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Simulacrum es una revista holandesa de arte y cultura, con publicaciones que incluyen una mezcla de artículos científicos, escritura libre y contribuciones visuales. Para este número de 2021, se centraron en el mundo encantado y lo sobrenatural como una forma de acercarse a las “realidades incognoscibles”.
En colaboración con Naomi Collier Brom, escribimos un diálogo experimental sobre las intersubjetividades de lo monstruoso-femenino, titulado La bruja y la Sirena: Capítulo I.
Puedes encontrar el número aquí.
the witch and the siren:
a mythological spell/song
the witch:
how did you know it was me?
the siren:
(pause)
the Echo comes running into the cave
before
the first of waves
even glimmers at the entrance.
the witch:
betrayed by a deviant shadow,
the veil must be thin tonight.
the siren:
you speak of moonlessness. Where did you leave your
Body?
the witch:
between the blades of poverty-grass
where sea-salt winds will keep it fresh
and protected from the whims of wash-ashores
have you received many visitors beneath the moonless sky?
the siren:
the occasional fool.
one or two ardent lovers.
a forgotten hairlock showed up last Samhain,
and once
a song came by that I could not sing back.
i am certain
you know it
by hand.
the witch:
i have heard it many times in the call of the
banshee every so often in the voice of the
mother
soothing her young with beautiful words
[singing]
åh aj aj aj aj buff
Åh aj aj aj aj buff
…
and once in the wailing of a wandering spirit
whose soul i could not salvage
you are wise to stay silent.
the siren:
i´ve never been silent in my life!
probably just delayed…
in thought or shape or mostly
betrothen
like my scales
to unworthy hands and tongues
who spoke
LOUDER
walked in two full legs
PRAYED
ask your mother, she plays them well,
as for a while- the song was hers.
the witch:
this i know, it´s why i sought you
the ocean is forged by her undercurrents
no matter how flashy her surface
many are deafened by the crashes of waves
ignorant of submarine avalanches
tell me – when did you become attuned to the songs of
silence? my mother would play them in the birthing room
fashioning a thread between the dead and the living
keeping it close to her chest
veiled from the eyes of inquisitors
the siren:
Cut the crap.
you searched for me,
what
do you want?
The witch:
Ah I don’t even know.
I’ve been drinking since noon.
Can I sit down for a minute?
the siren:
sit, sailor.
before you puke your heart out.
[she gestures to the slippery rocks]
The witch:
the siren:
(speaking before her)
I´m sick of men.
they´re all broken.
Ugh!
The nerve.
The witch:
Maybe you should stop murdering the ones who come to see
you and using their skulls as a throne.
Tho that doesn’t seem like much fun…
Who occupies you this time?
The siren:
The throne takes all my time.
Queen of the skeletons,
A full-time affair.
Not the most comfortable, I´ll give you that.
Some have pointy hips
even after flesh has long departed from the spine.
It´s hard to sit at the office
For eight hours at a time.
Still, isn´t it better than to burn?
The witch:
I’d rather be queen of the skeletons than
Burn at the stake any day.
But are you never lonely? Has one never been spared?
[she holds a skull in her hand]
Poor fool. Though this is not a bad shape for a potion I am working
on.
May I take this one?
The siren:
You can take him if you spare a fag.
My sisters made me quit
And the whole cavern stinks of
Healthiness.
I´ll spare you the details
What potion are you brewing?
the witch:
take my pack, they’ll only make me sick.
I’m making a drink for the visions n the vibes
My dreams are clouded, I can’t make sense of things
Lately I’ve been feeling too serious, too human
What do you take for that?
The siren:
I take it
Like the viciousness it
Is.
Fuck.
A monster with the words of
A meat-wrapped shadow.
A mouth full of stories
No one wants to tell.
[she takes a puff]
Come, sit.
End of Chapter One.
