Tuesday, 23 June 2015

To Resist the (Gender) Binary (trans* manifesto).

Protest is when I say this does not please me.

Resistance is when I ensure what does not please me occurs no more.

To resist is first of all, 1 to never be understood as its own objective meaning 2 resistance reclaimed as a verb 3 an adjective also, to describe the act of a deliberate stopping and when describing the binary 3.1 we must consider a system of deliberate and continued 3.11 sexual exploitation, the grammar of the body, those that would enforce it 3.2 the policing of the self 3.3, 3.4, 3.5 .6 the self 3.7 and that in developing a theory of resistance the primary basis of that theory is its opposite meaning I am / you are / they are in a state of 4 mental illness 5 or ideally bodily wrongness 5 pathologists 6 of the sucker 7 of the cunt of the cock 8 of the face and hair 9 of the pupil 10 those same hacks that condemned the habits of collection,, despots of the artery 11 and in that resistance a mesh 12 that I contain no pride means resistance of the language of proudness 13 destroyed as cutting 14 where and when we consider Gender as labour 15 with wages 15.19 but born in the wrong body 15.19.1, but mentally ill 16 cherished of the bitch plea 17 to understand the binary as one would gravity, naturation as a verb, a gravity be done a 18 done thing 19, units of control as helicopters 20 as a comprehensive illness 21 as a natural limit for voting 22 as a body. Understanding resistance as the possible outcome from which natural truth screams back on its back as its back is a snake a 23 uncorsetted body. Rotting flesh. Gas. A substance emerged from the natural order,, heated, atonement, don't ever sleep.

The binary enforced in all character of language likes, it likes the body (and is like) dead animal, dual carriageway, 4.45pm stiffened && bloated on the curb, mouth smashed, a badger, jaw locked as an A biting the curb. Don't ever sleep.

Thursday, 11 June 2015

Ritual for Hate Speech

slice out his limbs means my sisters, our arms,, our
tear from the muscle: this social survival
their pleading eyes their rolling faces O  the birds cut ahead and behind
me, they sing,, the tempers of paradise 0 "I walk about; lie down, but no dreams visit me." 0 we will not bury the corpses is
our agony,,, the unburied dead of Camp 15 o in winter in the winter
they do not rot or fold, my joyous rain,, o our our criming pity
0 our refusing empathy, our steel is made of hands.

Place: In a long strand, digested vegetable matter
Say: The unburied dead, for in winter the ground
Say: The walls are mere and terminal
Do: The kicking and eating, the freezing soil.
Place: a strand of wire on each of our limbs, the limbs
           as the birds explode in front, as you walk through
           the trees, as you find the soft and silent voice, lapping
           as your peace is murder, as your joy is cutting, lapping
Place: the wire of each limb on tongue. Sing: We with all our /
cut up ground / prop up the leader / their scream /  wordless pity!!!!

Now: Shit in his neck 0 love to the defector
& detonate his pulse means dancing in the winter
& I have come in peace means the slow and careful boiling
of the living body, e.g. António Horta Osório,, his blistered 
hateful screams, o hate speech means love, yes, love is in the air!
& cannibal means yes I was bored of all these lovers. 

Try: The hand to the throat to the groin to the fire.
Try: The head of angels
Try: Marauding guilt with vengeance.
0 THE boss is coming now to swallow up her gold.
              othe boss detesting, digesting sleeping children,
spent as by a crook the tether reaches out to wage.
Spent as by a tether knife edge reaches out to tongue his.
Spent as by knife the tongue is reeling and revolting.
Spent as I was panting on the writhing banking body.
Spent as we were spitting at the sockets of the democrats.
Fucked, as we were walking and the birds that sung were eating
OUT the eyes from sockets of the democrats still pleading:
"O friendly night have mercy for a neck filled up with shit."


Violence in Writing = "Death to the Oppressors".

For a long time I've been trying to resolve a seemingly complicated question about violence and language, violence and poetics, strategies and enemies. I say 'seemingly' complex, because when people are offended or affronted or disgusted by a bit of writing like this 'and thus we may now call for the head / and intestines of George Osborne and do' (from Gideon, Barque Press) or 'When you meet a Tory in the street / slit his throat. It will bring out the best in you' (Happiness: Poems After Rimbaud - Sean Bonney, UnKant) the discussion often starts to cross the lines set up by the fact that what is 'disgusting' is actually contained within  a poem. Something that is supposed to be (enemy tongue) 'abstract' and full of sentiment. I see these extremities as bursts of coaxial tenderness; on the one hand we call for the real cutting of a real throat, on the other hand we understand that cutting as a cut in social history, the composition of enemy thought and pressure, and the cut as the necessary dissolution of rigid corruption to fluid. To blood. To the symbolic red, the unification of alienated bodies in the purging of their oppressor. And to be clear, a couple of pages back from that first quote in Gideon we have 'a conceptual / enemy body  deranged ,,, you  and your cohorts in   careless magic have summoned forth. /   I AM SPECTRAL  ,,  HARMLESS'. By that, and it shouldn't need explaining (and perhaps that apologetic shouldn't have been there at all) is meant that the harmless body, the one with the least affect, that being the majority of bodies, is / are harmless and merely spectral to the oppressive elite. This is why screaming for the heads of the rich is in fact a very tender and generous act. In the depth of alien helplessness we are at least allowed the jouissance of disfigurement. I think that's probably the first step to writing poetry that makes everybody happy.

The question is not complicated. 'Is it reasonable, forgivable, justifiable to create a poetics that joys in the language of murder?' The answer to that is probably 'No'. And what good poetics have emerged that have been at once forgivable, justifiable and reasonable? Like an election. This is very insincere writing. I'm piling the words into your gullet and accusing you of using them, fine, but that's how I feel about most poetry. The constant pressure of the rightness of purpose, of shape and form. The correct approach, the studied. I wonder what a very loud brain makes of all that. With new "hate speech" laws coming in perhaps we have some opportunities to make our poetry finally break out into the imagination of a wider public, though at what risk? Some friends and I have been speaking very romantically and dangerously about what defending a few lines on, say, the disemboweling of Theresa May might look like. Especially if that disemboweling is staring up and down into line corrosions full of blistering love and disclosure. If those lines are seen as the debt settlement proceeding and preceding a transcendental form of living. I'm finding it difficult to put this into words, to make excuses. But here's a radio discussion where we kicked some of these ideas about. I'll say more about Athens later.