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Come, bring us to this hovel. Somewhere the groom enters the bride. Somewhere today said something hopeful about fixity. Bath towel, bible, room key, and if it all runs to nothing, my evidentiary? Women aren’t inhabited figuratively. Say stain and come to bed, say bruise and kneel instead, say rough. Let fall your horrible pleasure. Killed, the spider curls to galaxy. Outside, occlusion/snow/a localized stifling/the day bereft. And cry these dreadful summoners grace? This page is full of theft.
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In her new book, Danish poet Olga Ravn writes with open love, pity, and compassion for her strange yet familiar creations.
Draconian individual punishment distracts from systemic change and reinforces the cruelest and most racist system of incarceration on the planet.
Our well-being depends on a better understanding of how the logic of labor has twisted our relationship with pleasure.