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the dotter of the Surrogate

Kirsten Kaschock

is not the Surrogate's dotter. Biology plays a bit part, being shit. Shit, you may have heard, is of the body and must be embraced. Wrapped in cloaks of feces, the lovers of excess understand by what foul logic the child must be removed, cleaned, and offered up to the expense-paying proxies. (Because the surrogate, having no inner resources, clearly must hate the squalling thing.) Unlike those educated in the finer shitpoints, the surrogate admits hatred into the building (usually a hospital). The proxies, on the other hand, do not have to ride a shitwagon into the whiteworld or through it. Just, they must have the education and also money. In certain countries adoption may not occur without the channeling of funds. These certain countries are all countries. The dotter of the surrogate must be given the proper foundation on which to be built or grown. Sometimes, average national incomes are considered, weighed against or with sexual preference, antidepressants, possible facial deformation, politics. Money is shit: this has been demonstrated. It is said that any stench can become bearable, a commonplace. But every day does not equal survivable. That is why death is every day: the kinder kind, murder; the variant suicides; the cancers; starvation; allegory; and the giving up of whole pounds of the self—eight, nine, even twelve—to strangers.

Kirsten Kaschock

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