Ruby Constance is a writer and artist living in Melbourne (Naarm), Australia.
She likes sea-themed doona sets and tamagotchis.

on the angels of hubris

says sontag of sartre: man, haunted by the world, acts. sometimes i am tempted to evolve— become incalculably cool or cut off my breasts, become a horologist or a surgeon. meanwhile the angels of hubris stand erect like calendars, counting (or pretending to count). says i: morandi, haunted by the world, paints still lives. morandi offers us a place to sleep. meanwhile nothing splits and changes in a fractal manner. morandi painted to show us that angels, too, are condemned behind their faces (like moats) and remain virgins to the stars; really i am easily persuaded into most things, but of nothing more than to rise in the evening to collect white strawberries, bending long, low & sweetly under hot moonlight.

on future angels

for when we discuss the attributes of future angels (their open tendons, their eyes which fall all around, the daisies, the daisies) says pseudo-dionysius the areopagite 'the spears and batte-axe denote the dividing of things unlike, and the sharp and energetic and drastic operation of the discriminating powers'. the future angels are only the sharp and blunt blades that divide the world into eros & banality, methodically. and what do they have to say for themselves? we talk about pleasure like children we have reduced it to a fine line. we ovulate into pale tubes, like shitting. we are not interested in things unless they are sexual and fatal.

nowhere blues

the animals are there but they do not know you are building an animal cage in which to put them forever. black little eyes boring into the backs of your hands, hot pistons working but to nowhere, to nowhere, they are little engines to nowhere. because a cage is also nowhere. and that's just the sort of thing that happens around here: sad, quiet, etc. now maybe you don't believe in things like that. maybe you don't believe in signals, wordlessness, the trebuchet with its swinging luck. perhaps you plod along unrelated tangents & line your dry coffin with rocks; perhaps, additionally, you are a sceptic. but someday you too will be watching someone with your dull eyes, thinking about produce. someday you will be watching someone blankly and you will not know they are building a you cage.

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