Notes on Events ((Lamentation))

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Leif Holmstrand | Sally Rattenmann Devotes / Hangs Herself, 2004

 

Published by: Burning House Press (Guest Editor: Johannes Göransson)

 

“The language of tragedy for the Greeks is lethally factive, because the body it seizes hold of does really kill” — Friedrich Hölderlin

 

Without a doubt this is the most repulsive of repulsive moments :: it’s no longer
enough to say :: the goal is the abolition of capitalist realism or to hammer
verses on the door of a cell the way you drive a nail into a wall / when disinhibition
is rampant among the elite / they engineer new humiliations daily/ & the crumbs left
over on the table play into their hands / as a staged dinner —
that I am forced to respond to such arrogance will be clear :: they already
fear the wild of your thinking, your affective disorders, the
abstinence that you practice :: your furor for flowers / barricades / dialectics, your
sexual preferences :: the laboratory of Marxist linguistics //
coz I believe neither in an order of principles nor in the truth of reason —

 

to pursue the ruse of sleep, of idleness; vagrant pacing :: all to cash out
on the alms of the state ((free pictures of model citizens, the kind of
idiots that order their graves online)) there is
a knife that I will not forget (Artaud) —

 

locate the black cracked all over red streets, the radioactive fallout of
conciliatory remarks — I scream at open windows — my intermittent
depressive episodes have an economic matrix of their own / we look
up at the sun in front of us, paling in sequence on the screen ::
cities under siege, display parades in smithereens, craters glowing in
Mesopotamia ((in East-Ghouta & in Afrin)) where those still left

 

know how risky it is not to die //
these sirens, I only hear them when they stop / impressions of
blasted glass, synapses imploding & burnt dreams cut up with
sentimental experiences —
at this hour, as you wait patiently in line / projectiles
fly across the blazing sun at the speed of sound / for a
piece of bread, water, sarin, & chlorine —

 

she crouches down, knees tucked in / the tips of golden hands thrust into
the ashen black sun/ glowing ether is leaking / pleading
commit Polynices to the ground / between her small sharp teeth :: stain your language
red :: ready to die the most hideous of deaths, more than killing won’t work — yes
bury him, my brother!

 

enough heard :: the scraping metal the scalpel shaking in my hand
:: anti-terror laws for every district :: reading as a kind of nail polish
removal, a letting Hell unconceal ((distraction from ourselves))
its machines lock into place /
enough concealed: Pavlensky on dry hunger strike at the disposal
of the intravaneous avenues of power /

 

if you insist that it can’t go on like this anymore :: someone will be there
to pour green acid in your face /

 

a barbarization that I perceive, that doesn’t give a shit to
mask itself & since it’s hostile to you, you take it personally,
a pandemic spanning the entire world, that impairs hearts or lungs
in a very specific way impairs your waking, arrhythmia, happy cops,
heat palpilations, insulted breath :: tooth decay, rotting priests,
territorial pissing, expropriation, normative behavior, precarity, hunger,
borders abound, the rule of lies, the black ends of complex hybrids
freshly pulled…

 

silenced between two big decisions :: you discover
you’re still living/ making way in a vanishing frame
((TV ads, shitposting)) / the explosive, fragmented subjectivity, threatening to burst
like a giant tumor / as if from open graves :: every idea must be lived with the body / a
gust of wind at your back / the various reactions, have given up on my own self
preservation :: as this colossal ferocity takes the world by storm

 

To oppose the unfettered & voracious domination of the police :: to break the law ::
this moment, bravest of all, approaching the highest consciousness :: to know
the self in sap, to identify as this : as rutheless ghosts in search of home :: by
jealous suns, the feeling, that your head, its fucking exploding & you wonder
if you shiver in fear or in fever & in a splay of rage / in your defiance /your power increases
fuck a consience, they’re shameless, cops, pigs, murderers, the feeling that you’re
burning out inside :: the feeling, that your skin its being ripped off.
(after Hölderlin & Meinhof)

 

 

Translation by H. Bolin

 

Published by: BURNING HOUSE PRESS
German version: Anmerkungen zum Geschehen ((Totenklage))

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