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an excerpt from Manon Revuelta’s consideration of Sriwhana Spong’s exhibition “Luzpomphia”

Spong chose to make these works using the process of investment casting, whereby the cast object retains a more intimate material presence. Rather than pouring the molten bronze into a wax mould of the apple, it floods the apple itself within a ceramic shell, immediately eviscerating it, swallowing it, flesh,

looking through the box called N O X_F R A T E R_ N O X

that Anne Carson wrote for her brother, the epitaph, ... I was trying to find a name.a name for new project, a photographic project. I have never, in fact I have avoided photoingpeople | as much as I have avoided proper names, in places. Places... as Carson writes, Places inthe world

Dubravka Ugrešić R.I.P. literature? 27 March 1949 – 17 March 2023

Who knows, maybe one day there will no longer be Literature. Instead there will be literary web sites. Like those stars, still shining but long dead, the web sites will testify to the existence of past writers. There will be quotes, fragments of texts, which prove that there used to

the free and creative play of transcendental ideas ::: illustrated with three paintings by Wolfe von Lenkiewicz

Another kind of madness, constantly wanting to draw attention to one’s own insights, like some placard-carrying apocalyptic in Time’s Square. — Damian Lanigan, The Ghost Variations, Weatherglass Books, 2022, opened at random, p. 69 I’m writing a long note about cinematic time but, as always, encountered something along

Julio Cortázar says, “Each of Pizarnik’s poems is the hub of an enormous wheel.”

Si pour un fois de nouveau le regard bleu dans le sac rempli de poussière–je parle de moi, j’ai le droit–cette attente, cette patience–si pour une fois de nouveau–qui me comprend?–je pale des jouets brisés, je parle d’un sac noir, je parle d’

Re: crisis in crisis in

All real crisis is deferred by a permanent state of emergency, a million tiny insecurities and instabilities that send us flying to our nearest seat of power, unaware that the very “return to normal” we beg for is only the reproduction of the crisis, its more astute management. Our constant

who killed my father

I picked up today Édouard Louis’s book with this title. I added a question mark. Then removed it. Because without a question mark it is a statement. I couldn’t see it at first. It doesn’t ask who killed my father. Rather it states who did it. I