draft – ‘only thus’

Remember the memory of Iqrit
a land torn under administrative procedure.
Only the cradle of church bones is left to mark the absence.

And, remember Kafr Bir’im
where the purchased victimization of Yeshuv expelled a whole people
as the Holocaust became the gaping wound by which
to lay the roots of Bank Leumi, Bank Hapoalim, Bank Mizrahi-Tefahot.

Here, where the transplant seeds of Sequoia now grow,
there are infinite baobabs that choke memory and what is truth.

Remember, the bones of Lod
(the slowing of the dead)
autumn’s memory is black.

Months, like the wrath of god, burn by different names
each moving towards the innocence
of winter, where all is absolved in the holy cause, by another name.

There is a permission for pain that is granted only to the
tender hands of the one who inflicts the torture
for, don’t they also have the difficult choice
of enforcing ideology on the bruises of other bodies?

Irgun declared רק כך (only thus), or one way
to a morality that is clarified, sanitized,
buried amid the pipes that siphon water
providing humanity with unprecedented technological advances
as a means of claiming more land.

The pride of a twisted cause is taught young
where belonging is understood as borders,
citizenship can be acquired simply by holy entitlement while declined from the blood of birth
and the horror of one obliteration is made into vengeance upon another.

Where there were bodies that borrowed their existence
and learned the first meaning of the crying wall after taking a gun in hand,
this country was made by the perfecting of death
and the justification of forms of murder by the commission,
the ignorability of the law.

Remember, the land that was sold into new measurements,
dunam made into hectares
someone, somewhere, had to own it
for the thief guards most closely that which was stolen.

Here, religion forgets its obligations to penitence
over the promises of bankers whose religion is the remaking of memory.

Where people bless the miracle of bread with the justification of another murder,
the meaning of matzah is rotten, bread is dust in the mouth,
when it covers the graves of the chosen people, the people who live too much,
for whom prisons are commissioned by American and Canadian companies.

Another soul, borrowed for the right to be,
borrowed life from life as existence became a matter for speculation

a reminder, we do not forget
for whom new memory is written,
where there are fewer homes for memory,
so was the memory sold.

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(la) Révolution (humaniste)

With the luxury of leisure expense,
the revolutionaries of today can purchase the words of the poor
for a visible consumption that affirms their righteousness.

These revolutionaries are quiet in their storm,
as they dress themselves with correct words and approval
as they pass their ethical capital from one to the next.

The middle class revolutionaries pay to have the appearance
of not having much at all.
To them, there is no place for the abundance of misery
for misery looks appalling and is in bad taste.

The root of their subsistence is apolitical and forgiven, for the blood of labour
that lines the pockets of government grant schemes.
The blood of labour is an abstraction from another era,
a metaphor for dispute removed from chicken blood and cow muscles,
the slice of machinery and speed of conveyor belts.

Compassion is a matter of choice: selecting where to give it,
to whom it goes, when it is convenient.

The important words of ethical revolutionaries are forms of justification,
how to be, continue to be, what it means to be,
another promising inertia for the movements that are always impending,
a state-sanctioned philosophical crisis about thinking about thinking.

The revolutionaries of the middle class are one purchase away from the truth,
one citation of another suicided prophet away from vicarious integrity,
one more inspiration away from making the beautiful choice,
nagged by their compassion, of joining the ranks of the poor for the greater cause.

The ethical revolutionaries of the middle class will condone empathy
for invisible labour, but be sure that you will have to buy access to their
dedicated research on labour’s history.

the making of materials for the making of art

My brother tells me he was shoved by our employer,
but goes on working.

For an absence of witness,
my brother’s hurt means little,
nothing.

The work goes on.
Our employer goes on working, a maker of quality materials.

as if nothing happened
yes, we continue”.

A man will cut his own arm
as reason to stop working for a moment.
Carry on, as if nothing happened.

He was absolved, our employer,
by his own production,
and the refusal to refuse.

Work, as if it wasn’t you too who was betrayed
when the ones beside you are disgraced.

Gravity is a quiet force, invisible until one decides
to notice it, bending backs to its laws without selection.

The price of dignity is shelter
held by the neck of your earnings in hand,
nodding and complimenting your humble silence.

Dignity is a continued fight against gravity.
the only valour in the face of the inevitable.

My brother continues working.

A Parabolic Translation of Paracelsus, as lifted from the introduction to “Die Kunst des Liebens”.

Erkenntnis, Undings and the Grape

or, A Parabolic Translation of Paracelsus, as lifted from the introduction to Die Kunst des Liebens (“The Art of Loving”). (& Experiments in German (Mis)Translation)

(One adequate translation led to truth, while an inaccurate translation led to a different facet of the same grape truth.)

Georgia O'Keeffe Hands and Grapes 1921

Georgia O’Keeffe’s Hands and Grapes. Alfred Stieglitz. 1921.

When we speak more, we’ll say we stumbled into truth on pathways that have abandoned their directions and are since disintegrating—as if by accident—as if we really fall for our pretending that things, material evidence of something happening outside our bodies, still contain themselves. That we are still ourselves, after all these things. We’ll say that when we held everything and nothing against our words, we saw that their meanings are an arm that could be twisted red. So we hold them close after they have given everything.

full text: http://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/erkenntnis-undings-and-the-grape/

ВѢДѢТИ | Forthcoming in Vestiges_02: Ennui

kazimir-malevich

excerpt in Black Sun Lit: online preview for Vestiges Journal

planet as it was before it knew meat.

the shadow does not move unnecessarily
out of own – by self is
a stillness that no matter generates

movement is sign of necessity that is an othering environment to seek difference
to prove existence as spilling out of matter shell and give reason
ici est là – here is here is made here

link to Black Sun Lit: http://blacksunlit.com/2016/05/%D0%B2%D1%A3%D0%B4%D1%A3%D1%82%D0%B8-by-lital-khaikin/

preview: Vestiges_02: Ennui (Black Sun Lit)

ENNUI-full-cover_03_01

Preview: Vestiges_02: Ennui {boredom as a luxury} (Black Sun Lit) will feature work from:

Brad Baumgartner, Donald Breckenridge, Patty Yumi Cottrell, Ashley David, Helmut Dosantos, Ian Dreiblatt, Berit Ellingsen, Ennio Flaiano (translated from Italian by Anton Ivanov), Daniel James Fraser, Frank Garrett, Adam Golaski, K. Thomas Kahn, Paul Kavanagh, Lital Khaikin, Jesse Kohn, Meghan Lamb, JD Larson, Evan Lavender-Smith, Eugene Lim, Friederike Mayröcker (translated from German by JD Larson), Adam McOmber, Iris Moulton, Elliott Niblock, Pierre Senges (translated from French by Jacob Siefring), Haley Hemenway Sledge, Matt Trease, John Trefry +more

The volume is scheduled to be released this summer.