In the course of one of her missions, she was exposed to the accident which granted her super-human powers, prompting her to assume the identity of the Green Fury and join the international superhero team the Global Guardians. Shortly after changing her name to the Green Flame, the Guardians’ UN funding was withdrawn in the wake of the formation the Justice League International. da Costa talked her teammate and friend Icemaiden into joining her in approaching the Justice League Embassy and asking for a job and, in the wake of Black Canary’s resignation and the abduction of several members, the short-handed JLI took them on. Eventually, she once again changed her heroic name, this time to “Fire” in affinity with Icemaiden’s shortening of her name to simply Ice. She served the longest continuous term of any JLI member, including an extended period of depowerment after an encounter with Doomsday, a period which sadly coincided with the death of Ice at the hands of the Overmaster. When attempting to rescue Ice’s spirit from Hell (or a dimension similar to it), Fire accidentally looked back, causing the spirit to vanish. After the dissolution of the Super Buddies, Fire returned to her work as detective and secret agent. In that role she helped Booster Gold and Guy Gardner find the connection between Maxwell Lord and Blue Beetle’s death. She then took part in an assault by her former teammates from JLI and the Super Buddies against a group of OMACs. Badly wounded, she was saved by the sacrifice of Rocket Red. Guy Gardner and Booster Gold took her to a hospital. But I don’t think this is the Beatriz da Costa the editors of The Multispecies Salon had in mind. That da Costa’s “A Memorial for the Still Living” more than suggests that we might want to “Go out and meet the species before its too late.” Which makes it infinitely more poignant that among her last works before her death at 38 was a book of anti-cancer recipes, among which I find ARUGULA SALAD WITH CARROTS, CRUNCHY SEEDS, AVOCADO AND A DOLLOP OF QUARK: Peppery, crunchy, tangy and rich this is a great salad that will satisfy. Letting the carrots marinate in the dressing allows them to soften and take on their own distinct flavor that adds to the layered flavors of the salad. A few radish coins would also make a nice addition. SERVES 4. 2 tablespoons sesame seeds, toasted. 2 tablespoons pumpkin seeds (pepitas), toasted. 1 small shallot, minced. 1 tablespoon (or more) champagne vinegar. Segments of half a lemon. 1 tablespoons flax oil. 3 tablespoons really good olive oil. 1 teaspoon honey. 2 medium carrots, peeled. 4 ounces of arugula (about 8 cups). 1/4 cup of quark. 2 avocados, peeled and each half sliced into eighths. In the bottom of a small bowl, stir in shallot, vinegar, lemon and a big pinch of salt. Whisk in oil and honey. Season vinaigrette to taste with more salt, and more vinegar, if necessary. Using a sharp knife or a mandolin, slice carrots thinly on the bias, about 1/16 thick. Put carrots in a small bowl, add a few big spoonfuls of vinaigrette and stir together. Combine arugula, carrots and toasted seeds in a large bowl and season with salt and pepper. Toss salad to coat. Taste and adjust seasoning or acid. Arrange salad on four plates and tuck a half avocado in each salad. Spoon the rest of the vinaigrette on the salad making sure to hit the avocados. Finally, plop a tablespoon of quark on top of each salad. I had to look up quark. “Quark is a specialty fresh cheese common to Germany, Poland, Austria, Switzerland and several other European countries.” The story begins in the summer of 2002, when Karin Bolender made a seven-week walking journey across the American South with Aliass, a six-year-old American Spotted Ass (a kind of donkey). Over many miles of the journey, Karin walked behind Aliass day after day on city streets and rural back-roads, and they slept nights in random churchyards and patches of woods. Aliass gave birth to Passenger at the end of this journey. Karin took some of Aliass’ milk to create soap in her Rural Alchemy Workshop (R.A.W.). Assmilk soap involves visible scars of industrial wastelands as well as “hidden pollutions” – poisons born of exploited bodies, beings, minerals, and ecosystems – and the ways they linger in our bodies, thoughts and utterances. Like our bodies themselves, every bar of R.A.W. Assmilk Soap holds its own unwritten story, in the invisible traces of bodies and antibodies immersed and entangled in specific times and places. The inner realm is where this soap really finds its potency, calling upon imagination to bring our buried stains to the surface, at least to attend to if not to assuage them. I think of Robert Kocik’s Supple Science. And “What in the history of thought may be seen as a confusion or an overlapping is often the precise moment of the dramatic impulse.” — Raymond Williams, “Ideas of Nature”, in Problems in Materialism and Culture. (London: Verso, 1980). There are 100 looping posts that link together horizontally and vertically. I am working on a script that will once a day take the last post in the loop and reblog it. Then I will leave it. Or not. I’m not sure. In selecting the images I was looking at our notion of environment and the changing and overlapping definitions of natural, built and networked environments. I gathered images that speak of these definitions and blended them together into new compositions. An attempt to create a feeling of some type of hybrid environment, a hyper geography. Let me extend the quote. “First the affective strike of the event is instantaneously transmitted, cutting a shocked-and-awed hole of horror into the fabric of the everyday. The ability to make sense of events is suspended in a momentary hiatus of humanly unbearable, unspeakable horror. Then comes the zoom-in to the human detail. Stories get human traction. The horror is alloyed, its