MOPES

“With unrelenting indignation and remarkable tenderness, Kenneth Reveiz gives voice to the razing of respectability while mending the fissures of a body’s abjection in the totalizing ether of whiteness. In its three-act structure, MOPES directs a series of scene-changes that oscillate abruptly in mood and matter—a riotous counter-ethnographic anti-monument; a gruesome video game killing spree reflecting yet another day in the United States; performances of laughter and boredom as a cover for affliction; and as many-sided attributions of sex as to queer “class hatred under the moonlight.” Reveiz punctuates with lol’s and heart-signs, or with mimicries of Elizabethan English, to throttle the artifice of establishment value. In strains at once breakneck, salacious, mordant, and loudly opposed, Reveiz seeks a poetry tantamount to the “most fucking amazing fully distanceless thing”—that is, unapologetic and adequate to the task of the present.”

 

—Roberto Tejada

Kenneth Reveiz writes us a book for the present, for the true now, for the actual 2022, the impossible world they inherited from multiple ancestors. The past is not dead, it is not even past, said Faulkner and Reveiz says, Look at Me Now and Here I Am because the present isn’t dead, either-- even though it appears that way since we can't touch it and can’t feel it and can’t even find language for our disconnected experience of it (unless its facebook chats or instagram followers, how many?). But what happened in between scrolling, we had a life, we still have a life, or at least a body, we are still scrambling to even know what it means to connect to another person, or even to a word. Reveiz says a poem is not a poem is not a poem, and after all, the only important thing...is to allow ourselves to actually feel that crippling loneliness, and keep breathing, keep enduring: it's gonna be OK--Reveiz has our back.

-Nina Menkes