Saturday, August 15, 2020


Fair to comment: when Obsessa speaks,
she wreaks havoc, but enticingly – replete
with internecine wars as if of church
and state that correlate with nothing you
have ever heard nor are ever likely to hear,
except from her. Slavering over intimacies –
she savors their finer points, impenetrabilities:
today evinced in two tense thugs wed to each
other, awkward at an outdoor table at
a kindred conundrum, an East Village diner –
whose inexplicabilities, despite the hollow
pretense of Obsessa’s pleas to help resolve
them – pique you and delight her: indeed
incite her to pile on in lavish detail more
reams of complicated mises-en-scène
and stark untenabilities to rattle every
premise you’d not known you’d harbored:
as if you were a groggy sentient sailboat
tediously ever-in-the act-of-coming-to
from sailboat stupor to find out, anew,
your reflexive You-Boat turned to
starboard when it should have turned
to port. Obsessa does get on one’s nerves,
but by surveying the display of volupté
in her inimitable moral culs-de-sac and
shaky logic, we see she cannily refurbishes
the very room in which you notice them,
front and back: suddenly and thuddingly
you trip into an alternate insanity: new
visions of the meanings of quite everything
around you. Curtains, chairs, framed photos,
what Obsessa wears, sky and city views
outside the windows utterly rewrite
the news and now you’re floating in
a cosmos you don’t know a thing about,
but one far more egregiously ridiculously
interesting, alluring and insane than any
you yourself had ever had the balls to dream.
Now you are the center of its scheme!

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