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Kevin Brazil
Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London Review of Books, the Times Literary Supplement, Art Review, art-agenda, Studio International, and elsewhere. He is writing a book about queer happiness.

Articles Available Online


Interview with Sianne Ngai

Interview

October 2020

Kevin Brazil

Interview

October 2020

Over the past fifteen years, Sianne Ngai has created a taxonomy of the aesthetic features of contemporary capitalism: the emotions it provokes, the judgements...

Essay

Issue No. 28

Fear of a Gay Planet

Kevin Brazil

Essay

Issue No. 28

In Robert Ferro’s 1988 novel Second Son, Mark Valerian suffers from an unnamed illness afflicting gay men, spread by...

Ten minutes before the floodwaters arrived, Pak Prawiro died Who knows to where his soul sped off Now only his body remained by his cramped house Stretched out as though he were just sleeping Not a single soul appeared saddened by his death You have to understand, no one knew Pak Prawiro’s origins and background   Five minutes before the floodwaters arrived, a neighbour found Pak Prawiro sprawled on the ground in the cassava patch next to his house ‘Pak Prawiro fainted,’ he said to himself, before enlisting the help of another neighbor in carrying Pak Prawiro into his house ‘He’s dead,’ said yet another neighbour ‘Just check his pulse’   Sure enough, he had no pulse, his heart had stopped pumping, and his body had grown cold They laid Pak Prawiro down on the couch and covered him with a sheet, as if he were napping Someone tied a white cloth around his head so his mouth wouldn’t hang open Another closed his eyes   One minute before the floodwaters arrived, someone shouted ‘Look, the river has reached the top of the embankment!’   ‘Relax,’ another answered, ‘It never floods here The farthest it’s come is up to the road’   No one was thinking it might flood The housing complex had been built seven years ago and the river had never spilled over its banks and flooded They were still in the deceased’s house, wanting to do something for Pak Prawiro, but there was nothing else to be done   ‘The owners of the house will be back soon anyway,’ someone said   Sunset arrived The dusk sky was coloured by bright streaks of orange Office workers were heading home, passing through the neighbourhood gate one by one A yellow paper banner on a pole was fixed in front of Pak Prawiro’s house But people just kept walking by   ‘I’ll go back later,’ they thought, ‘now I’m just too tired’   To be sure, all the neighbours lived together peacefully without disturbing each another but it seemed they didn’t know one other either How could anyone know Pak Prawiro? He was just an elderly man who never talked about himself He could have been 60,

Contributor

March 2018

Kevin Brazil

Contributor

March 2018

Kevin Brazil is a writer and critic who lives in London. His writing has appeared in Granta, The White Review, the London...

Interview with Terre Thaemlitz

Interview

March 2018

Kevin Brazil

Interview

March 2018

In the first room of Terre Thaemlitz’s 2017 exhibition ‘INTERSTICES’, at Auto Italia in London, columns of white text ran across one wall. Thaemlitz...

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poetry

March 2013

Fugitive

James Byrne

poetry

March 2013

I trace the stacked voices of shouters how they immingle fraternally on first hearing with the vaporous nick of...

poetry

August 2016

No Holds Barred

Rodrigo Rey Rosa

TR. Brian Hagenbuch

poetry

August 2016

Hello. Dr Rivers’ clinic? Thank you. Yes. Yes, doctor, I would like to be your patient. With your permission,...

poetry

Issue No. 8

The Cloud of Knowing

John Ashbery

poetry

Issue No. 8

There are those who would have paid that. The amount your eyes bonded with (O spangled home) will have...

 

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