Editor’s Note: When Kevin Killian is not writing novels (Shy, 1989 and Arctic Summer, 1997), memoirs (Bedrooms Have Windows, 1990), volumes of short stories (Little Men, 1996, I Cry Like a Baby, 2001 and Impossible Princess, 2009), books of poetry (Argento Series, 2001 and Action Kylie, 2008), biographies, exhibition essays, plays (over 30 to date), curating, editing, publishing zines and taking “intimate photographs of men with big genitals” (which may be seen in his book, Tagged, to be published next spring),…he is writing Amazon reviews.
Between the election and the inauguration in the United States is a period known unpoetically as the “transition.” Our own transition feels like a categorical shift, a break in the paradigm. It is closer to Gramsci’s interregnum - “the crisis...that the old is dying and the new cannot be born.” The synonyms here don’t fit: progression, shift, evolution. Antonyms feel more like the truth: decline, cease, or decrease.
This interregnum in the nation-state is transempirical: beyond experiential knowledge. The beyond, also, of empire. We go across, through; we change thoroughly. We transition.