Ariana Reines

  • Francisco Goya, El sueño de la razon produce monstruos (The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters) (detail), 1799, etching, aquatint, drypoint, burin, 8 x 6". From the series “Los Caprichos” (Whims), 1799.
    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

  • January 10, 2018. Photo: Ariana Reines.
    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

  • January 9, 2018. Photo: Laurel Hayne-Miller.
    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,

  • January 8, 2018. Photo: Ariana Reines.
    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

  • January 7, 2018. Photo: Ariana Reines.
    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

  • January 6, 2018. Photo: Ariana Reines.
    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

  • Anonymous, Nadir Shah on the Peacock Throne after his defeat of Muhammad Shah, 1850, watercolor on paper, 12 1/8 x 16 9/16”.
    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

  • Guru Nanak, founder of the Sikh religion.
    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

  • From Johann Daniel Mylius’s Philosophia Reformata, 1622.
    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

  • From the Clavis Artis, volume 2, 1738, page 166.
    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