Contour part three
The metaphor is as old and precise as the devil. I want to be the text, you want to be the image. Fucking gender.
You don’t want them to look at you. I am trying to be unreadable. Fucking gender.
One day we will be like angels. Composed of a single contour.
In the meantime, I watch––how the ink fills in your body.
Translated by Ainsley Morse & Timmy Straw
Bone
Cut off the hand (The hand causeth thee)
Cut off the hand (A few words on trauma)
Gesamtkunstwerk Catfish
