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“A Performative Act of Missing” — from Vulgarsweet by Amy Jannotti (Gutslut Press ‘23)
A Performative Act of Missing: & i held ur hand & salted it with the wet of my yearning & i held ur hand & it brined & i held ur hand & it absconded on a redeye flight with no plans but find which direction the sun points & be there & i held ur hand & passed straight through it like smoke like shadow like light & i held ur hand & i shuffled ur knuckles like cards & i held ur hand & led you in the dance that would’ve mapped you to the secret place i store my sweetest reserves but instead i held ur hand & you bristled & so i bristled & so i spined & i held your hand & thickened my skinshell so i could survive the harsh desert & i held your hand & i buried all my blood in my roots & i held ur hand & i said dig & i held ur hand over ur own heart & asked is it still there pull it out so i can see & i held ur hand in good faith but love without works is dead & i held ur hand & you tied me to four different horses & let them pull me slowly from my limbs & i held ur hand under hot water under modern boudoir photography slant on the wall & i held ur hand & thought how nice it would be to hang from ur pinkie sideways & seminude & i held ur hand & told you i’d learn how to book a room somewhere so that we could pretend any place was ever ours & i held ur hand: you never held mine
“An Ode to Darkness” — from Melanin: Black by Dre Hill (Gutslut Press ‘22)
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An Ode to Darkness: In the shadow of the void, that was the universe, was the light of life born. It poured out of the gate of the woman covered in the dark, exploding into a series of stars and planets across a blank canvas. Rocks shattered and merged, rolling, and molding together. The cosmos spiraled and kissed her neck. Like the sun, she watched over the formation of the Earth, blowing the breath of her life into its soil. From the dirt and mud sprang the first woman, molded like clay, in the likeness of she who is darkness. From her loins she grew the first man. It was a tedious and arduous process. She raised her hands to the sky, locking her fingers with the woman clothed in the cosmos. Together they knead the Earth and birthed the first continent, Africa. This is the ode to darkness. The spiritual song rooted in the depths of humanity, connecting the light that is black, with the darkness that is white. This is the story, of herstory, the birth of all peoples from the original woman. This is the balance of nature, the dispelling of chaos with order, and the immortalization of the black body.
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untitled art piece from Into Oblivion {@sweatdrenchedpress ‘22} by Ami J. Sanghvi {@HotWraithBones} — the hybrid, multimedia, full-length quest narrative//experimental novel 🪦🔪🌬️