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j b sclisizzi

j b sclisizzi | toronto

selected writings ...

Matrix | Summer 2003


My stupidity hurts. Concentric waves of inadvertent damage and no collateral. The stupidity of the stress-induced moment, the helium balloon of self-delusion, inflated with tears generated through thoughtlessness.

I love you, and I hate myself for every unintended pain that crosses through your mind from my stupidity. I sink within stupidity, down to the bottomless bottom. Down into the reality that flees with every breath that doesn’t hurt. . . .

Matrix | Spring 2002

The Rose, the Cross and the Michelin Man

The girl has no navel. And he never noticed. Only a ripple of flesh, the slight hint of an underground fault; her avant-garde eyes; the devouring grace-jones smile; grace under pressure of optic nerves unnerving. She belly dances through psychiatry, struts through philosophy, and spreads her legs demurely for women's studies. How straight the narrative and yet how unique the presentation.

Gender in motion, she strips to the rose, the cross and the dance ball. Through mirrors of white wine spritzers and the syncopation of falling table cloths; avant-stepping around mind fields; cajun eyes alert to the ever-shifting terrain of sand, rock, grass and the cedars of Lebanon. She moves naturopathically, scoliosis sensuality arching attitude in contortionist configurations, swinging on the brass pole of Foucault's pendulum. She flows from glass to glass on floes of competing smoke rings. He watches her move affectedly under more rings than the Michelin man. . . .

Matrix | Winter 2001

Reading / Delany

JBS: What guides (legitimates?) our assumption that another (ideal?) reader would find a particular text arousing if we ourselves do not? Couldn’t all sorts of texts be assumed to be pornography for someone? Are other genres to be described in terms of a physical response they are assumed to evoke in the reader?

SRD: What guides our assumption that another reader will find a particular text arousing? Only some hopelessly misguided notion of an “average” sexuality—a notion that, just stating it, I would hope, reveals its banality and inadequacy. In a better world, we’d all be far less shockable—and far less concerned with the deleterious effects of someone else getting accidentally sexual aroused. . . .

On Spec | Fall 1995

A Much Updated Ruin

The coldness of my heart is now immune to the dissolution of friendships. The comings and goings of those whom I loved in my idealism have been replaced by a quantifiable algorithm which takes into consideration aspects of moral, ethical, and epistemological perspectives. The weltanschauung of others are carefully sifted and analyzed in advance for their degrees of compatibility with my own. Each friday I consult the on-line advice of my ideo-astrologist for designing the course of my following week, and invariably I tailor my thinking in accordance with maximum sociability and minimum argumentation. . . .