|
a.d.
the chorus discuss electra
All day she faces out of her bedroom window, her limpid nakedness rimmed by the golden casing, like a picture-perfect reproduction of a martyr. Patiently she waits, she watches, expecting the dead to rise like steam from the earth, idling for nightfall to descend when she can go to him undetained. She’d always been prone to morosity, but her affliction has aggravated ever since her father’s passing— it’s almost as if she absorbed his death as her own, as if his dying killed her more than it did him. She no longer eats, or goes to school, or does anything synonymous with the world of the living. Her family tried to help her, but you can’t suture a wound that’s intent on spilling. It's better to secrete it away from curious eyes, to bury the ignominy, to divert the probing, the scandals.
Yet her sorrow is voluptuous, emphatic; it refuses to be tamed. She is an exhibitionist in her mourning, makes us all involuntary voyeurs to her grief.
Our spellbound boys watch her from a safe distance, scattered by her obsessions, by the patina of death that she carries around like a perfume, allured by the way she wears her sorrow as sensually as a diaphanous dress.
Some moonlit nights you can see her lying on the slab, her cheek on her father’s waterlogged portrait, looking almost peaceful, almost dead.
a.d. is drawn to the sacred, the profane, the mysterious and the mythological, which provides inspiration for her work. She is an award-nominated bisexual poet, writer, and visual artist, with words published in HAD, Aôthen, Anti-Heroin Chic, REDAMANCY Mag, God's Cruel Joke, HAWKEYE and elsewhere. Meanwhile her visual art, mainly photography and self-portraiture, is featured in Occulum, Hominum Journal, Moonday Mag, Antler Velvet, Bleating Thing and other outlets. Tumblr & Twitter: @godstained, and website here.
|
