range

 

they built a new road. each time the taxi

this is the new road. a new development, smooth addition to potholed streets, uneven

takes me, always a he, says: have you seen it? it's the new road.

first time we were the only car on the road and the tall lamp-posts, equidistant each one from the next, turned their heads to see us go past

not even buildings seen, the bushes on the sides seemed to be cleaned of plastic bottles and other trash to be expected in such a city as this one

at night the lights were white and pure, only on this road

since it is new, it is the future we haven't lived yet, the future called progress lived in the direction of the original west: east to find the indies, steal spice

future after the eradication of the past, only after this

europe where it all began. naturally.

19 million USD was spent. 190,000 times of receiving retirement pay.

you wouldn't even live that long. 100 USD a month. no one would.

it is pleasant to go smoothly, a dream really

the lights turned their heads to see us go smoothly, in their eyes a cold neoliberal judgement. because we are a country of beggars who consume only what is given as charity.

meanwhile, the people protest the increased gas electricity price.

on the outskirts of the city, going up the hill

i am an amerikan citizen, i don't have time, i take taxis

on the sides: barns of dirty white sheep huddled together each smelling the other's sweat

one goes smoothly blind, the bumpiness of not seeing is as normal as the shooting of bullets into border villages at night on your way for bread

in fact, being in the center, central capital city does not make you safer from the war.

go in the village an hour away. in the mountains.

you remember those sounds at night they tell you are fireworks?

they have numbed you to gun-fire. they tell you they are killing fruit eating birds. and true, you find them scattered on the side of the road of the village in the morning,

their eyes are still open. so duck down, stare into those mirror eyes. you see

the human form, the face, the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the clay skin, the dark hair

the human form killed as if it was not, transforms into the expression of the soul, a bird with a black beak and utterly beautiful

only in death are you beautiful. city grave-site black hole all things swallowed up.

you are not a city. you are the memory of a place.

the memory re-membered  from scratch. from pieces of what was, pieces of what is to have been, what could have been.

is there room? is there ever room to invent the story?

the method: look inside my coffee cup.

black and white.

either or.

1 or 0 or 0 or 1

positive or negative.

the capacity of our mind or the mind squeezed into the capacity

a limitation

a divide and conquer strategy always needs a dichotomy

split the main dichotomous idealogy into many dual parts, keep the double arrangement of things

if we know we are alive, then we are not dead

vice versa

cut up reality into parts

rearrange the parts

make chaos

appear arranged