Olio examines the way that we experience stories that become integral parts of our consciousness—those intimately bound in the social fabric with which we surround ourselves.
From the “stuff” of humanity, Sims is checking in on what one post-human moment could look like, given a composite of material which recognizes that the material for language must come from some hodgepodge of originary sources.
O’Neill and Piazza work to create this kind of boundary-obscuring version of erasure one in which any ghosts of the text are, even if only briefly, chased away, clearing space for a multiplicity of new speakers.
By both accessing what it says and what it does not (but should) say, Woman’s World becomes a much truer narrative of experience than the shiny, abstracted lives that even contemporary popular magazines might lead us to believe that we desire.
Karen Weiser’s Or, the Ambiguities challenges our ideas of how we orient our practice of reading by creating complex textual maps.
Taken out of their given original contexts, the figures included in Erratic Fire, Erratic Passion acquire new subtexts which rely less on our knowledge of stats and more on our interest in what it is to be cornered—what it is to read personas which are constructed of the simultaneously the strongest and flimsiest of media: language.
At a time reflected by fear- and hatemongering language, creating the hazardous binary discourse of “us versus them,” Philip Metres’ Sand Opera reminds us it’s not that simple; we can’t let ourselves believe it is that inhuman.
The Voyage of the Sable Venus aims to transform, translate, and orient the reader simply by handing them a map of history and experience saying “Go. Now.” and sending them toward an uncertain territory whose boundaries are imperceptible and variable.
Nogues’ text takes on the task of capturing an empire in the incongruities of its history and places the burden on an entire tradition—a set of documents that, save for Nogues’ practice of reading-through, might have otherwise been allowed to stand, enabling essential truths of the matter to remain hidden and unquestioned as parts of larger seemingly untouchable historical constructs.
The Xenotext becomes is a hopeless pastoral; the ultimate lament for a living text that will both always and never be—a sign that is of us, but is not us.