impact archived. Another event has been affectively conveyed with irruptive, interruptive force, only to subside into the background. What remains is a continuous, low-level fear. This fear doesn’t stand out clearly as an emotion. It is more like a habitual posture, an almost bodily bracing for the next unforeseen blow, a tensing infusing every move and every moment with a vague foreboding. This trace-form anticipation – this post-shock pre-posturing – becomes the very medium we breathe. Life is increasingly lived as a diffuse and foreboding “threat environment”. It is almost a relief when the next hit comes. It is only another bout of disaster that will enable the narrative balm to calm again the collective nerves of a humanity permanently on low-level boil.” But with Alternating Mourning (AM), grief flows in both directions and may completely reverse itself. Far from being an unstable conduit for grief, AM allows for greater depth of feeling to flow more efficiently over greater distances. The downside to more deeply felt grief is a need for insulation to step down emotions for common transmission. Consumer mourning outlets vary according to countries, size of populations and equipment. The horizontal axis measures time, the vertical axis measures grief. Water, water, everywhere, my dead ones, and you wading through ferns to my window, a cat on a buoy, a rabbit on a paddle, a dog with a bowl in her mouth, water rising, water advancing and yes, yes, that is me, swimming through milk of sky, not a speck of barnacle underfoot. Water, water, everywhere, bodies, gliding, feathered, furred, sweet pink and brown, your skins, you come to me with your blue eyes and your brown eyes, with your violet and green eyes, you come into my arms that hush and stride, Mother, Father, your legs that kick and strut, I carry you into my sleep, you come and I have saved my tuna water, I have made a meal of egg and rice for you, I have saved my best thoughts, too, I lay them at the foot of the bed and wait for you to slip under the door. I am operating on instinct here, the way the guy at the beach chooses his rocks to stack and the rocks never topple, they are grey on grey against grey. I read Mary Oliver’s poem about angels dancing on the tip of a pin and I kept thinking, She is writing about a penis, she’s writing about the death of HTMLGIANT. Mary Oliver is really, well, almost the entire room is filled with her voice as she completely ignores the microphone placed in front of her, that useless instrument explicitly created for the weak. Humor is all over the confounded thing. Delivery of each line could not be more perfect. After describing our world in painstakingly bleak language, she then has the punch line of “pretty fucking crappy”. It’s perfect. Somehow she manages to convey the idea that not only is each word capitalized, every single letter is. Translating the caps lock from writing to speaking is no easy task. You really should listen to her shout at the top of her lungs, “I am Mary Oliver and I am your guardian angel but don’t expect me to do much because I hate you.” PROK PROK PROK! That’s the sound of applause in Indonesian. What on earth is cosmophagy? light coming into sky above black plane / of ridge, jet passing above pine branch / in foreground, sound of wave in channel / So my friend Maile came to my house to pick me up for lunch and we were a block away when I saw something large and hairy in the back of the pick-up heading toward us, I thought “That is the biggest fucking dog I have ever seen” and then the truck got closer and I thought, “That can’t be a dog. Is that Sasquatch?” And then the pickup passed us and I involuntarily screamed: “WATER BUFFALO!” And then Maile looked at me with mild confusion (probably because I’d just interrupted her story which had nothing to do with water buffalos) and I said, “DUDE. A FUCKING WATER BUFFALO DRIVE PAST US” and she was like, “Really? I didn’t notice.” And I think that’s a pretty good sign that you’re not paying attention to the road, or that you live in Texas and you’ve learned block shit like that out. Then Maile said “Do you want me to turn around and follow the water buffalo?” and I said “HAVE YOU EVEN MET ME?” and she nodded and said, “Right. Follow the water buffalo” as she made a quick U-turn. And after a minute I started to worry that maybe there wasn’t a water buffalo at all and that I was having a nervous breakdown, but then we saw it. Then Maile asked “Wait. Are they going to your house? Is this your water buffalo?” and I hesitated for a second because I thought, ‘Had I ordered a water buffalo and just forgotten?’ But then I realized there was no way because I’m pretty sure water buffalo are just big cows and it seems a bit sad to hunt down and taxidermy a cow.
[Note: Sources: “Beatriz da Costa (New Earth)”, at DC Wikia; JBR, but see “Events: The Multispecies Salon presents: Biopolitical Tactics. When: Saturday November 1st, 2014”, at Multispecies Salon, “A Memorial For The Still Living 2009”, at Beatriz da Costa’s Blog & Project Hub; Michelle Fuerst, Beatriz da Costa, Recipes For Anti-Cancer Cooking Workshop, at Ryan Raffa; JBR; Jennifer McGavin, “How to Make Homemade Quark - German Quark Made at Home”, at About Food; Karin Bolender, “R.A.W. Assmilk Soap”, at The Multispecies Salon; JBR; Joe Hamilton, quoted in Jason Huff, “Reframing Tumblr: Hyper Geography”, at Rhizome, 13 Sept 011; Brian Massumi, “The half-life of disaster”, at The Guardian, 15 Apr 011; JBR; Sina Queyras, MxT, at Coach House Books; JBR; Beach Sloth, “‘I am Shaun Gannon’ Review”, at Beach Sloth, 3 Apr 011; “PROK PROK PROK!”, at Languagehat, 22 Oct 014; “What on earth …”, at Small Press Distribution, 22 Oct 014; Stephen Ratcliffe, “10.23”, at Temporality, 23 Oct 014; Jenny Lawson, “Can I borrow your towel? My car just hit a water buffalo”, at The Bloggess, 23 Oct 014]