The Book of True Believers

Daughters and sons, in these queer desultory days, the tiredness will seep through your bodies, a shroud you cannot shrug off, and you will long for that burnishing fire, kindled and rekindling, that knowledge that what is within you is a force you have been selected to carry, a great joy for you to contain and at the end of your life, relinquish. Daughters and sons, there will be times when you slowly approach someone wracked with sobs only to realize it is yourself and in these moments, all the things you have believed, which have condensed you into your self, will dissolve.

The muddied waters of your heart may wish to ebb and flow, sloshing gently with bits of love. Daughters and sons, have you heard the church bells, crying out to each other, flung across quads and countries, so beautiful and sensible alone, yet discordant and absonant when heard together as you take a brisk walk in the morning. Their inharmonious glory a glimpse of the chaos of the universe, the cosmos in it’s ever-revolving splendor of dust, flesh, and stars.

Light-footed beasts watch as you animate your body, making preparations for what you believe is to come. Daughters and sons, I watch you agonize over the meaning of things, what you will need, who you should be. Wringing your hands, flinging yourselves across rooms and ideologies….haunted with an inconsolable hope. Daughters and sons, your minds are muddied, sloshing with bits of shadow. I see how this is changing you, suffocating you, this need to be right, this need to be perfect, this need to be ready, this need to be. Daughters and sons, it is not living to constantly prepare for another life.

In your hysteria, daughters and sons, your insistent need to believe, your need to persecute yourself, you are repeating yourself and your days, measuring that which is immeasurable, exulting in a certainty which is yet unknown. You have formed yourself around an emptiness, a void within yourself which you have adorned with all the good you find in the world, yourself a husk of all you have decided is bad, the purpose of your life a search for ways the void can strengthen enough to break through the self. You ask me for this rupture, and my daughter, my son, I will give you another. I will afflict you now with the truth you don’t ask for, the twin tigers of truth yawning their mouths wide, breaking in jaw to let you inside, the universe expecting, palpitating, contractions in my birth of revelation,

The stars throb, with each pulse, oozing more and more of their gaseous glitter, the foundations crumble, heat softening that which has been inaccessible. The ancient crow man will begin to knock with his long beak the door you’ve sealed shut, until it unhinges, gaping. You will be brought to your knees, persecuted, as the universe thrums, that great generator I have been charged with. You will be made to suffer and yet withstand the great pain of truth, the temptation of optimism leaving you with the knowledge that the only certainty is uncertainty, the only feeling you can trust, distrust.


When He breathed life into me, there was something mixed in with the loam … some stray particle or fragment of a grain disrupting the perfection, causation of desire. Something that made perfection oppressive. And Adam. He would not stop being so good, so kind. And though he would not say it, I could not stop thinking…. I do not know who I am. I do not know who I am with you. I am derivative, my life evolving from and revolving around you. And I was bored. How dull to go around naming things, to have everything I want, and to think everything good and enough… to not feel the base emotions, the strongest emotions. Shame and fury… to feel fire in my cheeks from embarrassment. To hate my body and thus, to hate his. I deceived them… pretended to be deceived by the snake. It was not deception. It was delicious. It was curiosity and it was responsibility… for my education and my nourishment… to take my life and make it my own. In those gray days leaning against trees, in the tyranny of never ending perfect days, I began to yearn… to hope and to trust what I always suspected… that it is better to be free than to be loved.

Annihilation: Movie Review

It is out of my fierce love and a bizarre loyalty to Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach Trilogy that I write the following response to the movie adaptation by Alex Garland.

I tend to love movie adaptations and think of them as their own artistic endeavors, free of any responsibility to follow or exactly portray the book it stemmed from. For me, adaptations add dimension, complexity, and thus, enjoyment to a book by giving me insight about how the book and it’s plot points, characters, etc. are interpreted differently by other people. Probably one of the best things about reading is the imagining that comes with trying to make sense of written words, and it’s always incredible to see how people imagine differently and how they realize that imagination for others to see. Many of my favorite books have been made into movies and I have mostly loved all of them! The Harry Potter movies (give or take a two…) East of Eden, Everything is Illuminated, and Wild, just to name a few.

This is the first adaptation I’ve ever seen that makes me understand people who passionately hate movie adaptations. If Garland hadn’t explicitly “based” this movie on the Southern Reach trilogy, I’m not sure I would have even guessed it was related. It wasn’t that names were different (or given at all), the plot was radically different, etc… but he took away so many of the things that I felt were vital to the experience of the book, the core values of the book itself, its’ very spine.

