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mythologist's Profile

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In my work, at any given point, the great issues of identity politics and dialectical absolutism assume a tight coherence, a profoundly threatening total awareness by which I seek to mediate the conflict between meaning and the extremes of deconstruction. I never strike a false note, I believe in savvy artistic incandescence as a constitutive enhancement of racy sexuality, all as a way to examine the necessity of self-love. It's always dangerous to underestimate my work. I insult the intellectual dignity of the French. They arrive in my brightly colored landscape right after quitting time only to discover an empty stage set in which all the clueless actors have wandered off to an installation of obsolete Marxist sloganeering. Yeats was deeply immersed in mythology and so am I. T. S. Eliot preferred Dante to Shakespeare, but I don't. Charles Bernstein loves the way my sentences decompose. John Ashbery will read my work only while naked…

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  • Female
  • Born on February 4
  • Joined May 6, 2008

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on sheets that swoon with passion, you might see impotent angels damn themselves for me

About

In my work, at any given point, the great issues of identity politics and dialectical absolutism assume a tight coherence, a profoundly threatening total awareness by which I seek to mediate the conflict between meaning and the extremes of deconstruction. I never strike a false note, I believe in savvy artistic incandescence as a constitutive enhancement of racy sexuality, all as a way to examine the necessity of self-love. It's always dangerous to underestimate my work. I insult the intellectual dignity of the French. They arrive in my brightly colored landscape right after quitting time only to discover an empty stage set in which all the clueless actors have wandered off to an installation of obsolete Marxist sloganeering. Yeats was deeply immersed in mythology and so am I. T. S. Eliot preferred Dante to Shakespeare, but I don't. Charles Bernstein loves the way my sentences decompose. John Ashbery will read my work only while naked. Everything I do is the pure output of brains, speed, and skill. A couple of weeks ago, I digested Aristotle. I found him to be electrifyingly ahistorical, and he has now been subsumed into my work. I have open-ended stratagems when it comes to the Germans, particularly Goethe and Kant. They live now in my imagination. I go way beyond alienation into a new synthesis of desire and content. My work stands for something invisible, something inner. I attempt to explain the risk of appearing. Foucault would know how well my work succeeds in revealing the discourse between power and structure. When you read my work, you may think
"simile" and "metaphor," but what you really get is the storm, the dark mansion, the servant girl standing alone in Columbus Circle. Triumph and loss permeate my work. People should try to pick up on that. My technical virtuosity is unrivaled. Don't talk to me about subject matter. My work takes "narrative" and turns it into whatever happened. In my work, "story" becomes language contemplating its own articulation in a field of gesture. There is a higher reality at play in my work. Sacred memories resonate with perceptual knowledge of the body as primal text. Yet my work is never subservient to the dominant ideology. It circulates warmly and freely through all variable channels. My work is like the furniture you so much want to sink into, but must wait as it wends its way from distant points in a giant moving truck screeching across the country to your new home.

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