Read Online Mature Themes by Andrew Durbin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Durbin
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disappearing forever into a fizzy, pharmaceutical afterlife.
Lil Wayneâs âLove Meâ describes women as agents of disappearance. The song not only privileges the male subject position in the various strata of intercourse, it valorizes the female as the necessary yet problematic participant that disrupts sex by her intervening consciousness. The female is an amnesiac object and the silent, organizing principle that enables Lil Wayne to proceed in the bliss of unthinking until he comes and forcibly âcomes to his senses,â at which point he abstracts the woman into the multitude of frictional figures who oppose him. His bitches who love him obliterate his need to maintain absence of responsibility with regard to the milieu of differing relationships that constitute his socio-sexual life. Itâs only when they actively engage that he returns to himself, to everything, wasted on sizzurp in the AM.
WOMEN RUINED THE RETURN.
In summer 2008, two NYPD officers accompanied an intoxicated East Village woman as she made her way home from a local bar. They entered her apartment with her, left, and returned several times throughout the night to rape her while she was barely conscious. She sued the NYPD, but the court found neither the surveillance tapes, which showed the police officers entering and leaving her home multiple times, nor her testimony sufficient cause to convict the two men of rape. The NYPD nevertheless dismissed the cops in an effort to placate the mounting tensions between it and the public it âserves and protects.â Shortly thereafter, the two police officers left the city, the woman disappeared from the media that followed her, and I was detained in Fort Greene after I asked the police officer who had stopped me for an open container violation why he wasnât in the East Village raping women.
PRESSURE RUINED PROCEDURE.
Ten years after 9/11, the NYPD conducted numerous illegal operations against the occupiers camped near the site of the World Trade Center. I think you might remember this time, when we stood together in general assembly for hours and, later, waited for free pizza. What was, at first, a simple act of communalization became the far more mysterious idea, lurking around us, of the possible futures shooting up from the ground everywhere to form or demolish prisons, depending on your perspective. The NYPD dragged the protesters from their tents and into a mild winter. During the next year, the courts dropped the charges against many of the students, teachers, union workers, unsheltered people, and other activists after they became overburdened by the numerous legally-questionable cases. In those days, it was âfuck the policeâ and nothing else.
THE OVERBURDENED RUINED SYSTEM.
The poet Joan Retallackâs poem âAID/I/SAPPEARANCEâ makes language disappear in a procedure that virally decomposes the found jargon of scientific inquiry, mimicking the fracturing of the bodyâs defensive mechanisms by the AIDS virus. One time, I had tea with a friend my age living with HIV, and he told me he was struggling, over tea he was looking at me while a fire engine got stuck in traffic next to us and he said, though I could hardly hear him, he was struggling with. Rivulets of clouds formed in the sky above us. It is never summer anymore, it is only the eroded time of atypical weather. I was sitting in the café, reading a poem by Joan Retallack while Lil Wayneâs âLove Meâ played so loudly in someone elseâs headphones that I could hear the song several tables away. I thought (forgetting what my friend was struggling with), this song sums up some degraded feeling of the promoted self, jet set and breeze in the mix of medicinal waste, all to get the fuck back, as another poet, Lawrence Giffin, once put it, into that burning (private) plane.
MY PRIVATE PLANE RUINED JARGON.
In an extract of a paper on Retallackâs poem, the academic Bryan
Lil Wayneâs âLove Meâ describes women as agents of disappearance. The song not only privileges the male subject position in the various strata of intercourse, it valorizes the female as the necessary yet problematic participant that disrupts sex by her intervening consciousness. The female is an amnesiac object and the silent, organizing principle that enables Lil Wayne to proceed in the bliss of unthinking until he comes and forcibly âcomes to his senses,â at which point he abstracts the woman into the multitude of frictional figures who oppose him. His bitches who love him obliterate his need to maintain absence of responsibility with regard to the milieu of differing relationships that constitute his socio-sexual life. Itâs only when they actively engage that he returns to himself, to everything, wasted on sizzurp in the AM.
WOMEN RUINED THE RETURN.
In summer 2008, two NYPD officers accompanied an intoxicated East Village woman as she made her way home from a local bar. They entered her apartment with her, left, and returned several times throughout the night to rape her while she was barely conscious. She sued the NYPD, but the court found neither the surveillance tapes, which showed the police officers entering and leaving her home multiple times, nor her testimony sufficient cause to convict the two men of rape. The NYPD nevertheless dismissed the cops in an effort to placate the mounting tensions between it and the public it âserves and protects.â Shortly thereafter, the two police officers left the city, the woman disappeared from the media that followed her, and I was detained in Fort Greene after I asked the police officer who had stopped me for an open container violation why he wasnât in the East Village raping women.
PRESSURE RUINED PROCEDURE.
Ten years after 9/11, the NYPD conducted numerous illegal operations against the occupiers camped near the site of the World Trade Center. I think you might remember this time, when we stood together in general assembly for hours and, later, waited for free pizza. What was, at first, a simple act of communalization became the far more mysterious idea, lurking around us, of the possible futures shooting up from the ground everywhere to form or demolish prisons, depending on your perspective. The NYPD dragged the protesters from their tents and into a mild winter. During the next year, the courts dropped the charges against many of the students, teachers, union workers, unsheltered people, and other activists after they became overburdened by the numerous legally-questionable cases. In those days, it was âfuck the policeâ and nothing else.
THE OVERBURDENED RUINED SYSTEM.
The poet Joan Retallackâs poem âAID/I/SAPPEARANCEâ makes language disappear in a procedure that virally decomposes the found jargon of scientific inquiry, mimicking the fracturing of the bodyâs defensive mechanisms by the AIDS virus. One time, I had tea with a friend my age living with HIV, and he told me he was struggling, over tea he was looking at me while a fire engine got stuck in traffic next to us and he said, though I could hardly hear him, he was struggling with. Rivulets of clouds formed in the sky above us. It is never summer anymore, it is only the eroded time of atypical weather. I was sitting in the café, reading a poem by Joan Retallack while Lil Wayneâs âLove Meâ played so loudly in someone elseâs headphones that I could hear the song several tables away. I thought (forgetting what my friend was struggling with), this song sums up some degraded feeling of the promoted self, jet set and breeze in the mix of medicinal waste, all to get the fuck back, as another poet, Lawrence Giffin, once put it, into that burning (private) plane.
MY PRIVATE PLANE RUINED JARGON.
In an extract of a paper on Retallackâs poem, the academic Bryan
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