The writer on romance under capitalism, Nietzsche, sex work, and freedom from the tyranny of the sentence.
All loves—and all selves—are fictions. Though that doesn’t mean they aren’t true.
We’re walking through the centered skylight spaces of the mall. I drop back on the cloud-white floor tiles, holding my phone up to record a video. Beautiful in its own way to watch in reality, but when I replay the video, following Alice into a store selling soap, the video doesn’t show Alice, only oval shaped air heat-trembling at the edges. I replay it three times, shocked each time when I’m unable to see her.
blink twice, because you’re in / love. It is springtime, the merry / etcetera, look ahead, where we’re going / there’s a clearing and in the clearing / stands a boxer who must have slipped / his collar on the path running through / the field. He is panting, drooling, is all white / except for the pink of his exceptions– /
After The Velvet Underground, a poetic underworld.
Exploring Muslim femininity through the politics of love
Otherness is always such a big part of my work. Formally, I don’t fit any specific niche in performance. Some works, like this one, are theater that use dance. Some are more dance heavy, or maybe only dance if I’m making ballet.
Radical intimacy, technological estrangement, and hyphen as psychic portal.
I took the morning TGV from Poitiers to Paris on January 15th to ask Etel Adnan a question. She was about to receive France’s highest cultural honor, the Ordre de Chevalier des Arts et des Lettres. Her collected writings are imminent with Nightboat Books, and she has been the late star of Kassel.
On the intricate emotional architecture of Philippe Garrel’s autobiographical classic, based on his own romance with legendary chanteuse Nico.
Sears Modern Home
Don’t touch the river. And here you are with seaweed between your teeth.
“Talk to your father.”
Seduction and Its Immediate Consequences
One April in autumn you were my story for hours.
Katherine Cooper addresses a series of letters to performance artist Cynthia Hopkins in response to her work, This Clement World.
Each wounds you badly, but no boy hurts
Like the first one did
you know i can’t imagine you were the magic*
Domestic Uncertainties is not apprehensive about its message. At the forefront is the fictionalized trajectory of Umansky’s real-life divorce, but what arises is how a writer (in the most ubiquitous sense) can integrate the autobiographical and make herself better for it.