The Latitudes of Homosocial Motility Within Heterosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk (Prose Version)*

i was reading the monk when i realised i was in paris with my mum. it was early morning, still dark, and she had already gone for her morning walk. she had been taking pictures of unemptied rubbish bins around champs-élysées and abandoned rent-a-bikes everywhere that she said look like dead bodies. “they used toContinue reading “The Latitudes of Homosocial Motility Within Heterosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk (Prose Version)*”

The Latitudes of Heterosocial Motility within Homosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk*

textual authority, propelled, in part, by capitulation to sexual desires, governed by nefarious intervention, the manner by which egregious schemes transpire, a patriarchal authority relegated by requisite friendship:   “Let us forget the distinctions of sex, despise the world’s prejudices, and only consider each other as Brother and Friend. Live then! Oh! Live for me!”Continue reading “The Latitudes of Heterosocial Motility within Homosexual Desire in Matthew Lewis’s The Monk*”

pengumuman kematian dan tata cara penguburan / dánarfregnir og jarðarfarir

kita bermain sampai mati lebah mendengung dalam telinga terperosok dalam genangan hilang di tengah lautan hening awal yang baik kegelapan harapan kabut terbang terjemahan hopelandic: við spilum endalaust með suð í eyrum hoppípolla sæglópur svo hljótt ágætis byrjun myrkur von mistur fljúgðu

pondok lestari

gudangan lele tempe sayur bayam jagung seperti afterthought rantangan tak tepat selera maafkan aku bukan lakilaki yang kuinginkan aku khawatir tentang kebahagiaan suburbia ini seperti layanglayang berbenang kenur no match untuk benang gelasan seperti kepala marsose yang tibatiba tertimpa kelewang lupa mengaitkan tali helm di dagu jerawatan aku ingin tinggal di rumah saja memasang teralisContinue reading “pondok lestari”

the c so beautiful

’tis like when achilleus gave away his body armour to patroclus and he had to make do with odysseus’ ill-fitting loincloth. i can no longer walk through your garden in my own shoes. what’s left is a shed full of half-finished canvasses of happiness with dainty little clouds rolling in. ’tis like when the ironmongerContinue reading “the c so beautiful”