sometimes, holes within the biblical texts are not absences. they do not belie lack but negotiate it; they are not holes, but holes where holes should be. we are not told why hagar clutches her water skin while her son dies: because we should already know. we are not told what god’s severed hand looks like as it writes upon the wall: because this, too, we know. we have seen the blood drip down its wrist, and we need not be told again. i am trying to talk about biblical holes as sensations and pulses—affects—transmitted directly to us, not needing to sigh their way across a narrative. what god looks like. what happens to isaac on the mountain. what the fruit tasted like on eve’s tongue. we know all this. god won’t bore us by telling us again
