Another Face: Difference between revisions
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<nowiki>*</nowiki>Cf. In ‘After Eunuchs,’ Howard Chiang suggests that eunuchs sometimes orches�trated the entire court from behind the scenes, with the emperor or empress merely a puppet. | <nowiki>*</nowiki>Cf. In ‘After Eunuchs,’ Howard Chiang suggests that eunuchs sometimes orches�trated the entire court from behind the scenes, with the emperor or empress merely a puppet. | ||
== Sex Demons in The Factory (after Kim Hyesoon) == | |||
Listen, under the hum of machines, there speak silent words | |||
Now you’ll see souls lurking beneath the workbench’s microscope | |||
You’ll understand how other souls parasitically shriek within your body | |||
You’ll understand the harmonies lost in the so-called free trade industries | |||
You’ll see how your nimble fingers jab into the machinery’s orifices | |||
You’ll see how the discarded sanitary pads, thrown into disarray, express their rage | |||
You’ll see how all women’s fingers unite to jab into the supervisor’s rear | |||
You’ll see your agitation, darting like hedgehogs in a graveyard | |||
You’ll see ghosts turning into ghosts, sprouting ghastly eyes | |||
You’ll see the ghosts in locker rooms, the ghosts in prayer rooms | |||
You’ll see the unjust hounds within you, unleashed to devour yourself | |||
You’ll see each of your pores slashed open and forcibly blooming | |||
You’ll see the tide rising swiftly under the pungent lithium smoke | |||
You’ll see the strong spirits swaying under the factory’s harsh lights | |||
You’ll invite them to narrate a story together, a polyphony beyond all listeners’ endurance | |||
Listen, listen, do not fear | |||
for it’s the night you, as a venomous snake, first feel the night of shedding | |||
for it’s the night you re-smell the rust in your menstrual blood | |||
for it’s the night you are closest to the truth before forcibly donning the shroud | |||
for it’s the night you have been skinned, turned inside out, and re-sewn | |||
for it’s the night you see freedom ceasing to be abstract and becoming action | |||
for it’s the night when girls who’ve forgotten their names turn into bats and bullets | |||
for it’s the night of rats on noses, buttered curtains, sliding fish and flowing dunes | |||
completely alien and transcendent to themselves, seemingly devoid of sexual desire | |||
for it’s the night when all men are dead, and women experience their first true night | |||
every scream turns the clock to nine, the factory to a virgin jungle, and you see a tiger | |||
Look, look closely, look without fear | |||
Procurer |
Revision as of 17:37, 13 June 2024
Savior
He took an excerpt from the ART OF FAILURE, wrote it into
his ART OF SUCCESS, hid it again in the ART OF THE
ANTHROPOCENE, then closed it with a satisfied heart,
feeling like a savior.
Dentist (after Sarah Howe)
Maybe pulling the plug
is just a mutual blessing.
You are shy moonbeam
with a slight blush. I am
the rock in the lava that
tries to coagulate in vain.
The next time we meet
is our first time, please
sans words pull out my
cavities. My eyes will be
willfully out of focus and
I won’t cry again. I promise.
I turned into a gay man who cannot return.
Into a man who cannot, I return.
Turned, who cannot return, I am.
Gay, I turned into who cannot return.
Man, I turned, cannot return into who.
Cannot turn into who I am.
Who, a gay man, I turned.
Into who cannot return, I turned.
Return to who I am, a gay man.
Man who cannot, I turned into.
Who I am, a gay man cannot turn.
Into I turned, cannot return.
Gay man, I cannot return to who.
Cannot return, I turned into a gay man.
I, who turned, cannot return.
Columbus
The last item made in China you
purchased might have been a rainbow
Rotate your square French fag 90 degrees,
it will become the Dutch one, both straight
perfectly. The only thing more crooked is
remember much about its history. The last
time I saw it might have been in the game
Age of Discovery. At 12, for the frst time,
I saw the whole world, in the early morning,
in his room. My small boat lit up different
areas of the map along its winding edges.
Under the cover of night, Columbus climbed
to the peak of the world.
Neutered Cat
When white queers speak of racial equality, it’s hailed as progress; when I do, it’s a jest. Every color of skin glows, in the uniformity of a queer family portrait, captured in a CLICK.
Into the household, the neutered cat strides, endearing and compliant, yet seizing love besides.*
*Cf. In ‘After Eunuchs,’ Howard Chiang suggests that eunuchs sometimes orches�trated the entire court from behind the scenes, with the emperor or empress merely a puppet.
Sex Demons in The Factory (after Kim Hyesoon)
Listen, under the hum of machines, there speak silent words
Now you’ll see souls lurking beneath the workbench’s microscope
You’ll understand how other souls parasitically shriek within your body
You’ll understand the harmonies lost in the so-called free trade industries
You’ll see how your nimble fingers jab into the machinery’s orifices
You’ll see how the discarded sanitary pads, thrown into disarray, express their rage
You’ll see how all women’s fingers unite to jab into the supervisor’s rear
You’ll see your agitation, darting like hedgehogs in a graveyard
You’ll see ghosts turning into ghosts, sprouting ghastly eyes
You’ll see the ghosts in locker rooms, the ghosts in prayer rooms
You’ll see the unjust hounds within you, unleashed to devour yourself
You’ll see each of your pores slashed open and forcibly blooming
You’ll see the tide rising swiftly under the pungent lithium smoke
You’ll see the strong spirits swaying under the factory’s harsh lights
You’ll invite them to narrate a story together, a polyphony beyond all listeners’ endurance
Listen, listen, do not fear
for it’s the night you, as a venomous snake, first feel the night of shedding
for it’s the night you re-smell the rust in your menstrual blood
for it’s the night you are closest to the truth before forcibly donning the shroud
for it’s the night you have been skinned, turned inside out, and re-sewn
for it’s the night you see freedom ceasing to be abstract and becoming action
for it’s the night when girls who’ve forgotten their names turn into bats and bullets
for it’s the night of rats on noses, buttered curtains, sliding fish and flowing dunes
completely alien and transcendent to themselves, seemingly devoid of sexual desire
for it’s the night when all men are dead, and women experience their first true night
every scream turns the clock to nine, the factory to a virgin jungle, and you see a tiger
Look, look closely, look without fear
Procurer