Sunila Abeyseke
Movement Building
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Term of the black communities of the Northern Cauca for the minga, the collective work based on solidarity and mutual support.
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About the authors
لويز ماليرب، مبرمجة أفلام وقيّمة معارض وناقدة أفلام مقيمة في برلين. عملت كمبرمجة أفلام لجمعية متروبوليس للسينما في بيروت. حاليا تنسق لويز مشروع ريل ستريمز الذي يهدف إلى دعم نشر السينما المستقلة في المنطقة العربية. هي رئيسة قسم البرمجة لمهرجان صورة السينمائي، وهو مهرجان أفلام كويرية يركز على منطقة جنوب غرب آسيا وشمال أفريقيا. تكتب لويز النقد السينمائيين لـ مانيفستو XXI، وقد بدأت مؤخرًا تنظيم الأفلام والمهرجانات لسينما عقيل.
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Disintegration | Content Snippet
On Wednesday a note arrives
with an address on the back.
5 pm, tonight.
The handwriting on the invitation—
coily and brusque—
I’ve seen it five times in five years.
My body rouses,
feverish.
I need to fuck myself first.
The tide is high tonight and
I get
off.
I want to slow everything down,
taste time and space, etch them
into memory.
*
I’ve never been to this part of town before.
Unknown places excite me,
the way limbs and veins and bones
resist decay,
their fate uncertain.
At the door, I think twice.
The hallway is pitch black
and it makes me pause.
On the other side,
a portal of smell and color
opens like a curse,
into a sunny afternoon.
The breeze
makes my hair dance,
piques its curiosity,
compels it to move.
I hear the wheelchair whirring,
shaping the shadows.
Then I see them:
a lynx face
and a body like mine
and I find myself desiring both
again.
The creature motions me closer.
Their gestures write a sentence;
as I move toward them,
I notice its details:
wither, flesh, bliss
On their command, the vine that covers the hallway
hugging warm stones,
snakes up the wall.
It becomes a verb,
“to climb,”
and I’m reorientated when their claws point
to the vine-bed in the center.
I hear the wheels behind me,
then that sound.
It reverberates
like no other.
Their long black wings
elevate toward the ceiling
then they lunge forward.
The feline vision scans every detail,
every change,
every longing.
Can desire liquefy your muscles?
Can it act sweeter than the strongest
of tranquilizers?
A lynx sews the world
across our differences,
weaving lace around my knees.
Can desire crush the distance of the world,
compressing the seconds?
They come closer still,
lynx eye meeting human eye,
sniffing the air,
turning body into
urgency.
They beat down their wings.
Stirred,
the vines tangle around my waist/waste.
Their tongue thins time,
shifting grounds,
soothes, with their magic,
what stirs beneath.
I see the world in you, and the
world is exhausted.
Then they plead:
Let me feast on you.
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Moving Conversation | Small Snippet AR
عودةٌ إلى ذواتنا
بالنسبة إليّ، هذه الأنواع من الدردشات كانت ضمن تعابير الحبّ التي أتاحت لي الحياة أن أستمتع بها حديثًا فقط. ما كنت أعرف أن هذه الأشكال الأخرى ممكنة – تلك التي توجَد خارج نطاق ورشات العمل، أو أماكن الناشطين أو غرف الصفّ أو أماكن العمل.