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    45.
H        D             After High Definition.    
Micaela Brinsley





*                *                *


Back to Rehearsal.


*                *                *


Give me the stream’s cold path,
the grove of pine,
for garden terrace
the unclaimed
bleak
wild stretches
of the mountain side.

Give me no earth

H.D., ‘All Mountains’ (1925) 


*                *                *


Helen of Troy, Helen of nowhere, Helen of nothing. 

Philip Roth, The Human Stain (2000)


*                *                *








HELEN          there’s a light, inside 
the sound of nothing new / within its seam
in the paw of a severed rabbit’s foot 
blood leaksss, scratchesss, coalesces a discooo 
into shadows / extend from here to away
encroaching onto theatres older 
than my name / bank accounts,
nope
n  u  m  b  e  r  s  count themselves like ants 
carrying a leaf from its roasting to the wedding 
of a sister, don’t 
know the codes 
hidden 
in the clicks of alphabet keys, carved into years 
under stone 



At the center of the stage is a DJ booth. 
Aside from HELEN, who is controlling the 
sound, all other characters noted within 
the piece will appear as sound recordings 
that are pre-programmed, that she plays 
from the booth.



SENTRY        We’ll be done forever with this 
curse on all men. 


HELEN also has the capacity to add new sounds 
at any moment, as well as distort the tone of her 
own voice. 


HELEN            I’ll finish weaving it soon, this course-correction 
of sails pointing in the wrong direction / a repentance of a voice 
d  r  i  p  p  i  n  g 
out of an open-necked parachute / secure it, the wings 
to the wax / or else tumbling’s gonna turn from 
a balance beam to broken 
in a swirling sea

sss

voices 
they moan about the fall, what follows
d

ages, I pass through them all, 
collecting each and every one like candy / mothers 
in leggings on Ventura Boulevard could never
            ever, get away with how I’ve stolen from it / the crinkles 
in its comforter of burgundy / the colour of 
a pomegranate the s  e  c  o  n  d after its orgasm 

m

ships crossed an ocean 

s

bump up the sound

ssssssss

men die 

ssssssss

distort it

zzzzzzz

their voices, down long corridors, intertwining 
with the thick of pillars



need more autotune 


SENTRY        Witch.


HELEN           call me out


SENTRY        Villain.


HELEN          make it worse


SENTRY        Whore. 


HELEN           the best one


SENTRY        A demon. 


HELEN          not quite the oldest, but
I make it close

go to the back of the record store, I’ll be tucked 
between the vinyl & mice gumming in a row / bought
too long to remember the label, its first colour
whether I was ever covered in plastic / full
of it / my personality?

                        need it louder
                        zzzzzzzzzzzz

not quite sure where it’s sourced, 
                        the speakers 
but I need sound to grow / like me / a rabbit 
until one day a snake, every day scaling 
a new height up a torso, circling 
a staircase with a candle, lit centuries past a decade ago


SENTRY         Slut.


HELEN           chandeliers crash
tsunamis roar
                           I need an audio engineer

passing the way / to a jackfruit as fake 
as the hope for perfume, the right scent, one / laughing
at inconstancy, I’m heavy with the weight 
of a mouldy afresh 
death, it cradles waves away from a shoreline, syncopated
right, left, right
d  e  c  o  m  p  o  s  e
forever’s the rocks against a cliff for a crumbling,
into a hug that’ll never arrive

quieter

I know you know this story, 
the one I’m telling 

ropes were tightened
to a t / they 
thought they knew, what it was 
they were in for / money’s always got the shine
for a bigger horse though, and Palestinians know, 
poison time & again / this story
fake it is forever, the perishables of a promise 
from a mouth, trashed of its homeland






SENTRY       Come anyway.


HELEN           so they said, with fingers up asses 
lined in a row 
p o p
it open, the sound of sucking,
suck


SENTRY        We can take this city.


HELEN           so they always claim
as if with the right brand of knife 
nothing’s a danger  
d
            trainings for school shootings, even 
5 years olds know / how 
            to crawl under a desk, which corner to hide
            but when a horse appears in the size of a house, 
we think of fires / the toasty kind
            not, the one where bodies are thrown into 
after 1000’s / 1000’s are slaughtered 
& there aren’t any more open spaces 
for graves 


SENTRY         Sacrifices must be made, always. 


