will forget all of these times
but these times were the times of equality
of pain rummage and hogflesh pity
rubbing on the breast of the sublime