INTENTIONS [of THE COW by ariana reines]
1. To use a cliché. To employ religious texts, veterinary manuals, literary works, wikipedia, and internet detritus in the service of opening this cliché.
2. To make a book capable of humiliating itself, capable of arousing itself inside its own violence and difficulty, like a Marina Abramovic performance.
3. To make a book that is an organ. An organ is something that things pass through: it makes substances and is permeated by what it makes, or it receives substances and transmits them or translates them. Sometimes books act like events, like edifices, or like they can tell it like it is. Telling it like it is is always also a lie, but it feels total. People will always thank you for your extremity. Please see the section titled THE RAW AND THE COOKED for more on this. Telling it like it is is very pleasing. However, even a stiff book that is perfect and total is still a sieve that you pass yourself through. You leave some things behind as you go, you gather other things to keep and use.
Sometimes it is factually and rigorously impossible to tell it like it is, and that is not because of some relativism or soft-headed deconstruction, that is because some things are many things at once, and this is exhausting and terrifying, and very important. Books must understand this in their very making.
4. To construct the book out of different lengths and registers of text A single style clobbers you with its totality. A single form does the same. The book should exceed itself, crack open, empty out, exceed itself.
Why is it humiliating and disgusting to live inside a body, be alive, feed oneself, fuck, have complicated emotions, and why is it sometimes so revolting that horrific acts are necessary.
Are horrific acts necessary?
Are babies jizz for girls?
Is it possible to understand human violence?
Women house and transmit a lot of emotion and history through their crotches. There must be a connection between this and the fact that America is obsessed with slaughtering cows.