Through the Adriatic and Ionian sea, on the Mediterrenian seabed, side by side with the deep-water fish, a Partisan and a German Shepherd swim through the unseen routes of the ocean, following the death signs on its dark floor. Bone and another bone, skull and another skull they collect and bury under the warm, curvy pelvises of shipwrecks that they discover on their way
And nothing will get solved by blaming him, right? It was not him. Not only him. It’s me. And not only me. It’s my mother, and grandmother, and great-grandmother that are living and speaking in me; and it’s the media, the funders, the commercials, the fathers and grandpas who have been staring at me in the streets since I was 11, the institutions that support them, it’s the presidents, their language, the vaginas they grabbed, their audience, it’s the audience, yes, it’s you, it’s you dear honorable viewer too, the way you looked at my body when I entered, yes, it’s you too, you looked, you never allowed this body to be neutral, to be just what it is, neutral, belonging only to itself, no!
In his car, on the way to Paris, I was thinking about all of you, and how I will tell you my story, and how you will add it, add me, to the big book of the undeads. While I was part of the situation, I could already describe it from above; while the story was taking place, I could already tell it in past tense. And in those moments, when I was standing a few steps forward in time, and a few steps higher in space, I had already decided, that this is the story that I will tell: of him and myself. The story of the tie-guy from Rennes, that I’ll probably never meet again, and mine, full of Crystal Meth, in the car, looking at the road
My death,
it was quite tragic.
One of the girls started shooting, not knowing that I was still in the firing-zone,
pinning a mustache to the head of the last carton figure.
I died on the spot.
In the inquest, the army lawyer claimed that I hadn’t responded quickly enough,
and therefore I had found my death. The investigation was closed, I was declared a
war fallen soldier and as one, was appointed to a higher rank.
…and they hug tightly, as they both understand that she has brought them to where the summer is celebrating its best days, where all is euphoria, where everybody is moving, living, crashing into each other in the air like dizzy bugs in love, grass and water and marmalade, and the water shimmers in the evening sun, and along the water line, a group of heavyweight boxers with colourful sport bras are running and singing together to the common rhythm of their feet, and with every planting of their huge feet on the ground, the ground shakes a little, and the trees tremble a little, and the birds above them panic a little, spreading all around them and creating astounding shapes of birds in the sky
Mom. Dad. You didn’t bring me to the best world you know.
You didn’t bring me to the right passport nor the right economic status, you didn’t bring me to the right language.
You didn’t teach me the right opinions, you didn’t tell me the truth,
and I guess you didn’t know the truth yourselves.
The black smoke clouds above the city-
tweeting,
posting,
reporting on the disaster
to all of those who escaped on time.
The city is burning, and we are standing all around.
Oh art,
you were supposed to be all that.
Anarchistic,
revolutionary,
loyal to itself,
only to itself,
doing nothing,
being there
just because it’s there,
no reason,
no message,
eternal.
Not being an act,
not a political act,
all and nothing at the same moment,
endless,
shapeless,
a declaration to the post democratic world.