“MY WRITING IS SAD, BECAUSE I AM SAD”

I’m facing the sea; the beach is empty. I’m wearing a pair of jeans from Bershka and trainers from Zara. I'm going to film it all with my iPhone 13. a poor person is a potential capitalist because we tend to fall very easily into the traps of the market, because we’ve experienced the lack of everything material. I look at the footprints I’m leaving as I walk in the sand. I'm tired, so tired… We, the enriched poor, must not and cannot turn our capital into power. We must have a clearawareness of our only value, that of cheap labour that helps sustain a city or a market.

“POOR PEOPLE WILL NEVER BE IN THEIR PLACE IF IT’S ART THAT DEFINES THEM; ART AND POVERTY ARE ANTAGONIC”

Though it seems that I’ve been pushed towards the centre now. It’s the shore that always awaits me. I want to tattoo all over my body that a solidarity that consists of keeping mutual distances is not a solidarity that allows us to dream of a different society. I want to vandalize a wall of a station, a theatre or museum and write:

 

SONG 1

I've come home,

pierced by this white iron spear,

that’s how many have dreamed of seeing me,

here I am,

I know many are here to see who’s the fashionable person,

who's the country boy who’s fashionable in the theatre,

the country boy travelling to the first world,

the country boy who talks at festivals,

who occupies their planes,

their rooms,

their hotels.

It's me,

here I am,

almost breathless...

Behold my broken, fractured, outraged and violated body,

you can now devour me with your hungry stomachs,

eat and drink from me,

this is my body,

I'm ready to rise to eternal life,

there, as in the song my mother sang to me:

 

beyond the sun,

beyond the sun,

I have a home,

a home,

beyond the sun.

 

I have promised to die in the antipodes of society

and here I am,

I'm not going to beg them for my life.

 

“THE WORLD STARTS HERE”

May this infected blood be able

to stain the seas,

my tears are flowing from the springs,

I will be the water that lets the lambs survive the drought,

I will be the water that strengthens the Guabiyu trees,

that can be used to hide from the wolves,

the flow of my tears will no longer knock down bridges,

on the contrary, there will be a bridge for each teardrop,

over those bridges you will be able to cross from side to side,

there will be no tangible and intangible borders,

my body, tonight, is and will be the last illegal and/or clandestine thing,

the Abya Yala will bloom again.

 

 

“I’VE COME TO STOP SURVIVING

TO START LIVING”

 Before they devour me

 

for all those times they’ve made me want tokill myself,

for forcing me to deny what I am,

for denying me the possibility of a better life,

for taking away my lands and my language,

for making me feel like a foreigner in my own country,

for paying me much less than a white person from the city,

for making me choose between eating and studying,

for making me feel dirty,

for making hundreds of original communities disappear,

for setting fire to our fields and our bodies,

for stabbing us in the back,

for gang-raping me,

for sentencing me to death as a child,

for the empty breakfast table,

for killing my sister,

for yelling at me rent boy, tranny and poof,

to all the men who’ve used me as a repository for their semen and have discarded my body bruised from beatings,

to all those who have made me believe my body was only good for that,

to be an object,

cheap labour

 

to all of them,

I forgive them.

 

“THE WORLD STARTS HERE”

Stripped of all violence

I want to sow peach trees all over the world's cities.