an uncanny family of the rabbit biome at dashayogssimagat temple

to be a debeliever in christianity in rome in 1313, to be a debeliever in capitalism on earth in 2020 

to be a human debeliever. no one else cares about capitalism other than in terms of its genocidal effects on them

impossible to debelieve. to want then to debelieve. to debelieve in the capacity to debelieve and remain biologically alive. to detest having to believe. knowing any protests, subversions, heresies, terrorist acts – however external or internal – are wholly destined to be ineffective at best and at worst used by capitalism to further itself. so one does the only thing one can do – one goes on the interior paths. for while no more effective, while no less usurped for use, at least something is constructed – however doomed – that says – though in another world – no

the different tactics and strategies for martyrdom, survival, subversion, play, desire, dream between rome 1313 and earth 2020 debelief

for some time in istanbul i have vivid memories of jerusalem though i’ve never been and develop a convincing narrative that the cocoa chestnut merchants of istanbul (they are only chestnut merchants but when chestnuts are roasted they appear to be coated in chocolate) are from jerusalem and at nights cross the bosphorus to hang as bats in a cave in kadiköy. while implausible the story pleases and i spend hours walking developing the lives and troubles of these misplaced and transmutational peoples and as i pass the chestnut merchants i smile and though i don’t buy any chestnuts they smile back. we know, the chestnut merchants and i, their difficult origins and nocturnal rites. i can’t participate in them, for i haven’t shared in their travails, but i can ask what’s it like to be a chestnut merchant? what’s it like to be a memory? what’s it like to be the bosphorus? what’s it like to be a chestnut? what’s it like to be a ...?

i watch time crawl along

the edge of death without ever falling

in and think – if it were me
there i wouldn’t be so skilled, crawling

i have a date with the sock factory today

the things that people say you cannot do

i don’t think outside the box, i think outside outside

she who saves one life saves the entire world

an istanbul street

cat behind nairobi carpet

import merchants eats

the little black train is coming

travelling alone, unfiltered. to immerse oneself in polydimensional dream ... to maintain reality as a question, substantives as prepositions, to place i in the question of eyes, to simulate the mind of rivers, to present humanity not as gift but mirage, hallucination, plasmatic text

corona adds yet another dimension to the already loaded airport process. in delhi i present six pieces of documentation to the immigration dood before i’m let through – including a form validating i’m low corona risk, which has been stamped by health officials after being processed through an earlier lengthy line of laser beams being aimed at my head, interrogations (and similar processes already experienced twice in kathmandu)

what is this, my seventh time in delhi? and the first i’ve arrived when i don’t hate it. don’t i keep returning, fascinated by my hatred, compelled to recreate this monster as something i can relate to?