Rec | COMPILING A MONTH OF SCATTERED THOUGHTS INTO YET ANOTHER ...

🌹

COMPILING A MONTH OF SCATTERED THOUGHTS INTO YET ANOTHER ESSAY

fragmented thoughts threaded together to form one big, long reach. from the sheela na gig to alexander mcqueen.

@deardoveswings

Apr 1, 2025

see likes

Comments (0)

Make an account to reply.

No comments yet

Related Recs

🩸

dvelving into a topic

ways of commemorizing the wounds of communities, gender melancholia, the performance of mourning and how is it connected to activism....... lots to think about

@ajo

Mar 20, 2024

🧟

Stryker, S. 1994. “My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage” in GLQ 1, 3; 237-254.

One of my favourite reads in my studies so far (I'm a soc and women's and gender studies major). It's an interesting read: part story, part social critique, part poem, part journal entry, part really dense analytical piece. Amazing writing style too. Stryker is basically saying why trans people have so much in common with Frankenstein's monster and how this is based actually and cis people should wonder about their monstrosity to find out we are all, in fact, so incredibly socially constructed.

@ro

Oct 15, 2024

😃

DREZZDON / BOOK OF GENESIS

from an essay i wrote on drezzdon: I recall Mark Fisher using the term ‘magical voluntarism,’ the belief, under capitalism, that we can become anything we want to become. He also refers to it as ‘the belief that everything, including the material universe itself, is subject to individual will.’ All of a sudden I wanted to write. I watched a couple of drezzdon’s TikToks right after reading Mark Fisher as a kind of somatic ritual à la CAConrad. Though I am aware we lose ourselves in ‘magical voluntarism’ because this neoliberal project is such a success, that bones litter the Gaza Strip and tumours of red fucking meat cling to them, drezzdon’s TikToks made me feel more revolutionary. They gave me an active purpose. I could walk to the Conservative Club with the knowledge that the sky contains a ‘heaven,’ that ‘angels are near,’ before throwing eggs, plums, whatever modern rebellion looks like. I could write without constraint. Is our delusion not an act of resistance rather than compliance? And if it isn’t can’t we mobilise it as such? Great acts of defiance have hardly been reported as righteous, I mean historically. Adam and Eve, for instance—their rebellion got me cum in my mouth, stomach, all over my stomach, got me the love of a man, as a man, as well as the knowledge of good and evil. It got me enough complicated moralism to make my life worth living, make it not seem too long. It gave us things to uncover, another major player in drezzdon’s work as well as Genesis. Eve, Miss Universe, like literally, rounds the corner to see Adam criss-cross applesauce, his cock concealed by a fig leaf. Around it a bold red circle. She smiles, knowing nothing of bloodshed yet, no mutilation in colour. Being the archetype of feminine wiles, she revels in his embarrassment. Her cunt is wet. She cartoonishly stretches to feel her fig leaf brush gently against its lips and then lies next to him at the base of the great tree to nap. As she dreams of, what, nothing better, Adam lifts the fig leaf from his (and the first) average cock and penetrates the red circle, the canonical first bloody hole. He wonders why it was ever concealed. He wonders if his cock means anything but pleasure, knowing nothing of procreation. But we, like Eve, enjoy the unveiling, stripping our lovers piece by piece; we love what is secret, sexy, under, and perhaps that’s what the red circles are, the snippets of language. We undress the world, like Adam and Eve did, almost biblically, discovering and creating its malleability, its shadows. We revel in divine consequence and its sadomasochistic connotations. In the middle of writing this essay I imagine ctrlcore’ing your body. You’re in the nude. I click and stretch red circles around each nut, ‘angels were here,’ meaning of course a traditional mode of reproduction, the feminine silhouette eager for your sperm—but what’s here now? ‘god,’ ‘god,’ in red arial font.