as though the transpersonal permits this thou
i would not be so foolish to hope to meet you. perhaps you are working now, in poland. thank you for the turbine unilever series project at tate modern. thank you for putting genocide at the fore of human consciousness. thank you for speaking slowly, and patiently, and fairly.
thank you for the interior, a surprise, a soft velour.
i was panicking on saturday. i needed to take my head away from things that barely matter. i am so happy to have gone to see this. holocaust, shoah, disaster, are all there is, all that remains, sometimes.
this sat in my mind for thirteen years and might more for another sixty. waking up in hiroshima is not easy, being waterboarded, gassed. torture has an international face now, and our international money buys it.
genocide on the tip of every tongue. waking up every day and waiting for godot, and the memories and poetry contained within mind, to fight off the annihilation of incarceration, songs against shoah, miroslaw, i was there in a torture camp, i want to tell you, i was there, am there, am constantly reminded, in the depth of these cliches, of silent hope and memory.
when inside there was a form, catching the light, i thought it might be you. inside we all seemed as ghosts. that he was there, and i also, and children laughing, and emptiness, and money in guantanamo, abu ghraib, fallujah, torturing human beings, humanity is not so much with us, as we retain the bestial, on every occasion, the brutality of nazi eras deeply hidden from us. that this now our modertn fascism is hidden from us through thickets of euphemism, obscurations of the will, the defiance of our outlook to fail other human beings sits so immensely on a conscience, heavy than your iron box, heavier than steel or stone, horrors upon horrors and no return.
if it would be right or wrong to say, your art is art for human rights, or art against genocide, i do not know. but for me, i feel so completely uneasy about waking moments, in the pall of these war crises, eco-crises, rape-crises, brutality everywhere, and blood on all our hands. miroslaw, if this was what you help us to, then be it.
i will listen to you again, because i feel so lonely for a human voice, as beckett cannot speak to me through his involvement in the resistance. we need now an international resistance, an internet. we need food and funding and safety, as we crawl the earth like ants, hungry for demise, demise writing.
and this art, an extinguishment, a mecca, an existential pop-up, a plea for peace?
im memorium.
that you are a person, and beautiful, and kind, gives no meaning to my extictions as they line themself up on a plate, ready to demonstrate anger.
anger and hunger, contemporaneous with eachother, futility, and the bones that go back to the earth, poisoned by the gas clouds, the smogs of affluence and unending war, human rights sacrifices, so clear as day now on an international stage, as if to say, where is a new nuremberg?
who will hang or transcend hanging, and stay the bloody beat of war that kills so heinously now, for greed, and squalor of racism warcraft, the assault on women, as if we were not people too, unmitigated by history, blindly indifferent we go on, with the insignias of our participation, deep in our wallets, accounts, financing brutality, and eating it every day, es wird gut geschmackt! fascism through music, my thoughts deep under the thames, under the atlantic, on a telegram wire, begging exile, no return, eternal diasporas of the human spirit, diffuse as carbon monoxide our hearts parasitical to eachother, as if we exist, as if.
and being never anguished over itself, is or was or how.
how it is is a laughing matter.
raped starved extinguished, brutalized, silenced, im graben, under stone, in your mind, in ours, holocaust is the daily news. congo stirbt. war crimes. crimes of humanity in pence and cents, commodified for our delight, a ticket price. disaster is free, the unending brook of shame on which to slake our thirst for justice, when deep in heart, we know, we might be next and were, so once, so clearly there in public, with head on the block, with the nazi cops, beaucoup racism en france, beaucoup, beaucoup, en le figaro, islamophobie, the new gold stars, the world hatreds, recisms repainted with a propagandistic technicolor, inviting us all to, have a piece, a piece of the blood cake of our cannibal culture.
that i might wish to reach you, or others to thank them, and remove myself from the nazi spectacle or world wars thick in our present era, deep in our insignias of money and its lack, proudly on our lapel, gucci rainforest destruction, KBR tax-funded rape, gauntanamo torture, the blood dragged along the floor of abu ghraib, standard operating procedure, on youtube. have it. have it all, how it is. so unwell.
proxemics of bodies, in der nahe
others
shoahs
congos
falluja: the hidden massacre
taken down, by copyright, nbc universal, book-burners of new nazi eras
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82zYcvFGTJY&feature=related
(extremely graphic war injury of children)
the lost link:
'"Massacre of Civilians in Fallujah"This video contains content from NBC Universal, who has blocked it in your country on copyright grounds.'
and unilever series: balka in poland, at the cimitere de auschwitz
http://channel.tate.org.uk/media/47872674001
"in my sculpture, the darkness will hold the function of purgatory . . . people can walk in it . . . slowly, step by step, you will start to touch darkness . . . you will come to the border where you have to say, if you want to go farther or not . . . and touching the subject of disappearing . . . to create the question mark, how far i can go?"
miroslaw balka speaks: miroslaw balka in conversation
http://channel.tate.org.uk/#media:/media/49550960001&context:/channel/search?searchQuery=balka
http://www.tate.org.uk/modern/exhibitions/unilevermiroslawbalka/default.shtm
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