A web of loss

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View of Surfcomber Hotel

Gauzy film between
evergreens is a web

of loss. Get closer. Reach
to touch the shimmering

gossamer and your finger
pushes through. Remember

filling that space with desire?
Someone else might grieve

the spider who abandoned
this home; others grow anxious

waiting for a deer’s walk
to wreck it. But you—

you grieve the net of thought
spun inside your own womb:

intricate and glossy and strong.

Miscarriage, Christine Stewart-Nun?ez


In the quiet, Vera could hear its sharp puffs of breath—low and fast—a complete and utter confusion. A denial. The eyes like blank boxes, but there, in their depths, a sense of something moving. A frantic dancing. Erratic. Vera felt her heart pumping awkwardly, palpitating. “Please wait,” Vera whispered.

And then it died. Just like that, she felt it go. Something horrible and also strangely thrilling in it.

Roughage, India Ennenga (Verso)

AG2024_1077693a or I can’t get the hang of it

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My failure to evolve has been causing me a lot of grief lately.I can't walk on my knuckles through the acres of shattered glass in the streets.I get lost in the arcades. My feet stink at the soirees.The hills have been bulldozed from whence cameth my help.The halfway houses where I met my kind dreaming of flickering lights in the woods are shuttered I don't know why. "Try," say the good people who bring me my food,"to make your secret anguish your secret weapon. Otherwise, your immortality will bean exhibit in a vitrine at the local museum, a picture in a book."But I can't get the hang of it. The heavy instructions fall from my hands.It takes so long for the human to become a human!He affrights civilizations with his cry. At his approach,the mountains retreat. A great wind crashes the garden party.Manipulate singly neither his consummation nor his despairbut the two together like curettesand peel back the pitch-black integuments to discover the penciled-in figure on the painted-over mural of time, sitting on the sketch of a boulder belowhis aching sunrise, his moody, disappointed sunset.

Vijay Seshadri, The Descent of Man

Beauty fills us with a “surfeit of aliveness”

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On Beauty and Being Just, Elaine Scarry, 2001

Scarry argues that our responses to beauty are perceptual events of profound significance for the individual and for society. Presenting us with a rare and exceptional opportunity to witness fairness, beauty assists us in our attention to justice. The beautiful object renders fairness, an abstract concept, concrete by making it directly available to our sensory perceptions. With its direct appeal to the senses, beauty stops us, transfixes us, fills us with a “surfeit of aliveness.” In so doing, it takes the individual away from the center of his or her self-preoccupation and thus prompts a distribution of attention outward toward others and, ultimately, she contends, toward ethical fairness.


“When it comes to weather, New Englanders are delusional.”

On Beauty: A Novel, Zadie Smith, 2005

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Elvan Zabunyan, Réunir les bouts du monde. Art, histoire, esclavage en mémoire, Le Crédac. B42.

Roots to Fruits, Nº3 Congada, 2024. Memórias Congadeiras. Over the course of five decades, self-taught musician and ethnomusicologist Spirito Santo (1947) has produced hundreds of hours of audio recordings containing music, reports and interviews, many meters of black & white negatives and colored slides using amateur photographic equipment, such as polaroids, point-and-shoot cameras and K7 recorders, capturing unique moments of the cultural history of the Central African diaspora in Minas Gerais, Brazil.


Brownout by Phoenecia released April 19, 2001.


What proposition is this artist putting in the world?






[W]hat proposition is this artist putting in the world?” Beckwith