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VULNERABILITY: Encountering masculinity and relinquishing control: my mother taught me to never get in the car but I got into the car seventeen times. Moving along at another agent’s speed, this is the height of my potential as disposable, but it’s mutual. We asked a man with a Croatian license plate in the gas station near the Balaton for a ride. He drove us to Zagreb, it took three hours. He told us about the breakup of Yugoslavia while we drove by green mountains and white houses with terracotta roofs. I didn’t want to know about him or his IT job in Budapest. I didn’t want him to ask any questions. When we got out of the car I was frantic for momentum. A diary entry of the object who desires above all else to inhabit the unattainable status of perfection (that is, an object who controls of the conditions of her objectification): 15
I always act (act) like I can’t hurt men because men don’t care, especially not men, because masculinity has never offered me evidence of hurt. Of course, I know that this is not true, but where is the model? I think hurt looks like your friend’s dad inviting you for ice cream at 7:00 in the evening and its already cold out. You all stand there with your hands in your pockets in some public garden on the East River. You remember the dream you had when you were seventeen that he was coming on to you. It’s only upsetting because it’s a little real. My reply to these rigid representations is another apology. In Rijeka we realized we couldn’t get across the border into Italy so we looked for a place to sleep. There was a bar at the top of the hill, no one there spoke English other than a man in his late forties who said he was from L.A. He was in Croatia with the Navy, he said his favorite city was Dubrovnik. He was sitting in front of a fig tree, smoking and pretending to read the newspaper. I didn’t notice him when we sat down but when I came out of the bathroom they were already talking. He tried to dissuade us from hitchhiking and offered us money, which we didn’t accept. That night we slept next to the pier, near a smaller bar, in a playground between a ping pong table and a tree with keys and pocket knives between our fingers. It rained hard. In the morning, the American national anthem was playing from one of the ships. 16
Page 1 and 2: haptic A Zine of Distituent Works
Page 3 and 4: :bodies November 2015 Editorial Col
Page 5 and 6: 27 Anna Montgomery Notes on Running
Page 7 and 8: tographer Donald Graham wrote a cea
Page 9 and 10: about a sexual Instagram photo post
Page 11 and 12: ers and artists pour their energy i
Page 13 and 14: am an outcropping. Body Composition
Page 15 and 16: although way the sound away from me
Page 17 and 18: It Was a Pleasure Having You in my
Page 19: I found Horacio Olivera’s Kibbutz
Page 23 and 24: I don’t remember when they turned
Page 25 and 26: “your son tells the most wonderfu
Page 27 and 28: moments; I imagine myself in the te
Page 29: or in ever growing sedative labor.
Page 32 and 33: Notes on Running Anna Montgomery I.
Page 34 and 35: Historicity Grace Covill-Grennan be
Page 36 and 37: Border Porn Nathan Eisenberg CW: Ra
Page 38 and 39: mechanism” for the management of
Page 40 and 41: tion, then reassembled and deployed
Page 42 and 43: al relationship to their condition
Page 44 and 45: agent said in one video, “You cro
Page 46 and 47: Selected Poems Anastacia Tolbert Th
Page 48 and 49: Sing(ing) you used to serenade the
Page 50 and 51: Q&A Anastacia Tolbert Haptic: You t
Page 52 and 53: Visual Stimulation is a Substitute

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