Notes on the Post-Body
Sarah Cook
dissemination, brevity, precision:
the post-body prefers long walks on the beach
(a creative methodology?)
(so long as we articulate shape)
/
like a worm, i suddenly realize other bodies it occurs to me that there are many ways of moving that nature is full of other bodies, jutting forward that i am an example of something
everything eventually takes place in time and memory
/
the post-body hovers between usual and not frequent
//
having channeled my embarassment
into pain a kind of forgetfulness
not the good kind the kind of death
nervous about your memory
asked to eat your memory too embarrassing
embarrass the self to articulate your what was that?
self-control in the shape of spinning
spinning around the shape of recollection
/
shape of reconstruction
/
of cat-calling—
the shape of your voice in a narrow fleeting drum
//
if you are a bird
then you are not
a drum how to detect your own external sound
try calling yourself near the floor
/
the difference between all
and
only
/
birds with too much free time
//
forests can be small and secretive, too
even mothers can be small
/
even names
can be small
and secretive
even
names
can be
even
/
smaller, the post-body is a mother, only smaller
even small
even secretive
can even be
violent
/
violence (is it always physical?)
violence (is it ever intellectual?)
/
the post-body hovers between always and ever
//
"I can't see the benefit of studying
something decidedly incomplete as if
it were complete."1
/
the post-body is incomplete violence, studied accordingly
//
1Z
Sarah Cook is miles of words. She is not that kind of girl. She is that kind of grrl. Her drawings can be seen in the little blue house. Her work is forthcoming in this lifetime and others. Her body choreographs itself with leafy greens and the sound of firm typing. She takes donuts like a champ. She moves like a woman surrounded by other women. She woke up like this. She is an animal, trying to act real special. Spoiler: she is real special. She lives like a mutant. She flies on her own wings. She flies on the wings of others, too: you'll find her in a series of growing notebooks, a growing series of notebooks, a collage of moving, being, growing, understanding, not-understanding, and stickers. She is her own best documentarian. She is not taking yr shit.
Sarah Cook
dissemination, brevity, precision:
the post-body prefers long walks on the beach
(a creative methodology?)
(so long as we articulate shape)
/
like a worm, i suddenly realize other bodies it occurs to me that there are many ways of moving that nature is full of other bodies, jutting forward that i am an example of something
everything eventually takes place in time and memory
/
the post-body hovers between usual and not frequent
//
having channeled my embarassment
into pain a kind of forgetfulness
not the good kind the kind of death
nervous about your memory
asked to eat your memory too embarrassing
embarrass the self to articulate your what was that?
self-control in the shape of spinning
spinning around the shape of recollection
/
shape of reconstruction
/
of cat-calling—
the shape of your voice in a narrow fleeting drum
//
if you are a bird
then you are not
a drum how to detect your own external sound
try calling yourself near the floor
/
the difference between all
and
only
/
birds with too much free time
//
forests can be small and secretive, too
even mothers can be small
/
even names
can be small
and secretive
even
names
can be
even
/
smaller, the post-body is a mother, only smaller
even small
even secretive
can even be
violent
/
violence (is it always physical?)
violence (is it ever intellectual?)
/
the post-body hovers between always and ever
//
"I can't see the benefit of studying
something decidedly incomplete as if
it were complete."1
/
the post-body is incomplete violence, studied accordingly
//
1Z
Sarah Cook is miles of words. She is not that kind of girl. She is that kind of grrl. Her drawings can be seen in the little blue house. Her work is forthcoming in this lifetime and others. Her body choreographs itself with leafy greens and the sound of firm typing. She takes donuts like a champ. She moves like a woman surrounded by other women. She woke up like this. She is an animal, trying to act real special. Spoiler: she is real special. She lives like a mutant. She flies on her own wings. She flies on the wings of others, too: you'll find her in a series of growing notebooks, a growing series of notebooks, a collage of moving, being, growing, understanding, not-understanding, and stickers. She is her own best documentarian. She is not taking yr shit.
Bio by Jess Rowan