butchering the names

by Feng

There is a loneberry whose every post I want to reblog. But for the sake of proliferation I will write my own excretion today. I just had a dream of chinese class which was a dream about failing because I was answering the questions about a boat wrong, and as these were questions they were also determining what was actually happening. There was a boat that I was driving with one foot and one oar. As I was answering chinese exams, I was also somehow defying my parents, who lived in a green house, in which the newly adopted baby would live simultaneously a child and an infant with an oversized anus. This baby, whom I resented, had puffy inner labia shaped and sized like the wings of a butterfly, but it was a boy. The exam I was failing was on the topic of gender inequality in china. zhong nan qing nu! I worried about drowning.

In this way I think text and its physical qualities when inseminated through the eyes is like dreaming. The feeding loop which blooms with the associations and connections in the reader’s mind both interpretes and determines the text, which does not exist as a meaning text in itself.

Jackie W says:

 i have no idea how the things i do and write live in the bodies of the people who are not me. how do my emissions circulate, what imprints am i leaving in brains, whose brains, and what energy am i pumping into the atmosphere? how can i be more responsible to this energy once i have released it? does it even have anything to do with me once it’s out there?

i remember reading, when i was a teenager, some statistic about the rates of suicides among asian-american women. but also the high rates of college completion. so i thought, great. i’ll either commit suicide or graduate from college! i don’t want to die.

i had a series of marathon conversations with joohyun sitting by the ocean and around the kitchen table. we talked into the morning and while we were gyrating in the whirlwind of communicative electricity i felt that the transmission of energy between bodies was a touchable thing. i wondered about the things that were said—from where did this wisdom come? maybe the spark of 2 asian girls who think too much rubbing sticks together in a dark forest. what i know i only know through people. when i contemplate Great Men and their Spiritual Crises i think of the emptiness of mastery and how miserable it must be to be a man of letters who is only in dialogue with his own head.

This transmission of energy which begins like the negentropic puff of gas into a chamber immediately becomes entropic and unknown. I never write intending to illicit a specific reaction from the reader because I don’t write for a reader, only a body, or bodies. I am not good at being with bodies at all, so I have this interlocutor or membrane or vacuole that travels without me, and I hope that it is better at loving the other than I am since it has a head-start, being required to be ingested through the intimacy of reading. Whereas I have a skin and bad breath and stuff. So I think some books are nice because they can do that for you, for people who can’t be with bodies.

In chicago I had my first reading of my first book book that is not a chapbook but that is like the adopted infant in my dream whose organs kept peaking out, whom I was jealous of and wanted to destroy. Here is an interview about it: http://www.radioactivemoat.com/1/post/2012/01/feng-sun-chen-an-intervew-by-paul-cunningham.html. It has been called numinous laundry and foody, and after reading from my spork mss (blud) again after a year of alienation, I realized how obsessed and hungry my writing is. The laundry aspect is humiliating and appropriate and I like to see myself washing the dirty underwear of more divine beings… very pathetic and lonely. The lyrical prettiness is disturbing in Butcher’s Tree because I see it as connected to my desire at that time to be consumed as pretty. the emptiness that is the drainage from an education cast by those Great Men above. blud comes after I have eaten myself and the joy there is cruel, maybe more true. It’s interesting to see these things manifest backwards in time, because Ugly Fish was written after blud, but was the first one to arrive. and so is this devolution?

It feels weird to read/perform because it is like being alone but with too much power. Do you like my massive internet navel? Plenty of lint and bacteria here.