They are not beautiful to behold; they are not ‘meant’ to be. They are wild because they are the yearning lyric that touches spruce and honeycomb and goat horn and mountain crest and peeping eyes at night – weaving them into Frankensteinian embodiments that release us from the prisons of our skins and bodily configurations.
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The monster is disproportionate because everything is – and her noble quest is sometimes to frighten us out of our lethargy, and shock us out of the stupor of the familiar. To show us that different arrangements are quite possible.
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