Sunday, 6 April 2014

you are here

Spread out across a dash or shaky on handlebars, legends assure travelers that the road underfoot does not stir.

Taming and flattening wild things into terra-stories with departure roots meaning nourishment, soil, earth, but also frighten, exclude, ward-off.

Smoothing mindscapes scarred by pitched battles, skirmishes, treacheries, all the layers of upheaval, their manifold histories marking inroads to somewhere else.

Denying recalcitrant peoples, insurgent subjects who stumble over weary border guards and ancestral carcasses to unsettle official orders.

How we get through the streets and corridors of power, with what assistance or suffering
is in the invisible hands propping up executive towers.

Our take, a matter of means, the bicycle’s intimacy with streets obscured by the smooth ride taxis afford. The train’s backstage view of production proves though modes do melt into air, industrial wheels still whir amidst old-world coal stacks, scrap-yards, graffiti trails left for future translators of multiple eras.

All those tags are pitched tents against laws of permanence and mobility equals privilege, against every work of art is a crime uncommitted. That reversible jacket has worn out its welcome mat now reads keep out and other signs the lines are hardening against anyone who would draft dodge this allegiance of life’s lease unpaid is crime.

posted by Aleks

No comments:

Post a Comment