Running the pictures into the spaces around my eyes, that is, feeding them moist careful not to papercut my fringes: “here, more pictures, brain. More dead, more children have you noticed how discolored they become?” Let me describe in brief the colors of palestinian children as I’ve seen them:
Dusk milk brown
Like soft cardboard, not quite so dark as wet cardboard but maybe slightly moist cardboard?
Not the color of dust, of blue dust paper dust, not the color of drowning of death, man, the things our life force does it colors us.
In a discussion last night in a room full of Palestinians and Foreigners, “why does Hamas fight?:”
A palestinian man, “foreigner boy, sweet seraph let me tell you one thing, give me your hand,
for 14 years I have lived in hell. Now it is their turn.
What do you say?
What do you say, fuck someone;;tell me how you rationalize nonviolence in the face of so much violence, it’s true: violence breeds violence… People here are Proud of Hamas, not necessarily supportive, but proud that For Once Palestine has a word in edgewise, “now they attack and think we die but now we shoot back, now we show that we do not go without fighting wehde wehde wataniye
It makes sense. It’s symbolic, it’s pride. At the big protest in Nablus, at one of the checkpoints, we marched 4 miles from Nablus and collected with the filaments of others and a group of people about 400 strong [here I stop using “we” and use “they”], they cheered and cursed and lit things on fire. The Israelis, the IDF stood on the hillside far off and watched and eventually begun shooting tear gas and concussion grenades…
There was one moment that I loved: a couple of the protestors begun shooting fireworks at the hillside, for lack of real weapons they filled the sky with fireworks by daylight and everyone cheered pulsing, the touching of nonviolence and violence and symbolism really dusted on my nerves, fingertip plucking on my nerves, you know? It was beautiful and ironic and so completely symbolic of this conflict. Fireworks against guns, fighting and screaming for the sake of screaming for the sake of not knowing what else to do. Knowing in your heart of hearts that something is wrong but never having known freedom to put a name to it,
It’s deeper than hate, it’s fatigue, you know? It’s senselessness it’s watching movies of the beautiful White people in beautiful White People cars free, I want free, I want beautiful white people muscles and beautiful white people cars and beautiful white people homes, i want beautiful white people christmas and beautiful white people thanksgiving, I don’t want this shit life anymore, fireworks in the daytime and blonde eye blue haired israelis shitting on my father telling him to get out of his car in intentionally broken arabic as if my language were a very small bird in a very small cage and they hold that cage and crush it slowly until the bird and the cage are as one, its feathers sticking out its bars sticking out its beak snapped, it is like that! It is like that image of a bird and a cage bloodying into One, the image I just shared with you, these blonde eyed children spitting on my children, shaming me in front of my children, “get out of the car please,” “spread your arms please,” “spread your legs please,” and they don’t deign to touch me they push me with their boots, everyday I am shamed–How do you tell them not to hate?
And elsewhere the bombs fall and the bombs fall and the bombs fall and the bombs fall Israel releases “defense” statements and everyone knows it’s wrong but no one does anything and we collect ineffectually yelling and cheering with no intention no purpose
I understand the violence,
What do you say to pictures of dead children, what do you tell a woman who’s lost her husband and 3 of her sons? What do you tell the people of this nation who’ve been shoved and kicked and spit on, their water sources peed in, their shepherd families abused and mistreated, How do you tell them that nonviolence is the answer? How do you tell them that fighting makes fighting that the IDF only PRETENDS to be afraid to garner global and local support, that these pass-me-down rockets stand no chance against helicopters and jets and drones and billions upon billions of dollars, how do you tell these moist cardboard children not to fight–?
The Palestinians are proud to be able to fight and sick of being hurt…
bloodied kids, what do you do with these images? Hate is not the answer. Boycott life, boycott life! Stop fighting, stop living stop everything! Boycott life, choose not to go on, boycott life don’t fight god — lie down, beautiful, old man put your cane down, unpack your pockets of papers and crushed cigarette and place them before you and sit and wait, and young boy with violence in your eyes like a crushed caged bird bleeding tap twice and let it out, boycott life, sweet angel sweet seraph open the windows and let the wind in and don’t forget you live for this wind, you live for the days that come after the days, you live for tomorrows and yesterdays and mornings and sadness, you live to live, little angel little chained angel when you see the rocket coming, touching brushing up against its highest point like a dolphin going up for air, dipping out of earthspace for the hate that vibrates in superspace smile for it comes for you it burns for you and it comes for you sweet boy with your eyes like split figs in the chocolate milk of the rest of you your fingers like dripping so small and fragile, smile angel for the rocket comes for you, the missile comes to shatter you into what you were originally, boycott life old man and young man and medium aged lady with your eyes glued open, link your arms and your knees, link your eyelashes and your fingers tongue around tongue and looking up at the missiles that come that touch at the surface of our planet to come back filled heavy with anger,
angel baby sweet seraph touching beautiful creature of god, hyperphysical recreation of the digitally sound Eat the pain and — Wait for what comes after.
What comes after after after after after after…
How do you speak nonviolence to the angry,
how do you make the hate go away when it is so justified?
Someone, tell me. tell me and i’ll do it. tell me what words to speak and I will speak them completely. If they cannot be spoken and only blown, then i will force my lips around ears and eyes and noses, mouths and assholes dicks and vaginas and i’ll blow as hard as I can, if they cannot be blown or spoken but only bled then i will slice at all the places of me and lie on the ground and roll a red carpet of nonviolence dripping through the slices and if it cannto be spoken or blown or sliced but only fallen then i will run around this city this country with hooks on strings and unbeknownst to everyone hook them to beltloops and earloops and hanging lowerlips and the little space between fingers, i will run weeping through the teargas clouds that are filled with chemical rainbows and tie strings to everyone and go to the tallest mountain in the world and pull and pull and pull until they are all poised a giant ball of squirming, some people beginning to suffocate and i will let go