Printed on vellum, stored in a cardboard box 

The argument has no conclusion; it is the furious, continuously foiled transmission of embodied secrets. I want to tell you the secret of the arc of Ric Flair’s back as he kneels in the centre of the ring, along and empowered, forehead resting on the mat, how you can see its epic musculature, how he looks and performs as and is exhausted. 

An essay composed entirely in footnotes*, about the experience of watching wrestling. Compelled by the uniquely complex spectatorship of wrestling fans, the compositional logic of this essay was drawn from the ‘elsewhere’ quality of wrestling- the way that its meaning is dispersed across multiple layers of performance. 

*almost

Photo credit: Ella Dawson-Gorton