Against a densely imbricated skein of documentary fragments and confessional annotation, Mine advances a sustained, interlocutory investigation into the ulterior etiologies and malignant narcissism of underground pornography. “How dare you cling to the idea that there’s something to be understood.”

An excerpt:

I have to pin the words down, cut them out and place them as far as possible from the dunce economy. I’m not an exegete. But I take the words and ideas and stutters and stick them somewhere far more successful. You’ll understand this, finally, when I demean myself enough to tell you what I do with the words that these mouthy pigs just repeat often enough to tell you that they stand behind them. It’s not what I take, or who I take them away from. But where I put them. Not rewrite them. Not change or charge the context. I identify them. I don’t, idiot, masturbate with them. I can’t imagine wanting to do anything without having these words fully included. I wouldn’t even consider doing anything without them. The cunts that make cartoons out of their ideas. Little collages and signatures and slack versions. Strippers and songwriters and female’d max factors. I live all over them. I write through them, use them, come away with little more than a dangling possible.

…

What I do is inescapable.