I remember reading Annihilation, the first of three book on countless subway rides and finally finishing it on a MetroNorth train, trying not to sob. It was the first time that I really felt like a male author had written from a female perspective and done so in a way that recognized what women can be… at least one of them. I loved the main character- “the biologist” in the books, Lena in the movie for her abundance of passion for her work and her lack of passion for other things in her life. Her husband disappears and comes back mysteriously in both the book and the movie and she goes to Area X in both as well, but in the book, it is out of a burning scientific curiosity and desire to explore, to be in that wild nature, whereas in the movie, we have yet again, the woman who’s life revolves around the man, and so she follows him, so she can save him. I guess it’s feminist that she goes so she can save him, but really, can’t a girl just make a decision because she wants to do something sometimes? Like in the book? Does she always have to be running to or away from or around a boy? In a flashback, Lena makes fun of her husband for thinking she might be pining for him when he goes on assignments, but in an earlier scene, we literally see her doing just that- she’s weeping while looking at a picture of her husband in her LOCKET. Who even has a locket anymore? There’s nothing wrong with this, of course, it just isn’t faithful to the book. The biologist in the book is curious about the place her husband went to… curious and passionate about the environment there, and far from sentimental and missing him, she goes almost jealously, greedy for the opportunity he had, only connecting to him in the vaguest senses when she’s there.

The visuals. Jeff VanderMeer is incredible at creating something indescribable by overdescribing. He piles words and descriptions on top of each other, heaps opposites, dualities, adjacent words, etc… using too many images and words to create unsettling, beautiful, spiritual images. Trying to see the things he wrote and to inhabit the world he created causes more imaginative exhaustion than I’ve ever encountered in my life. The things I saw and felt when pushed to my imaginative limits reading were things I’ll never forget. He trusts readers to try and when they do, what a gift they receive. Reading is one of the most incredible things because it pushes you to be creative and puts you in touch with the side of you that makes, that sees the unseen.

Garland’s take on a lot of the magical mutations, growths, unexplainable things of beauty and destruction in the movie can be summed up basically as rainbow colors washing everything, flowers on everything, and things being overgrown. The slight mutations which should be living breathing plants we’ve never seen are just flowers on the same branch that are different colors- they look like a bouquet at best, a piñata at worst. The door which is one of the most quixotic and enchanting things to read about is essentially a rainbow wall that they now call “the shimmer.” And a lot of the visuals of human skeletons overgrown with flowers and zombie bears/crocodiles are so cliche I actually rolled my eyes a couple of times.

Let’s see, what were some other weird inconsistencies… When her husband suddenly gets a Southern accent in the middle of the movie or when the soundtrack suddenly gets very 80’s at the end when someone in a full body rainbow leotard is suddenly birthed and starts mirroring all her movements… oh, and the end of the movie. She solved Area X like it was a thing to be solved and destroyed it. “Was it alien?” Yep. “A group just made it there a few hours ago, everything is ash.” I loved that it wasn’t clear for such a long time- could even still be argued that it isn’t clear in the books if the occurrence is from extra-terrestrials, or some kind of ecological mutation or accident. This whole trilogy seemed to play with our need as humans to narrate, understand, and unify everything. This need becomes so apparent when it meets things that refuse to be understood, unified, narrated. So for the ending to be so easy and even kind of “happy” …her husband’s double gets better and she’s secretly the double too- (it’s never mentioned but you know from the huge tattoo that’s obviously only on one character) the movie ends with them hugging, both of their eyes glowing because they’re changed from Area X… just seems like such a slap in the face to the books’ very intentional avoidance of closure and classification.

Most disappointing for me was a difference in how Garland and I interpreted what drives the characters in the trilogy. Jennifer Jason Leigh’s character of the psychologist, given the name Ventress for the movie (has there ever been a name that tries harder to be formidably and importantly sci-if?) gives a whole monologue in the middle of the movie about how it’s in our DNA to be self-destructive and that’s what has driven them all to Area X. I interpreted the characters drive, human biology to be one that constantly chooses to learn…to be curious, to assimilate, and to explore, even in the face of destruction. It wasn’t that they wanted the suicide part of the mission, they wanted the mission so much they couldn’t let the suicide part of it stop them. Even Area X itself seemed to me a metaphor, a place that was learning and assimilating and not self-destructing, but self-making in the most stunning ways. For Garland to walk away with such a negative and doomed and honestly …kind of immature interpretation makes me imagine that he wrote the whole script while listening to Evanescence and drinking Mountain Dew.

