Livia wanted to pour herself out for us. To pour out her department. her department was a libation. She wanted to destroy what she made. No – to sacrifice it. To offer it up.
Drink this is remembrance of me, that’s what Livia’s saying. Where remembrance isn’t just mourning. It’s conjuring up her presence. It’s placing herself amongst us. Here she is, in this wine. Disgustingly.
The wine enables our communion. It’s what brings us together. Just like those early Christians in the Roman empire. The body of Livia, right?
Judge her by her fruit – this is her fruit. This is wine made from her grapes – from Livia-endorsed grapes. And of course it’s disgusting. What else can it be but disgusting?
Are you saying Livia lactated this wine. Yuck. That she squeezed it out and bottled it up?
Don’t be disgusting. Livia always hated being a mammal, she said. She hated the mammalian. She hated all that fur and cuteness and lactation.
So this is Livia’s milk – the black milk of Livia?
Livia never wanted to suckle us. Except with poison, which is, like, anti-milk.
Ah, the poisoned teats of Livia. Like that woman who tried to poison Krishna but suckling him with a poisoned breast.
Mother’s like the bad breast, and Livia’s the good one.
We’re still suckling on Livia’s teat.
Don’t use the word teat. Don’t say, teat.
It’s time we were weaned. Stand on our own two feet. No longer with Livia’s milk around our mouths.
Jeez – disgusting!
Work in Progress 