Who reserves sovereignty over whose body?
Who gets to say yes and say no?
Who asserts with bold audacity the value of whose organs, whose limbs, whose circumstance, whose death?
These questions would be stupid if they were not so immediately vital. For the tragic is both absurd and true: the physicality of selfhood cannot safely be taken for granted. Each human body operates within someone else’s borderlines and parameters, invisible and arbitrary boundaries dictating [+] from [-]. It’s a binary that serves the few while punishing the many. Don’t think for a second that you are not one among many.
Protect yourself. Protect each other. We each only have one body.
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"The early Nirvana of this matches my headache
and I know you found this body in the basement
beneath the cistern,
and an 1800's worth of well water couldn't clean it off.
Neither could a bucket of sweat.
You didn't even bother to try and wash it,
wearing rail-rider scuzz
as honor,
refusing the shower.
The evidence is under your skin.
White hot, pale, and crawling,
laying new life for the ages,
digging pits in my stomach
for the insects to fall in.
You can see the skull patterns
on the backs of forest tent caterpillars,
and the beauty in the slow defoliation of the cherry.
What else is there?"
---Dean Thornton.
"A creaky farmhouse with lots of rooms. Front house, middle house, and barn."
---Ian Coyningham