Incisors

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Dentist working on a patient

His eyes are brown. Hazel, when it’s bright, when light floods the  room overlooking the park. They remind you of your father’s. He looks vaguely like him all around. Face: fleshy, honest. Skin: brown. Eyebrows, both thick and sparse at once, taking up a lot of room on his face, without actually being heavy, each hair declaring independence on its own patch of skin. Pioneers, frontiersmen. Under the eyes he has bags and you wonder what a dentist’s assistant lies awake worrying about when all he does is hold instruments of pain for someone else to inflict, isn’t his whole job to scrape coffee off your teeth. Fleshy moles. Your dad had them too, dotting his neck, and this guy shares your abomination. You get yours lasered off. Insurance doesn’t kick in a dime.

You are attracted to him. Men who remind you of your father always draw your eye. When you were a kid you tried to get a glimpse of his dick a lot, but he wasn’t really the kind to parade around naked like your mother. You saw it once, shriveled, hairy, beautiful, but there was no satisfaction in this because by then he was already sick and his eyes were yellow and he looked fuzzy and confused and he’d just forgotten to button up his striped pajama bottoms after he’d peed and there was a spot of yellow urine on his pants and this wasn’t how you’d wanted to see his dick. It had looked nothing like yours.  Continue reading


Modern English

By
Image by Jean Feline
Image by Jean Feline

it’s a cave it’s a chasm it’s an eye
it’s a coil of pulp it’s a fold of skin
it’s a flush of flesh
it’s a multi-layering of meat

of hair
of blood
of adipose tissue

it’s a region of glands
it’s a hood
it’s a cleft
it’s a concentration of carnality

it’s an inside
it’s an inside made outside
it’s an eruption from the lower body
it’s a release of rock from the earth
or a release of earth from rock Continue reading


September 19

By
Peter Hujar, Brooklyn Basketball Court, 1976, Courtesy of the Peter Hujar Archive
Peter Hujar, Brooklyn Basketball Court, 1976, Courtesy of the Peter Hujar Archive

 

A man who I thought was just very sleepy and whose sleepiness really intrigued me like wow I’ve never been that sleepy on the train that I was slumping over like that: Well he turned out to be drunk or I assumed he was drunk. He began vomiting into his hands. He didn’t seem sick to me until that outburst of fluids.  Continue reading


Laura

By

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5.17pm. Hampton Court Flower Show. A blonde woman comes into the stand from The Water Gardens. She has a friend. They both have shopping. Bags and bunches of flowers. Tall sprigs. Bamboo shoots. Sunflowers. Echinacea. Poppies. Astrantias. Cartons of chocolates. An alpaca bedspread. The blonde woman wheezes a little. One of her eyes has an opaque colour. It lolls under her hairline. She comes right up to me and asks to see the stock, everything that we have. The pendants and the bracelets and the earrings and the rings. But she only wants one stone.
“Moonstone.” Continue reading


Excerpt—Time is Not A Line: Conversations, Essays, and Images about HIV/AIDS Now

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Speak, 2011, Ted Kerr

Artist Carlos Motta asked In The Flesh contributor Ted Kerr to guest edited the third issue of the We Who Feel Differently journal, which is a sporadic online publication addressing critical issues of queer culture, featuring analyses and critiques of international Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans, Intersex, Queer and Questioning politics from queer perspectives. 

Entitled, Time is Not A Line, Kerr’s guest-edited collections of essays, conversations, stories and images explores the ongoing HIV/AIDS epidemic now, looking at PrEP, nostalgia, the role of women in the crisis, and the current state of activism.

Accompanying each text are images by a variety of artists, many of whom are members of the Visual AIDS Artist Registry. The images should be seen not only in relation to the text they appear with, but as artistic expressions in their own right.

Below we excerpt Kerr’s introduction and provide links to the journal’s articles. Visit the We Who Feel Differently online journal by clicking HERE

In 2010 a version of David Wojnarowicz’s video Fire In My Belly was censored as part of the exhibition Hide/Seek: Difference and Desire in American Portraiture at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. Around the world artists, activists, along with galleries, museums and other art organizations responded by screening the video for free and sharing it widely online, hosting public discussions about David’s work and career, and organizing protests. In New York there was a march that started at The Metropolitan Museum of Art with people waving placards, chanting, and creating spectacles through their manner of dress and action. Within the crowd were people wearing masks of David with his mouth sewn shut drawn from the video Fire In My Belly. As powerful as these masks were, they struck me as being counter productive. David was being silenced again—even in the grave—oppressed by a government he understood as being implicit in his death, and we were joining him by being muzzled. To truly honor David, to fight for and with him, shouldn’t we have been chanting through masks with the mouths ripped open? Talking to some of the protesters I understood that they were trying to represent what oppression felt like for them. The protest was well covered by the media and the conversation about the censorship was sustained through out the run ofHide/Seek (helped in large part by artist AA Bronson asking that his work, Felix, June 5th, 1994 be removed from the exhibition out of respect for David and his work). Continue reading