And the days they walked. And they, those days, we did. And so we were born, the children of the day. The investigators. It was at the airport when he heard the first shots. “Indignez vous!” And to the dumps, piled into the car, traveling musicians. They would cheer a meeting of farmers, but it took a long time lost in the boiling. No one had, nobody was in those who had been deserted forests. The Watchman George Zimmerman in Sanford, Florida did hunt down and kill Trayvon Martin and The Soldier Robert Bales in Kandahar, Afghanistan did hunt down and kill Mohamed Dawood, Khudaydad, Nazar Mohamed, Payendo, Robeena, Shatarina, Zahra, Nazia, Masooma, Farida, Palwasha, Nabia, Esmatullah, Faizullah (the last six all the children of Mohamed Wazir), Essa Mohamed, and Akhtar Mohamed. The whiter the wind, the faster it goes, and as of today’s check, the top speed was a brisk 44.5 mph. Are we really so over it? We fly / from terminal / to terminal / almost endlessly. / / We can wait / at high speed. / / We are almost money. Peace. Peace be upon cryptic vibrations, peace undulate through chunked hearts of mazes and flow through. Peace be upon the living chalk and the eternal turtle and the joining together of turtles in peace. Peace be upon the shoulders menaced by the still and tedious mountains. The turtles were capable and I was capable. The turtles, free on the lawn humping across slivers of chalk. But it is probably not useful to ascribe agency to capitalism and make it into a subject capable of “instigating” things. But it’s hard to get around that kind of grammatical construction when you want to get at systemic consequences that no one in particular conspired to produce. No council of capitalists convened to draw up a desirable form of subjectivity to inculcate everyone with; rather the “subject under capitalism” is a product of accretion, or rather it emerges from a given context that is always itself dynamic. Within this semi-tautological system, we operate as though what ideology projects is already true and thus help make it so, reproducing something that had not yet been produced — that did not exist as a finished achievement. So no one is to blame for the reproduction of individualism in capitalism because everyone is to blame. That’s not very helpful either, but it perhaps saves us the trouble of attacking the wrong enemies. Fight the commodity form, not the other people subjected to it. Unless they’re oligarchs, of course, or their storm trooper cops.
[Note: Sources: A Maya Genesis, Eduardo Galeano, Stéphane Hessel, as quoted in Galeano’s “Los hijos de los días” (tr. Google), sent me in an email from Rhonda Neugebauer, “Galeano: Los hijos de los días -- el nuevo libro”, 3 Apr 012 approx 9:29 AM PDT; Maryam Monalisa Gharavi, “From Empty Signifiers to A Hoodie is Like a Sign”, at The New Inquiry, 3 Apr 012; An Ziao, “Mapping the Wind”, at Hyperallergic, 3 Apr 012 (on the work of Fernanda Viégas and Martin Wattenberg’s HINT.FM); Rae Armantrout, “Custom”, as quoted in Conrad Diodato, “April is poetry month: what’s good and what’s not”, at Word Dreamer: poetics, 3 Apr 012; Michael Thomas Taren, “Mutants”, at HTMLGIANT, 3 Apr 012; Rob Horning, “Rigorous Self-Critique”, at The New Inquiry, 3 Apr 012; JBR]