Circuits are back in circulation, but always already post-(a )posteriori (in our postprandial world, un/fortunately, all logic is circular).
When I thought I was turning the lever all the way Off, before turning it back On, there was a tiny metal bar that kept me perpetually in passage through the middle.
Out of sheer frustration and with a glimmer of my own cleverness I plunged through it, and escaped my limbo of cold wet psychopolitical darkness, much like Cesaire.
But, much like Cesaire, I risk (re)valorizing the (masculine) body. Or I risk effacing violence? Or I'm performing figurative castration? If all women would do more weightlifting, these issues would be less pressing. Or more?
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