Katya Grokhovsky "Untitled (heroic)", 2011"The women on Death row have murdered, in most cases children, in most cases, their own.
The men have murdered in most cases, women." Julie Carr, 100 Notes on violence.
Feeling great or not at all, fatigue and words, as such, per reasonable doubt. Bones, skull, hair, blood. Rooftop and vodka and cigarettes and sometimes no Body is perceived per se.
Here we are, at your graciously built station, in an elegant city of precious ideas, not letting go. A single second away, a second of a second of your time, let me gather an eyelash and blow. Away. Critically acclaimed work and I will not show you my flesh.
Standing. Effecting the breath of world.
Missing softest feathered touching your fingertips allowing to introduce and forgiving stale smells, plasticine wings, heavy.
Ask me. What to do?
what to learn and to know and how shall I know anyway?
Internalized patriarchy, they told me. Feminist affect?
How much and WHO? Directly at death, stare and realize. This is you. And this is me.
And perhaps, that is exactly how it is. And that is all.
WHO needs to say this again? Sex has become the enemy, don't intrude.
I came upon this article" how to collect female artists for a new collector".
Let's begin.
Anger is not my answer.
Doing and looking and observing and doing again.
Perhaps it matters perhaps it will not and does it occur and does it roll off your tongue when you say my name. No no it doesn't, I guess it doesn't. It catches it in mid air: mid letter: mid word and you jump high and rule out and screen for mistakes and hop to it and rule out failure. Fail you must at something and winning is an option. Achieving the highest and appropriate, my lyrical writing isn't good enough. The turns and postings and my own discomfort. Here we are, leaving behind a sense of learning and newness. I must be gone and then I just continue.
Who keeps it rolling?
who makes a stance? who runs? who lies?
where to go?
why?
Standing.
Academically?
My words are falling, and pausing against the tidal waves of the mud. Always, UP THE CREEK, WILLING TO breathe. reward me or not.
Katyushka, Katenka, Katrusya, little bit.
being itself, being let it be, in the being of it, let it be.
