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reading: villa incognito watching: fleabag listening: SPRING '20

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hi, im zay im from queens and i
have way too many interests.

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#queue have your mother's eyes.
i track #tuserzay, tag me in whatever you want!

trying to get back into the groove of edits after a super long hiatus (p.s. i'm open to requests)


Could you show us some stories and texts on light and intangibility? That sounds like a lovely theme!!!!
Anonymous
  • Off the top of my head:

    • Virginia Woolf, The Waves
    • Yūko Tsushima, Territory of Light
    • Mike McCormac, Solar Bones
    • Maggie Nelson, Bluets
    • James Wright, ‘Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota’
    • Emily Dickinson, ‘There’s a certain Slant of light, (320)’, ‘A Light exists in Spring’
    • Jack Underwood, ‘A Year in the New Life’
    • Philip Larkin, ‘Aubade’, ‘High Windows’
    • Jenny George, ‘Reprieve’
  • Works by Angela Davis

  • [David Wojnarowicz]’s immediate reaction [to being diagnosed with AIDS] was of intense loneliness. Love, he wrote that day: love wasn’t enough to connect you, to ‘merge one’s body with a society, tribe, lover, security. You’re on your own in the most confrontational manner.’

    During the AIDS years he kept painting a repeating image of creatures attached to one another by pipes or cords or roots, a foetus to a soldier, a heart to a clock. His friends were sick, his friends were dying; he was in deep grief, thrust face to face with his own mortality. Again and again with his brush, painting the cords that tethered creatures together. Connection, attachment, love: those increasingly imperiled possibilities. Later, he’d express this urge in words, writing: ‘If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth this present time I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours I would.’

    — Olivia Laing, from The Lonely City

  • In all seriousness I took a death and dying course in college for fun and that’s when I fell in love with, and began to seriously study, spontaneous or “street shrines”. These are the organic, unplanned placements of items when someone is killed, generally, and the community almost descends on a spot. I am fascinated by that interfaith, inter-spirit moment of connection fostered. What drives someone to leave the first item? Who guides them there? What do we, as humans, seek from the leaving of a memorial on a place that now hallowed? And we know it is, to some extent, even if we’re not spirit-workers. We have this human need to bear witness, no matter who we are, and over and over again it manifests as this need to build some space, some monument that says “they were here, and now they aren’t here, and we, collectively, of all faiths and walks of life, strangers to each other, will remember them”

    We take comfort in, and protect to some measure, that space we create with tea-light candles and stuffed bears and flowers and it just feels like the Right Thing to Do. We rebuild these spaces when they are torn down by authority and we keep building them up and that’s beautiful

    Street shrines are TRULY universal, too. They are largely non-verbal but it’s like we just KNOW what to do, like something moves inside all of us and it doesn’t fucking matter if we can’t understand anyone else standing at the site, it’s just a Knowing. It’s phenomenal 

  • One of my professors specializes in this, she wrote a book called Roadside Crosses in Contemporary Memorial Culture about her fieldwork in Texas.