The superstructure of possible identities in approaching the text creates a web that circumscribes the uncertainty and doubt necessary for this work because this work is one of space, albeit monumentally small space. But it is not the vastness of space that so troubles us, the incomprehensible distance that to gaze into draws us ever nearer the beginning of being since that distance can be safely parsed into fact and statistic.This is what the inside of my head looked like after I finished reading the thing:
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Some chickens just can't dance
Maybe I'm just dense, but what the hell is going on in this Popmatters review of Emily Schultz's Songs for the Dancing Chicken?