A daydream: philosophy comes for the geological anthropocene to shake it down with thought. Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw's Burmese cat discusses the nexus of the anthropocene and the patriarchy regularly with Derrida's cat on Skype, Derrida's cat having been adopted by Cixous after his death. The cats get along famously (they're best friends) and, encouraged by Cixous, Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw's Burmese cat is writing an ecriture feminine novel on the matter, meanwhile, mentored by Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw, the cats are working on a paper together about the human habit of anthropomorphising non-human animals as a symptom of the tragedy of the industrialised, corporatised, diminished human condition, which they plan to present at the next animal-human studies conference. Sometimes when Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw is thinking and taking notes in his armchair of an evening he and his Burmese cat-who has not been able to stretch to veganism, but who has, at least, vowed off 'recreational' hunting-consider time and ontology across the species. Though these conversations can last rather a long time Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw's Burmese cat always has the last word, concluding with a sigh and a philosophical flick of the tail: 'I think the Buddhists are right.'
Meera Atkinson
A daydream: philosophy comes for the geological anthropocene to shake it down with thought. Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw's Burmese cat discusses the nexus of the anthropocene and the patriarchy regularly with Derrida's cat on Skype, Derrida's cat having been adopted by Cixous after his death. The cats get along famously (they're best friends) and, encouraged by Cixous, Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw's Burmese cat is writing an ecriture feminine novel on the matter, meanwhile, mentored by Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw, the cats are working on a paper together about the human habit of anthropomorphising non-human animals as a symptom of the tragedy of the industrialised, corporatised, diminished human condition, which they plan to present at the next animal-human studies conference. Sometimes when Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw is thinking and taking notes in his armchair of an evening he and his Burmese cat-who has not been able to stretch to veganism, but who has, at least, vowed off 'recreational' hunting-consider time and ontology across the species. Though these conversations can last rather a long time Dr Alberts-Dezeeuw's Burmese cat always has the last word, concluding with a sigh and a philosophical flick of the tail: 'I think the Buddhists are right.'
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Meera Atkinson
*this is a fictocritical vignette embodying the gibbon by way of Dr Malone's words We are the Hainan black crested gibbon and there are 17 of us left we are your history humans as disturbers we are within you it's a constructed process we are the human animal boundary gibbon the neglected ape not the great ape we are their history we are within them the marginalisation of us we are primatology's shifting gaze less than 10% original forest remains on Java and there are 17 of us left and do you know what that means us silvery human encroachment they take for trade and into their homes and reserves then came a tiger a supernatural being the forest has been dramatically altered by logging and we, taken as pets, need ethnographical methods but listen it was scary (the forest) not because of the ghost or the devil but because of the animals (the absence of them) take our word this place is haunted spine chilling that's why it's important between forest and animals only 17 of us anywhere a place must have inhabitants right an expert says the study of nature is powerful, and power is cultural but listen there are only 17 of us we can count you know 17 yes 17 Meera Atkinson
On concrete their paws, their slither green gone our urban their habitat lost. As you and I sit doing business at a cafe, they fall under wheels of cars, jump through windows into our homes, fly over our heads and disappear, returning as installations; sheep of chains (what a metaphor), crow canopy, whales on walls and in air, elephant topiary lane. And there, above the store, flight over rooftops of swooping loss, swooping loss, and elsewhere the sculptured head of a war horse stands as monument to the endless suck into our madness into our doom into our wound. Liana Christensen
Zoo Haiku 9 glass breaks like hearts — tools may yet set me free Meera Atkinson
Watch out owners of the means of production. Eyes everywhere, stealing into the dark, trespassing on our, on their behalf. Watch out law makers of the means of stealing production, owners into the dark. Eyes everywhere. Meera Atkinson
Working in the fertile field of imagination; toiling, playing, agitating them into the fabric, to hang on the walls of abattoir worlds. Meera Atkinson
We see the art, but not the artist; eye of the beholder Meera Atkinson
* This is the first of a series of responses to conference papers, which will be announced by the title and author of the paper. The idea is not to proffer works of literary genius set to last the test of time, but rather to fling forth first drafts of writerly, experiential reflections as promptly as possible. Feel free to use these as launching pads for further discussion around the paper or reflections of your own. If I speak you how to speak you not just of you or speak at you or around you what we found you or surround you or defend you or pretend you or explain you how to speak you your unique you smelling through you see as you do hear what you hear fear what you fear rear as you rear give as you give live as you live cry as you cry die as you die if I speak you speak your story of your glory through our sameness and our difference at resistance if I speak I speak through me you me you me you me you me then I speak with the air of shared breath Sandra Burr
A silver flash catches me. The fish hook snagged in the cygnet's beak seals her fate. Liana Christensen
Zoo Haiku 8 my red hair gone naked apes stare |