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We looked inside some of the posts by unlikecolor and here's what we found interesting.
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238
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148
Reblog Per Post
90
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19 days ago
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11
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4
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1
Last Seen Tumblr Blogs
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Tumblr has a low social media market share in South America.
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https://www.rte.ie/culture/2017/0525/877931-jesse-jones-on-her/
Lisa Godson on Jesse Jones Tremble Tremble notes:
State and body
Women were set offstage from the history of Easter Rising in Ireland, from 1922 onward several legislative, national, and religious discourse severely curtailed women to be involved in public life.
“The felt bodily reality of diminution of women was made manifest throughout...tremble, tremble. The re-ordering of the political imaginary is central. Tremble. Tremble proposes an alternate future.”
Alice in Wonderland realizes that the legal system will not provide truth and order and her own agency must be asserted for survival.
Michel Serres praises the information revolution as a place where networked women can reject all forms of authority.
Tina Kinsella on Jesse Jones Tremble Tremble notes:
In Tremble Tremble the giantess “poses as the maternal body as a locus from which latent alternative political imaginaries may now be harvested and made manifest. This is a direct rejection of classical psychoanalytic interpretations of the dyadic mother-child relation whereby the maternal object, as signifier of the chaotic Real, must be abjected and abandoned so we can identify with the Law of the Father and thus become autonomous beings in the world.”
These giantesses cluster in Tremble, Tremble, weaving trans generational incantations to remind us we are never rid of our mothers. Time past ushers into our time as an unshored up maternal umbilical cord connecting past, present, future.
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Self Hypnosis--Jason Bredle
Usually when people don’t know they’re dead, it means one of two things. Count backward from ten. You’re getting sleepy. When we lose faith, we don’t believe in nothing, we believe in anything. You have to think outside the box, etc., like a pony, but you also have to ignore the entire history of Europe, because it’s, like, so flammable, and it doesn’t work. That’s what you think standing next to the Danish consulate on 195th Street, as if you’ve just realized it’s impossible to turn a wolf into a dog. Look in a mirror. Repeat after me if you want to understand, like, what it’s like: gotta love a horse gotta love a horse gotta love a horse! . . . and so forth. I’m going to tell you every single thing that’s ever happened to me. After I count to ten, you won’t remember anything I’ve said.
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Corona--Paul Celan
From my Hand the Autumn eats its Leaf: we are Friends. We shell Time from Nuts and teach it to walk: Time returns to the Shell. In the mirror it’s Sunday, in Dream there is sleep, the Mouth speaks true. My eye bends down to the Sex of my Loved One: we gaze at each other, we speak a Darkness between us, we love each other as Poppy and Memory, we sleep like Wine in the Mussel, like the Sea in the Blood-Beam of Moons. We stand entwined at the Window, they look up at us from the Street: it is Time, that they knew! It is Time, that the Stone condescended to flower, that Unrest’s Heart beat. It is Time that it became, Time. It is Time.
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Morning Song - Sylvia Plath
Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. I'm no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind's hand. All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear. One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try Your handful of notes; The clear vowels rise like balloons.
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Vampire (And On His Worst Day, He Had Such an Amazing Gift)
May 2, 2017
a Cunny Poem by Bunny Rogers
What do you want from me Besides the four legs I rip off my seat and the physical embodiment of permission Besides soft legs
Besides all bodies future and past Their hardcoding and last meals Their Phantom limb and trauma Shadows Besides any patterned moth that might in a flutter flash my face And the assymetric assemblages you will build Playing Memory with the wings
Besides the encompassment of all space For all my bodies, wherever they hide And all time For all my bodies, wherever they rest
Besides any balls and all implicated cups That were at once housed and not housed Besides the stretch of all shells Surrounding all seas With the sliver of thought to reflect you And not the soft animals They once protected
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