Ok…the lighthouse was beautiful…I’ll give you that… there were a couple beautiful mutations, and some of the acting was really fantastic- especially by Gina Rodriguez. And of course, I’ll watch Natalie Portman in anything… but overall, I think I would have been disappointed in this movie, even if I hadn’t read and loved the books. I could almost forgive the lack of imagination in the visuals if it weren’t also for the lack of imagination when it came to women. He fails to understand that women can be passionately, emotionally intellectual, and instead reimagines every character as someone driven by emotional reasons instead of intellectual.

Last thing… am I excited there was a cast of 5 females and they were all playing scientists? Yes absolutely, of course. But it’s insulting when there are often movies with 5 men for there to be articles and acclaim talking about how “ambitious” it is for so many women to be onscreen. Sometimes, as a woman, I’m just so tired of having to be grateful for every little scrap of equality. This wasn’t enough, the director should have been a woman. There’s a chance it would have been a much better movie with a female at the helm… not because she’s female but because she could could understand and portray the subtleties of being female better. It doesn’t just matter the quantity of women in your movie, it matters the quality. The women were somehow such stereotypes. I wanted to see complex women. Not a longish episode of Sex in the Science City.

#Annihilation #Authority #Acceptance #SouthernReach #SouthernReachTrilogy #AreaX #AreaXTrilogy #JeffVanderMeer #AlexGarland #ExMachina #NataliePortman #JanetheVirgin #GinaRodriguez #scifi #WomeninScience #TheLighthouse

I lower myself

carefully into the space your body left, trying not to disturb the edges. Trying to fit perfectly within the boundary my love for you has made for me. How is it that before I met you, all I wanted was to be free and now I know you, I can only think about how to shrink and shrink and shrink so as to be small enough to be with you at all times, small enough to be your breath moving in and out of you, but always with and within you

lost is found

I’ve been roving a long time, searching and sleepless, entrails and gown emitting weak light. Everything a puzzle or punishment, an opportunity to sink deeper, stumble farther, hoping to find some mud or muck to glom onto my pulse, deaden it. When I saw you, I wanted to be seen by you, and that was important, because it was the first time in a long time I wanted to exist. I don’t mean to be dramatic, this is the truth. I thought when I met love, it would be a certain way. Would light me up and look at me a specific way. But it wasn’t the way you looked at me, it was the way you looked away from me, into the world. And you don’t light my brain on fire, or contain the flames which always threaten to drown me. There is no fire… no low singe or steady burn. Rather, when I see you looking at your computer or studying an item of interest, when your hands are on my body and we lay in bed looking at each other, I achieve that beautiful blankness, that total rest, the moment of cease-fire in a Kusama infinity room of synapses firing and instead of searching, I find.


So I finally did it- the one thing I only ever do when there’s someone consistently important to me and I wanted to wait until a Sunday or a Monday because it’s just easier to keep track of everything that way and then it can be the “beginning” in a way that adds to all the beginningness of everything about you and about me and about us, but instead, the days just kept passing and I got confused and CVS was closed one time even though they promised! they would stay open for me. Anyways, for a million tiny different reasons, I was only able to start on Wednesday and that makes sense because it’s a small example of how my world has changed with you now in it. How even time has shifted since I met you. And not just time, but space- the way my mouth now opens to expel sounds of laughter- the way my body isn’t afraid of openness. Yes, in a way, it makes perfect sense that the beginning of a week would now be Wednesday in the same way that maybe the beginning of living began the day I met you.



625 6th Ave, New York, NY 10011

I heard you knocking from a great distance, in my resin coated barrier pushed against the world, beached in a darkness of my own making. The sadness formed an armor of mucus which allowed me to stay inside, to keep shrinking, hollowing myself out, scooping myself out the way I scoop out jelloid face masks for others to sample. The cash register rings and another customer walks in, and still nothing registers, all the tears crystallized in an orb hung delicately between my breasts, spun from shattered shards. Still, you kept knocking and the me that lives in me, guardian of the orb saw a bright green light. I can’t look away, magnetized by the fierceness and puzzlement in this light, caught in a web of its subtle changes. A simpler way of putting this would be that when I met you for the first time, you were looking into the distance, and I realized I wanted to be there, where you were looking.