For many years I was uneasy about this book going into the world as mine because the normative aesthetics of care and illness are just not my vibe. I’m a goth kink queen, a faggy big-cock power-top who plays doom metal—it’s a different sort of mood board. Care is so domesticated, maternalized, tied up with notions of nurturing and selflessness. But to be disabled and require care is to deal constantly with the nastiest of body horrors: diarrhea as if from a broken spigot, skin slit into slices, so much pus, unstoppable bleeding, clots of it like black ash, not to mention the sublime-like
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