HELEN           only some though, get to choose what to give up 
                           others, they’re ripped away 
from the hands of those 5 year olds, nail
                           marks on a waist / on a neck / on a stomach
next to bruises the sizes of continents, 
they usually fade after time, but the screams of a daughter 
don’t / aaaaaaa / leaks of blood ooze
                           out of veins sliced open 
for sacrifices / Iphigenia’s, her whole neck
so the fleet could move


SENTRY         We all play our part.


HELEN              trying, they are 
to forget m e / the armpit 
at the edge of their patchwork empire / grasping,
tighter
again out of pitch
sssss
            Adjust it, they scream to assistants 
with higher SAT scores
            the most beautiful woman in the world
why for him it was me, there’s no answer to give 

robots can’t consent 
even if we’d like to / our bodies 
as real as metal is 
to Russia


PARIS               Come anyway, with me.




HELEN             so he says, to 3 women lined up in a row
Hera / Aphrodite / Athena
                           is it a choice, when one option precludes
                           an act of violence, definitive?

crack it open, the sound 
of a popcorn machine / in an abandoned parking lot
no, it could mean 
I might not get to say yes 
to anything / ever / again 
                            whatever
he wants, they’ll give him
            L’Oréal
            anger, the underlayer 
            lower

a mask 
for their glee at getting away with it / for so long
too high, to
            take, the only response they know / a cartridge 
            always loaded

need to amp up the bass
            closer
            c

go on, go on

            in slow motion, I rotate over tables
set for me to pose on
robots never get to consent, filleted 
first in stories about bodies ripped apart, without the right
            kind of soap to wash off / the slime-drenched coating
into the billboard charts I climb, crushing
every up-and-comer 
selling different versions of the same CD

d

c

            … oh, oh, oh…


PARIS                Come for me.


HELEN              war: I’m standing at its center
carrying a suitcase of ash / cremated 
in ovens framed in barbed wire, so
echo me further / past the stream where a boy wilted into a 
flower / t  h  e  r  e, 
I’ll be able to look at it / my face
such as, Simone Weil challenges 
us to love / what's there, the person we adore
not as we wish them to be
cruel / a blonde / not me naturally, but good enough 
for those reprinting my files into digital


PARIS                Come for me.





HELEN               hot for a fuckboy, wet / tongues
hanging 
down from rafters / overlooking pistols, they 
scream


SENTRY             BOOBS.


HELEN               old news / cows, slaughtered
younger than boys / left to rot out
in the sun as the pitch 
rises / eee / nothing’s fixed 
the future, it isn’t written in Vitamin D
                              v
ahead of time 
but trying not to kill it 
on / top of it I lie
never asked if I wanted it too,
him


PARIS                You know you do. 


HELEN              I don’t
actually, as sugar does
to salt


PARIS                Just let yourself go.


HELEN              a young girl, turned into an orphan 
in everything but name / later
just a little later 
a  l  e  g  e  n  d / fixed to the compass
of an imagined future
f
this is the ritual, to talk
about what happened / as if it's new
fuck, it’s been old
forever

war: I’m standing at its center

Distort           please don’t go
Distort            I'll never forgive you
Distort            ever
Distort            don’t know what I'll do if I lose you

Raw voice              war: it’s the school where I studied / 
clashes of metal against metal / on arid plains
sister against sister / in practice, preparing
not too many years later / sitting 
across from a pair of stoic brothers / but 10 years
earlier, I was already trained 
for it, an eventual abduction
r  e  m  e  m  b  e  r / I need to explain this
how / I trained with my brothers
Castor & Pollux / Theseus
took me from a training ground 
when I was 10 / thought he could get away
with it
ha
droooling / before a girl
unspooled a thread in search of his heart, 
through a labyrinth
can´t read a room / stop it!
this isn’t so easy, to draw a line 
from then to now


PARIS             … oh, oh, oh…


HELEN           stop it, droooling 
thought I could fight 
my way out of it / horses
they aren’t just prey animals, this
is the ritual, to talk 
about what happened as if it's new
what to do, when
so much is lost / too much
taken 
from me without a return 
flight, unscheduled

