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Blue Prints


Bob Hicok

Up and up the mountain, but suddenly a flat spot
exactly the size of the house they would build,
and when they went to dig the foundation, the foundation
appeared, just as the beams for the floor, as they started
to set them in place, revealed they had always been there,

"It was like coming into the room to find your diary
writing itself,” she told the interviewer, who wanted to talk
about her paintings but she kept coming back to the house,
including the sky above the house, how it resembled
her childhood, forgetting how to rain
when it wasn’t raining, remembering blue
just when she needed to be startled most, “Don’t you think

it odd that my life has always had just enough space
for my life,” she asked the man’s recorder
as much as the man, hoping the recorder
would consider the question and get back to her, “Then you moved
to Madrid,” the interviewer was saying, “and started painting
your invisible landscapes,” “I remember the first window

we lifted into place,” she replied, “that the view of the valley
it would hold was already in the glass when we cut the cardboard box away, we just lined them up, the premonition
with the day,” he had twenty more questions

but crossed them off, “I have always wanted to build a room
around a painting,” he said, “Yes,” she replied, “A painting
hanging in space,” he added, “A painting of a woman
adjusting a wall to suit a painting,” she said, “Like how the universe
began,” he suggested, “Did it begin,” she wondered, “is that
what this is?”

The Believer, March/April 2013

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Justin Andrews // Daniel Beauregard // Caroline Cabrera // Brooke Ellsworth// Tyler Gobble // Lindsey Hutchison // Nathan Kemp // Daisy LaFarge // Sarah Leon // Keegan Leester // Rob MacDonald // Kati Mertz // Joe Milazzo // Jon Ruseski // Kimberly Ann Southwick

so pleased to be a part of this thing!

170 notes

What Men Want


Men want what they want.

So much of our culture caters to giving men what they want. A high school student invites model Kate Upton to attend his prom, and he’s congratulated for his audacity. A male fan at a Beyoncé concert reaches up to the stage to slap her ass because her ass is there, her ass is magnificent, and he wants to feel it. The science fiction fandom community is once again having a heated discussion, across the Internet, about the ongoing problem of sexual harassment at conventions — countless women are telling all manner of stories about how, without their consent, they are groped, ogled, lured into hotel rooms under false pretenses, physically lifted off the ground, and more.

But men want what they want. We should all lighten up.

It’s hard not to feel humorless as a woman and a feminist, to recognize misogyny in so many forms, some great and some small, and know you’re not imagining things. It’s hard to be told to lighten up because if you lighten up any more, you’re going to float the fuck away. The problem is not that one of these things is happening, it’s that they are all happening, concurrently and constantly.

These are just songs. They are just jokes. They are just movies. It’s just a hug. They’re just breasts. Smile, you’re beautiful. Can’t a man pay you a compliment? In truth, this is all a symptom of a much more virulent cultural sickness — one where women exist to satisfy the whims of men, one where a woman’s worth is consistently diminished or entirely ignored.

Read the rest at Salon.

Filed under Roxane Gay Salon Brilliant Human

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When the poet Anne Sexton committed suicide in 1974, a memorial service was held for her at the City College of New York, where her contemporary Adrienne Rich happened to be teaching. Rich didn’t know Sexton very well, but something about the death made her very angry. She had known Sylvia Plath at Radcliffe and watched the reactions of young female poets to Plath’s death, which amounted, she later recalled, to “an imaginative obsession with victimization and death, unfair to Plath herself and her own struggle for survival.” Seeing the writing on that wall, Rich produced an incandescent eulogy for this woman she didn’t know. The key part of it, the ranting part, begins, “We have had enough suicidal women poets, enough suicidal women, enough of self-destructiveness as the sole form of violence permitted to women.”

Her argument came to mind yesterday, when a Vice photo spread by Annabel Mehran crossed my social media feeds. Entitled “Last Words,” it’s terrible work, not simply for its depiction of suicide proper, but rather for the sheer laziness of it, its failure to engage the subject matter fully. The seven photographs show models playing women writers, some more famous than others, in the act of killing themselves.

Talking Famous Female Suicide: The Right, Wrong, and Vice Way - The Cut

I went a little scorched earth on Vice at New York magazine.

(via michelledean)

(via michelledean)