outwait outrun outwit





TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


10.02.01

"The howl of pain defies communication through language."--Jean Améry

...

Please write a systematic account of your treasonous activities from beginning to end. They were men who were able to do anything. He saw enemies as rotten flesh enemies in all directions, closing in, leaving no space for breath. She said this kid ripped open a man's belly, dragged out his liver and ate it raw I felt nothing, not even surprise at the scene I was witnessing--my friend fallen down on her face, streams of blood snaking away from her body, her dead cat spread out next to her please don't hit, don't you see she's pregnant why do you want to know it was a bad time, a bad place. Buddha bless you. Oh dismembered country, flesh of my flesh, brother and son, sister and daughter, cousin and in-law, slain, one by one. Villages burn children little like me like me they run. Endless flaming road children little like me drip skin and tear little little like me they run down endless flaming road. Buddha bless you. They would throw babies into the air and the babies crying silent fell on bayonets and I couldn't do anything about it. I looked away. Buddha bless you. Beat the prisoner until he tells everything, everything, beat him to get at the deep things. Search and destroy. Midnight crosses nations as children turn their faces up towards the napalm sky, they drip skin and tears for the dismembered country, flesh of my flesh, brother and son, sister and daughter, cousin and in-law, slain one by one. Search and destroy. 1. First, extract information from them. 2. Next, assemble as many points as possible to pin them down with and to prevent their getting away. 3. Pressure them with political propaganda. 4. Press on with questions and insults. 5. Torture. 6. Review and analyze the answers so as to ask additional questions. 7. Review and analyze the answers so as to prepare documentation. Turn your face away, loved one. You're my good girl. Buddha bless you. The day they killed your father, you were asleep in the crook of my arm. You smiled. You had just suckled. Oh forever night in a dismembered country, flesh of my flesh, gone. Don't you see she's pregnant why do you want to know it was a bad time, a bad place, baby. We cannot locate it precisely. The sickness must emerge to be examined. In the Party, the army, and among the people, we can locate the ugly germs. They will be pushed out by the true nature of the socialist revolution. Midnight crosses nations as napalmed children turn their napalmed faces up towards night falling. Faces mined of sorrow. Then I saw my husband's body with his hands tied behind his back, his clothes torn and his feet bound. He had gunshot wounds at his temple. Grieve all night, fear all day. Buddha bless you. It was a bad war, my sleeping beauty. One can still see the blood that ran as if the buildings themselves had bled. Is it just a story that ends here it is a story that ends here. When he hesitated or came to weak points in his story I beat him, and I also beat him to clarify the points in his story where the information about important matters was confused. I won't let you forget. I won't let you forget our language, our names, your name. Oh dismembered country, flesh of my flesh, mined and garroted, without sight, no dream for sustenance.






<<

hosted by DiaryLand.com

free
web stats