Sunday, June 27, 2010

sloppy kisses for valentines

So obviously I'm procrastinating from writing my review of Danielle Dutton's S P R A W L, which I realize is the FIRST review I've written since I've started FRANCESFARMERISMYSISTER and kind of disavowed 3rd-person objective reviewing, the cult of I-I-I started by Dodie Bellamy joyously, gladly, in Barf Manifesto. And fuck I've got to do it, as it'd due tomorrow. Instead I've fucked around all day and swam around in this really wonderful sweaty pool on my mat at yoga which erased away yesterday's maybe-it-wasn't-swine-flu, and did a headstand on my mat not against the wall for the second time ever, and drank a whole pitcher of  strawberry-infused lemonade John made with agave nectar, and I wonder if the chip in my brain that allowed me to write reviews is somehow removed. Or dead. Or something. But I will tell you: Danielle's book is GENIUS. I don't know how to say HOW yet in a 570 word capsule, but it is, it's a work of total fucking GENIUS. I read it, fittingly, on the plane to and fro Philadelphia, and I clasped it shut and said to John: She is a far far more brilliant writer than me (than I? you know I don't know and I don't care. Death to grammar!) And John said, don't say that, you have certain gifts or whatever, and I said, No, you don't get it, it's AWESOME how much I admire what she pulls off in this book, it is GENIUS, this book needs to be read and marveled at, what Danielle performs in this book, the verbal pyrotechnics, she is like a postmodern Jane Bowles, don't worry I won't write that! But she is. And I went for a walk which of course reminded me of the book, which is all about flaneuring around this bizarre suburbia, and I saw a condom hanging from a fence, and I thought of Danielle's book, as it was such a strange little tableau in the midst of all the gorgeous flowers on this person's lawn, and I felt bad that I couldn't write about that in a review!

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This is all to say, does anyone know how to get in touch with Dennis Cooper? Because I really want him to have a copy of O Fallen Angel, I mean we're "Facebook" friends, me and like 3,000 other people, but I just want him to read it, you don't have to give me his address, just like I can send it to you and you can send it to him or something.

Someone suggested I post something on his blog, like in the comments, like a valentine. I don't know. I feel shy! I will write this here:

Dear Dennis Cooper -

I love your texts in a messed up and disgusting way. I learned about love from your writing. I also read somewhere that Good Morning, Midnight is one of your favorite novels, and it's one of mine. You also live in Paris, and I live in Akron, Ohio. I would like to send you a copy of my book O Fallen Angel, which maybe you will flip through while on the toilet and like. It is a pretty easy read, and you might like it, as I'm trying to say something about fucked-up families.

Sincerely,

Kate Zambreno

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oh and speaking of valentines, in this case terribly mutual, generative, affirming: angela: you inspire me too. wal-mart and wife-swap and baudelaire! how fantastic! and i am so honored for OFA to have inspired your productive (destructive) purge of writing. us writing into these pink hearts we blot in the mirror, these pink hearts that are our hearts of darkness.

Jackie Wang on Jack Halberstam and Negative Feminism

Really interesting essay by Jackie Wang (unbearably smart with such a kindred list of connections and associations, who just wrote her undergrad thesis on experimental writing and feminism) on Jack Halberstam's recent theories on negative feminism and masochism. She links to Halberstam's latest blog post on the Marina exhibit and the concept of self-destructiveness. Here is Halberstam:

For me, Marina Abramovicz’s work falls into a category of thought, performance and art that I call “shadow feminism.” In this genre, we find no “feminist subject” but only un-subjects who cannot speak, who refuse to speak; subjects who unravel, who refuse to cohere; subjects who refuse “being” where being has already been defined in terms of a self-activating, self-knowing, liberal subject. We find a feminism that stages a refusal to become woman and that locates this refusal deep in the heart of masochistic pain/pleasure dynamics?

I am considering both Halbertsam's ideas today and Wang's reading of it, along with my initial post about Marina and masochism... I like the idea of a liberatory aspect behind masochism, this negative or shadow feminism... of the gurlesque and empowerment which kind of has to do with this discussion roz and arielle greenberg are having over at roz's home and which roz and I have also had...thinking thinking thinking today. not really thinking reading and pondering. i had the swine flu yesterday it has not been confirmed but it is what i will tell myself and what my dr. webmd told me...i feel lately like that artist who posed in the same dress as marina and titled her piece "the anxiety of influence."

Today I must write my review of Danielle Dutton's SPRAWL for The Believer (it's unbelievably genius, like if Gertrude Stein channeling a housewife Alice B. Toklas wrote  The Arcades Project but it was about suburbia, but I have to put on a reviewer hat and say something coherent, whenever I write a review for such things I feel I am not only trying to fit text into a box, I am the one being fit into the box). Tomorrow I will start on my mondo essay about female masochism and violence and and and....too many weird fingers in the air.