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Kevin Brazil
Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London Review of Books, the Times Literary Supplement, Art Review, art-agenda, Studio International, and elsewhere. He is writing a book about queer happiness.

Articles Available Online


Interview with Sianne Ngai

Interview

October 2020

Kevin Brazil

Interview

October 2020

Over the past fifteen years, Sianne Ngai has created a taxonomy of the aesthetic features of contemporary capitalism: the emotions it provokes, the judgements...

Essay

Issue No. 28

Fear of a Gay Planet

Kevin Brazil

Essay

Issue No. 28

In Robert Ferro’s 1988 novel Second Son, Mark Valerian suffers from an unnamed illness afflicting gay men, spread by...

A sparkling frost-clear landscape exists between them under a soft and smudged sky Irises exist, blue and yellow, and those that wither in a hurry Tufted grass and quaking grass exist and the night-blue sloe berry that pulls sour coldness into the face and frosts over the teeth Muddy water and clear springs exist; language that captivates and shoves aside exist, words that beg for mercy, make demands, that regret and apologise, shove aside and once again captivate   A light that uncovers everything exists Darkness exists   And they have been through it all, from one end to the other, over and over again While years replace years and lay new tracks in their handwriting, in their bodies’ falling lines   *   Now she’s lying in bed She’s sleeping The hotel room is grimy and worn, and outside: the city, traffic, a surge of movement and sound At last they’ve met, God would’ve sworn it was impossible after all this time Their advances, so cautious, at an incredible distance She’s sleeping, still warm from his hands; she’s lying on her stomach, the bony stretch of her spine protruding hard from her skin in the twilight He can’t remember when he last slept and he’s smoking with iron lungs and a coated tongue This is killing me, he thinks   *   ‘Love is so huge that you can only dream about it,’ she said before falling asleep   Perhaps she was already asleep   But once in awhile it happens It succeeded an hour ago, when Prague disappeared in the sound of the tremendous passion that gushed from their throats, a choral masterpiece, so tender and brutal A sacred place and a spellbinding music Now reverberating between them   He lights another lousy Czech cigarette, trying to get the feeling out of his chest: that this might last forever   She, lying on the sheets, he, leaning against the wall, naked for each other, all the way to the bones   It’s taken a long time, and he had sworn it was impossible That he would let someone in where he himself doesn’t know what’s there; that someone like her would open up to him,

Contributor

March 2018

Kevin Brazil

Contributor

March 2018

Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London...

Interview with Terre Thaemlitz

Interview

March 2018

Kevin Brazil

Interview

March 2018

In the first room of Terre Thaemlitz’s 2017 exhibition ‘INTERSTICES’, at Auto Italia in London, columns of white text ran across one wall. Thaemlitz...

READ NEXT

feature

Issue No. 10

Vern Blosum, Phantom

William E. Jones

feature

Issue No. 10

Chatsworth, established in 1888 in the northwest corner of the San Fernando Valley, took its name from the family...

feature

November 2014

The Last Redoubt

Scott Esposito

feature

November 2014

As they say of politics, I have found essay-writing to be the art of the possible. Certain work can...

feature

February 2011

Old media, new year: China’s CCTV woos the nation’s netizens

Shepherd Laughlin

feature

February 2011

The CCTV New Year’s gala broadcast, known in Mandarin as Chunwan, is probably the most massive media event you’ve...

 

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