10 06 2012

This is going to be disjointed, for I am dozens of people–each volunteering the other to take the stage, but shrinking from the lights when their turn is due.


(Portrait of Ross)
Felix Gonzalez-Torres (1957-1996)
HIDE/SEEK exibit

We don’t know how to function, she said, without an enemy.

We cannot function, she said, if we cannot reconcile with ourselves. Own the betrayals, the sabotage, the hate, the men with the guns that spit poison and leave us wasted away. Dying from the AIDS we gave ourselves.

The specter of rejection stands before and behind, we know, surrounding us on every side. It is an emptiness that devours our every ray of colored light. It is insatiable.

It is us, too.

The best answer, the worst answer, is to give away for free the very thing we grasp most desperately.

Did I see you, then? Did you almost have a face beneath your cowl of night?

She could have stayed with her maiming father, that handless maiden. She could have drawn and redrawn her little chalk circle until the dust piled so high that she found she slept inside a tower. She would have been given everything she ever needed…except a king, and a child, and an angel, and her hands, and her self.

Is it really a sacrifice if you never know what you’ve given away?

but you do know you know you know you know. you’ve always known

It was such a simple benediction. Take a piece of candy from this pile.

Take communion from this body.

Participate in the life, death, life, death. death.

And as the last of the sugar dissolves on the tip of your tongue, know yourself as complicit in the dissolution of this man – his death, yes, but also the systems and assumptions that stole from him before he was even born the right to be most fully himself.

Taste his death.

It is sweet, no?




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