part I: suicide
is suicide the staking out of autonomy or is it murder by slow poisoning (patriarchy, capitalism, prison, etc take your pick)?
is suicide the ever-resistant final fuck you to that slow poisoning?
is suicide the best star, the prettiest girl, the tightest beat we ever danced to?
can i literally kill the cop in my head, burn away civilization’s noose?
if one takes down one’s enemies with them to hell, does one have to also drag those bodies down a black river like a horse on fire?
i went to court to deny my suicide, my perpetuation of suicide, i refused to answer their questions which they took to be a sign of suicide
part II: housing
they couldn’t find a place to lay their head
there were more than 80,000 empty beds in the city
there were people forcefully removed from their apartments so they could be renovated
families died from carbon monoxide poisoning; they were burning their belonging in the middle of the room; they were found huddled together
red circles around the Quartier Karl Marx
they killed the landlord then they lit the house on fire and swam into the middle of the heat
prospectors gathered around the charred foundation
we’re busy capturing the sun, they said, opportunities aren’t forever
you sleep, you die, they said, that’s the business
part III: debt
the story of my generation was the story of debt,
i bought 1,000,000 dogs,
but the investment didn’t pay off
everyone else had 1,000,000 dogs
some paid more, some paid less
many dogs died in the process, as prices were haggled, raised, and forged into debt
in private i wept over my 1,000,000 dogs but the dogs paid no attention
finally in public we built an army of dogs-
the re-wilding of our debts
part IV: belonging
i am exactly where i need to be, lost and on my last 50,000 won, my last 400 dollars
i have hurried past the city of my suicide into something brighter and more gone
the ruins of this architecture are dazzling
we’re running in the grass; it’s ruthless
ours ways of being, numbered and cast away
the grass cuts, like all intimacies
we are intimate and fighting and that’s all i need to know
all the knots in all the grasses and then we throw the net up
i believe in no world,
but i want to trace every bit of it with fine lines of no hope
and that is the only love