Ariana Reines

  • slant January 14, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 14, 2018

    The wrong way to take refuge involves seeking shelter—worshipping mountains, sun gods, moon gods, deities of any kind simply because they would seem to be greater than we. This kind of refuge-taking is similar to the response of the little child who says, ‘If you beat me, I’ll tell my mommy,’ thinking that his mother is a great, archetypically powerful person. If he is attacked, his automatic recourse is to his mother, an invincible and all-knowing, all-powerful personality. The child believes his mother can protect him, in fact that she is the only person who can save him. Taking refuge in a

  • slant January 13, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 13, 2018

    Things that are sinuous are the rivers of the land

    Women stalking with the ripple of cats

    Along the leg and movement of the body

    In deep eddies in silk transparencies

    Rivers of the tumbled slopes

    The flatlands to the west

    Tidal-rivers licking and drawing back

    The whole weight of protuberance toward the sea.

    Marking a salt ridge in the bright flush of the flats.

    O sea grasses waving in the high of a quickened

    Sea grass wavering in the high flush of the flats.

    They are women with the bare and subtle feet

    Of brooks or rills of mountain lakes

    Of turbulent cascades of torrential moments

    Of long coil

  • slant January 12, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 12, 2018

    “Poetry’s circulation and its action no longer conjecture a given people but the evolution of the planet Earth.”

    —Edouard Glissant, Poetics of Relation

    SPIRITUALLY, ETHICALLY, ENVIRONMENTALLY, AND ARTISTICALLY, whiteness, or the culture of abstraction, or high capitalism or necrotic rape-based capitalism or whatever you want to call it at this point—is the shithole.

    It’s the eighth anniversary of Haiti’s earthquake.

    There are countless ways one can see the future in Haiti. It has always been ahead of its time. Saint Domingue was, statistically, the most rapacious consumer of African labor

  • slant January 11, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 11, 2018

    MERCURY ENTERED CAPRICORN nine minutes past midnight EST. Goodbye purple prose.

    The Moon is void-of-course in Scorpio from 9:54 AM EST today till she enters Sagittarius 2:05 AM EST tomorrow morning.

    It takes just about twenty-eight days for the Moon to complete her orbit around Earth. She spends about two, two and a half days in each sign of the Zodiac. You know this, but I’ll remind you anyway: She pulls the tides and the water in your body; seeds turn with her, whether in your belly or in the ground. Because she has no light of her own (but rather reflects the Sun’s light) and because she’s just

  • slant January 10, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 10, 2018

    IT OCCURRED TO ME YESTERDAY the cosmos might be too wide for a proper writer’s slender gift: the duty one has to the ever-neglected miniscule majesties and tragedies of Earth stuff. We are supposed to know ourselves. We are supposed to study each other.

    Which is why I had always been reluctant to apply myself as a writer of prose, which I also don’t officially consider myself to be, to matters heavenly. I have adopted this affected tone because it has just now come naturally to me. Writing so well as to write almost purposefully badly.

    Some part of me thinks she can fatten certain wraithlike and

  • video January 09, 2018

    Ariana Reines, January 8, 2018

    2018, 00:07

    I swear I didn’t do anything to my phone except mentally recite the phrase “warmest sunrise of the year” as I hit record.

  • slant January 09, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 9, 2018


                January long light

                Janus     I see you

                God of locks and doorways


                two-faced looking in Capricorn

                Capricorn like the snowy owl



                We fear heavy body collisions

                January     time of doors

                time looking back on itself

                            God of gates

                            spelt and salt

                They say when you

                walk through a door

                you can forget what

                            you came for

    –Hoa Nguyen, VIOLET ENERGY INGOTS  (Wave Books,

  • slant January 08, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 8, 2018

    ON FRIDAY IT HAPPENED that a few of my natal chart clients were in Dublin, & just as I was finishing a Skype with the last one, an Irish director walked in off the plane & into the house where I work. He took a nap in an efficiency apartment adjacent to my workroom, then commenced rehearsing a Yeats play with a troupe of actors in the salon upstairs. I had no idea this would be happening. That’s the kind of house this is. It might be one of the last genuinely “bohemian” households in Manhattan. Thespians and poets are always climbing up and down the stairs, nurturing and collaborating on difficult

  • slant January 07, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 7, 2018

    Democracy isn’t efficient, and the only politics I recognize lies

    between us, undefined, requiring no casting of votes. It asks that we

    admit we’re both present, all present, in the same multiform space—

    within me or you. I would never ask you to follow me; I will never

    acknowledge a leader. I am my president. But also, I am

    everyone, trying to be with you, because I exist, and always have

    —Alice Notley, “Two of Swords,” p6. Certain Magical Acts. Penguin, New York: 2016.

