on jenny holzers lustbord. (writing on skin, steel clipped to bone bracelets, etc)

blood bone and the usualy poetic cryptic statements, thinkign mostly about the 3 main colours of ballpoint ink, and the soft yeilding sensousness of it pressing on skin.

the sentences are moving haunting koanic --and like the rest of holzers work deeply public and deeply personal (more personal then public--more intimate then billboards, as close to flesh as the t shirts)

it reminds me of a couple of personal anecdotes

i used to ahve a fetish about lovers writing on me--long complicated sentences, grocery lsits, poems, obsecenities, ink, crayon, paint, etc. i wrote a poem about it and it was rejected as bad teenage nonesense, adn it was my first rejection and i dropped the fetish (this was a time when i had people who i could actually call lovers, i havent had one of those in years)

also it reminds me of the things i write on my hands, call numbers for library books, addresses, phone numbers--immediate things to retrive before the next washing, that arent really worth the scurrying arround for a notebook.

the peice also reminded me of how close tru crime and porn where(article in this weeks ew--about how the bush crackdown on sexuality has resulted in a blossoming of hard core rape and sexual sadism as entertainment on television...chilling qoute from the article:"since the american broadcasting system has more restrictions against sexuality , you can get away with amplyfying sexuality, it resuklts in this weird sadistic element. putting women in these sexual situtations is a back door way of getting more flesh in" (cf sin city and their portyral of whores)

holzer did this peice in the mid90s:here are two qoutes from it

"I want to fukc her where she has too much hair"(blue ink on the palm of a man with hair creeping towards the text)
"Her gore is in a ball of cleaning rags. i carry out the dumping left from my mother. ive turned to hide her jewellery. (women long arm, red ink)