ombligo/intaglio is a meditation onpermanence—in ice, sand, archives or sound, Catholicism and catheters.
The author is vellum and gauze, icemelt and chalk; she vanishes into her material.
—What is brushed away in the act of excavation?
— An archeological sequence of matter and ephemerality and its affects of discipline and devotion.
cover art by Nicole Simpkins
"these things remind me of ombligo:" —c
Nicole interpreted my work and made a long scroll out of it:
Vör Götte’s semi-burial poems are profuse and female and hyperhypnotic and hydra-reverberate effusively with all embalmed dead heretics or “dissonant bells” and are not designed to be pinned down by an “urge to inhabit.” Through its un - extravagant and uncanny fervor, Götte takes us through a deciduous journey into the anthropological “benthic beatitude” of her writing narrative, a meta-language accretion that urges insatiable appetites for everything even things such as “chemical satin that lines a casket” and self-turned-fiction. As a pilgrim of her work, she expects us not to be fragile nor frayed and when we do self-abnegate, to consider her words as high priestesses, “preparing for mass,” a patriarchal mass for those weaponized by love, for sanctuary lamps, tears, rainwater, or for those who are in dire needs of grieving or burial. Even enclaved by Götte’s poetic splendor, we view her work as a “brutal arrhythmic montage”, dare to slice us into two and even “rob the substance” of us, us readers, to bestow us our freedom. Freedom from negative space. Freedom from opposites. Freedom from figments. From “matter, amber, memory.” And, even bellybutton."
– Vi Khi Nao