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a manipulation of hands. of bending and folding and holding. of stillness. i think, how will they grow larger or smaller? thinner or wider? will there be a transformation of texture? an exchange of flesh? i think, i am utilizing this machine. i am doing this, and in order to work intimately with it (as i sit, as i watch myself on the screen, as i am scanned, as i begin to hurt, as i objectify myself, as my bodily code is translated into a language i don’t yet understand, and as i learn to re:write it) i must be re:thinking. what does it mean to take apart the body and inscribe a new meaning? what do i feel when i see a disembodied limb on the workplane? will they still feel like my own fingers when they’re inside of my body? does my data flesh feel different? do i own my own data flesh, or can it just as easily belong to someone else? who would take that from me?

(no one can take it from me))))

by having my hand scanned, and by each of my housemate’s having their hands scanned, a collective agency is created through a complex agreement to objectify ourselves in the name of feminist work. in many ways we are not alone in doing this work. because of our similar bodily experiences of drift (working on and against dominant ideologies, operating liquidly amongst the ebb and flow of queer identity and sexuality) we occupy a new space that we have created together. this is a safe space for us, to individually confront our own bodies and re:write our own codes; to ask these questions: what does intimacy with myself feel like? in actuality? through material attachment and engagement? physically? emotionally? as a way of resurrecting almost-but-not-yet forgotten traumas, and transferring a past suffering into a present healing? we feel ourselves, we are the only ones to ever truly know ourselves, and because of this, we are also the only ones capable of healing the wounds.