    VERY STABLE GENIUS: It’s kind of beautiful. I mean, the mental health industry is pretty insane too. This is shadow

  • slant January 06, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 6, 2018

    A MEATHEAD CARTEL LORD walks into an S&M brothel with a genial jetsetting billionaire. The brothel is “over the border” in some more lawless territory and it has a hardcore; excellent reputation. The meathead is well-known there, they treat him like royalty, call him by pet names, mix his favorite cocktails; the billionaire might have been there once or twice, but he travels so much he can’t say exactly when. The Brothel’s Yelp reviews are all like “Holy fuck” and “I’ll never be the same again.” This is a fairly new bromance, but thoroughly in the old odd couple buddy flick tradition. The

  • slant January 05, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 5, 2018

    I’VE LISTENED TO THIS POEM a couple hundred times. And read it over & over too. I never get used to it.

    It induces a kind of hypnosis; a lucidity on the edge of total oblivion. It’s not an easy effect to describe; I think it has to do with magic; I think it casts and means to cast a spell. And yet it is descriptive, direct, etched, and bright, like the plain narration of a thousand-year hallucination, like the Wikipedia entry for a dream.

    Peacocks started showing up in my life in the summer of 2013. How do I explain “showing up”? All of a sudden I was seeing them, like they were everywhere in

  • slant January 04, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 4, 2018


    Whose multitudes are these?

    The children of whose turbaned seas,

    Or what Circassian land?

    —Emily Dickinson

    EMILY’S “TURBANED SEAS” have been roaring through me lately. I think because the thought of binding up the ocean is the kind of coil of imagination that seldom happens outside childhood and picture books—and so it calls to me, but also because it has been so cold in New York that when I close my eyes I see oceans roped in white ice, turbaned, as it were, bound up in some mystic freeze.

    But it’s also, and possibly mainly, because just after the solstice I started doing

  • slant January 03, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 3, 2018

    MORE BAD and really good (John Giorno)


    There was a lot more than this the other night at The Poetry Project: CAConrad’s poem about human pelts; Eileen Myles, our genial dean in a twenty-gallon hat; Patricia Spears Jones’s stately sequence full of well-spaced air; Pierre Joris & Nicole Peyrafitte doing something confusing and sexy and great wherein Nicole ate black chalk & drew a red line down the center of her face etc; a dancer with an edible costume whose existential hunger turned out to resonate as basically the predicament of everybody in the room; Penny Arcade in the sovereignty of herself

  • slant January 02, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 2, 2018

    Born without distinction & alone as was proper, emptied, the insides of your emptiness all polished & shining

    Even having shared an egg conserving a certain apparent boundary

    Human pelts meow like Conrad said

    Dividing a truth from its advertisement

    Or your constellation from the frothing lip of the beer

    Brans & ryes, seriously any or all the old ways, all the exhausted weights & measures

    Intoxicants like air & light a silvery effluent that hardens into frost on uncollected garbage

    Alien machinery laying down the wheat

    A pyramid of norms

    Hippocratic clouds advancing new textures of hair and

  • slant January 01, 2018

    SUNRISE: January 1, 2018

    THE VEINS on the backs of her hands were raised and blue. To attain raised veins on the arms and hands. It seemed slender and remote; the prize of cruelty withstood; it had charisma. She was stretching her hands across an octave of piano keys or holding a menthol cigarette. No she was typing on a keyboard with the cigarette in her mouth. Blue smoke over the dining room table, trees out the window, the mound below her thumb: muscular, not to be argued with; she is waving a hard peach around, talking. The authority and relaxation of a grown person at her pleasure. Holding sour fruit is her

  • slant December 02, 2017

    Reinventing the Lyre

     The world’s full of children who grew up too fast

    Gil Scott-Heron, “A Sign of the Ages”

    WITHIN A FEW HOURS OF HIS BIRTH, Hermes had already become a cattle thief, invented the lyre, & innovated the art of divine worship. “The alphabet, numbers, astronomy, music, the art of fighting, gymnastics, the cultivation of the olive tree, measures, weights, and many other things” were among his inventions, according to Plutarch. Hermes was both the herald of the gods and their psychopomp, as friendly with the ruling powers on Mount Olympus as he was with the living and the dead of our kind. He managed

  • slant November 03, 2017

    Life As We Know It

    I MOVED TO NEW YORK WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN. During the first few years I lived in the city, men came up to me daily, and often many times daily, asking to take my picture. Even at the time I was certain this was not because they considered me beautiful. I felt that I must look vulnerable. I knew that I looked vulnerable and I cursed myself for it. I needed to become tougher. But I also wanted to be beautiful and desired, to look like a blushing creature of whom a parent might say, “If he so much as harms a hair on your head.”

    I had no parent to say such a thing to me. I was an orphan and it showed.

  • slant October 04, 2017

    Infernal Affairs

    God’s Justice! who could ever paraphrase

    the agonies and tortures that I saw?

    And why did I feel guilty as I gazed?

    —Dante Alighieri, Inferno, translated by Ciaran Carson (2002)


    I’M AT AN artists’ colony editing a book about fowl and infinity. Every night the chickens here get sung a lullaby written especially for them by a Pulitzer Prize winning composer. It’s an insipid little ditty but it works. It is sung seven nights a week by two to five highly accomplished artists of the almost always female persuasion. Right now I’m one of them.

    Singing to chickens is like a parody