Distort             please don’t go

Raw voice           turning on each other, they fought 
over me / as  p  r  e  t  e  x  t 
hero to hero, sworn 
brother to lover
the layers of every body / soft 
on the outside & penetrable, if enough pressure’s applied 
to the skin below the blood 
its systems / liquid 
inundating veins connecting 
invisibility / swerving / into undoing a reason
don´t know 
what I'll do if I lose 
you / every morning as if a habit—praying 

not so easy

Messing with sound as she says this—                         cheater 
                         tease 
                         never 
                         there 
                         slut, nope 
                         wet 
                         fake, a tool 
                         shadow 
                         a phantom statue, a reel
c  r  a  s  h 
metal hitting metal / hitting 
flesh under a scream, a network 
of showers / for power
a wheel rasps, a wail
                        a leg sliced off, billow
a sail / the straight mind squeals
unlocking a carriage door 
& the whinnying of horses 
push past / the limit of endurance, of balances 
echo 
they’re all free to wander now 
in the underworld, walk through corridors
recite prologues to the register of Lacanian speech
given hall passes / martyred
back home, their memory a serenity
followed up with a nice: 

Distort           how tragic, what a life, 
taken too soon 

Back to normal register—I’m here, can’t you see?
trapped
abandoned
reined in
disembodied

listen, ghosts in the scaffolding
behind a column
on a chair


SENTRY         We will be done forever 
at some point, with your curse on all men.





HELEN             this body a  w  e  t  s  u  i  t  
over my larynx
the soul chooses 
the body it wants, someone 
says in the distant future / for this long?
no sense for how 
it’s clung on
1000s, without
a friend / a memory / a name to speak aloud 
to curse with a drink after
h  e  l  l —  i  n
the list on the wall grows longer 
every time someone says it, with gossamer
wings, fairies descend 
to paint me a shadow darker
in hell / smiles, they offer sympathy 
only when experience recognises experience
otherwise, they cut sharper 
than a knife, across the face of a rock
as far as the size of my hand, that’s how close it gets

        ~ try multiplying proximity by 2000 ~

yearsssss / the weight of carrying a death toll, as if 
a flag of a coloniser or a slogan 
of a corporation / so little space to adjudicate, to contest 
this  n  a  r  r  a  t  i  o  n
minimal
witch / villain / whore 
all 
minted on gold, plastered across billboards
screamed in battles by actors 
type-cast / who know nothing different
300
in scripts of terrible films—
give me some of the residuals, why not?


GENERAL       A witch, a vulture—she’s untrustworthy.  


SOLDIER         Where are we? 


PARIS               Who are you?


HELEN             who am I?  


SENTRY           Am I a ghost? 


HELEN             no, you’re alive as I’ve never been


GENERAL        You cursed us. I saw you on the ramparts. No art is beneath your power. 
My children, my legions; for you the ships were burnt.


HELEN             collective transcendence 
offered / a few decades ago by LSD, from children
of Catholics who found nowhere to turn to
mmmmmmmmmmmm
our bodies / a repository, a conduit for potential energy 
to turn kinetic
now we go, to concerts in search of the thrill of it, the high 
of forgetting the reasons, for 
here:
overpopulation & greed
obsession & nepotism 
rage & the weather
mouths & pride

lost / lost / lost





I am tired of the memory of battle

I walk the length of this porch / not long ago 
a dancer in a studio, lost 
faster / slower
from pillar to pillar, from
monument & around, again
to the river / here 
there are iron-rings where the boats, long 
ago made fast, but the Nile changes its 
course / only temple lakes contain holy water 
now, what was there’s faded, we lost
too long ago / when the ships swayed 
here & it’s stone, built to last 
until some  c  r  a  s  h,
trash images on its surface will never fade, they said 
as they carve into its surface / with knives
the size of an elbow

no



there must be 
other islands to go, open 
to hospitality without the crystallisation of bigotry, teach me
to build something, to take me 

t  h  e  r  e



†                        An extract from a play-in-percolation.







Micaela Brinsley is a Tokyo-born writer, editor, and independent researcher of art and performance. Recent work can be found in Minor Literature[s], Cutt Press, Tique, Asymptote and other publications. She writes ekphrastic essays about women artists of the surrealistic and abstract periods for the journal A Women's Thing, and is the co-editor-in-chief of the arts and literary magazine, La Piccioletta Barca. Brinsley can be contacted via micaelabrinsley@gmail.com / Instagram, @mic_brinsley if you're interested in learning more about this project, After High Definition.



MMXXVI