And so I think about the corset. As a conveyor of metaphor, it’s a powerful object, for me. I’m interested in structure, in organisation, in taxonomy, in classification, in order and containment, in safety and protection, in the harbour from the storm, in locking that shit down.
Current psychological latitude: gratitudinal.
(Current linguistic attitude: I will fuck with you with love in my heart, language, baby. Now and forever.)
After the Alphabets
I am trying to decipher the language of insects
they are the tongues of the future
There’s no rational explanation for how much I love frogs. I mean, there might be a rational tidbitual oddment I could lay down for you but all the tidy, comprehensible bullet points in the world wouldn’t do justice to how deeply fascinated and charmed and shivered I am by those little half-blood princes, those darling swimmers who leave the water to tuck the soft green of themselves into the grass so they can lie in wait for me, so they can leap in ambush and make me bark a laugh of surprise at their ridiculous bodies, hurled up from the grass, bounced high, airborne.