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Masha Tupitsyn
Masha Tupitsyn is a writer, critic, and multi-media artist. She is the author of the books Like Someone in Love: An Addendum to Love Dog, Love Dog, LACONIA: 1,200 Tweets on Film Beauty Talk & Monsters, the anthology Life As We Show It: Writing on Film. In 2015, she completed the film Love Sounds, a 24-hour audio-essay and history of love in English-speaking cinema. Her fiction and criticism have appeared in numerous anthologies and journals. She teaches film and gender studies at The New School. Her new film, Time Tells, is forthcoming in 2017.

Articles Available Online


The Rights Of Nerves

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September 2016

Masha Tupitsyn

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September 2016

‘I transform “Work” in its analytic meaning (the Work of Mourning, the Dream-Work) into the real “Work” — of writing.’ — Roland Barthes, Mourning...

Art

December 2013

When We Were Here: The 1990s in Film

Masha Tupitsyn

Art

December 2013

‘I remember touch. Pictures came with touch.’ -Daft Punk, ‘Touch’   In the 1990s, three important pre post-reality films...

We are little critters who live in the black earth beneath the desert The people on Mother Earth can’t imagine such a large expanse of fertile humus lying dozens of meters beneath the boundless desert Our race has lived here for generations We have neither eyes nor any olfactory sense In this large nursery, such apparatus is useless Our lives are simple, for we merely use our long beaks to dig the earth, eat the nutritious soil, and then excrete it We live in happiness and harmony because we have abundant resources in our home town Thus, we can all eat our fill without a dispute arising At any rate, I’ve never heard of one In our spare time, we congregate to recall anecdotes of our forebears We begin by remembering the oldest of our ancestors and then run through the others The remembrances are pleasurable, filled with outlandish salty and sweet flavours, as well as some crispy amber – the immemorial turpentine In our recollections, there is a blank passage that is difficult to describe Broadly speaking, as one of our elders (the one with the longest beak) was digging the earth, he suddenly crossed the dividing line and vanished in the desert above He never returned to us Whenever we remembered this, we fell silent I sensed that everyone was afraid   Even though people never descended to our underground, we actually gained all kinds of information about the mortals above us I don’t know what sort of channel this information came from It is said that it was very mysterious, and that it had something to do with our builds I’m an average-sized, ordinary individual of my genus Like everyone else, I dig the earth every day and excrete Recalling our ancestors is the greatest pleasure in my life But when I sleep, I have some odd dreams I dream of seeing people; I dream of seeing the sky above Human beings are good at movement They feel bumpy to the touch I’m extremely jealous of their well-developed limbs, because our limbs have atrophied underground We all move

Contributor

August 2014

Masha Tupitsyn

Contributor

August 2014

Masha Tupitsyn is a writer, critic, and multi-media artist. She is the author of the books Like Someone in Love:...

Love Dog

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July 2013

Masha Tupitsyn

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July 2013

11 22 2011 – LOVE DOG     For months Hamlet has been floating around. Its book covers popping up everywhere. Non sequitur references...
Famous Tombs: Love in the 90s

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February 2013

Masha Tupitsyn

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February 2013

‘However, somebody killed something: that’s clear, at any rate—’ Through The Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll   I. BEGINNING   I was a pre-teen when...

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fiction

Issue No. 17

Boom Boom

Clemens Meyer

TR. Katy Derbyshire

fiction

Issue No. 17

You’re flat on your back on the street. And you thought the nineties were over.   And they nearly...

fiction

January 2014

Hagoromo

Paul Griffiths

fiction

January 2014

for the spirit of Jonathan Harvey   There was a fisherman, who lived in a village on a great...

Art

November 2013

The Past is a Foreign Country

Natasha Hoare

Art

November 2013

‘The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.’ The immortal first line to L. P. Hartley’s...

 

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