Reflections beyond the stream

The Scent of Nostalgia (17)

2012-01-27T11:08:00.000+01:00

Our voices created a society within and apart from the select rulers and their followers who had rendered the existence and definition of society debatable. A multitude of narrators clamoured in my mind, begging me to unravel their voices to the wind. I had brought a harvest of injustice on board our vessel, which I meant to avenge. The voices were in imminent peril. If despair is all a person can cling to, memory becomes bathed in self-spilled blood and the violence of justice guards its triumph over the vanquished with perfunctory statements whislt wallowing in a macabre celebration behind the mahogany doors.

The Scent of Nostalgia (16)

2011-12-31T22:43:00.001+01:00

At times, narrations seep from solitude to the pen of the anonymous artist. The memory was drenched in grey hues, sepia stretching from the edges to the centre, where a massive torch blazed, illuminating the architect of the revolution on the fictitious island. Decades ago, the island revelled in its layers of rock formation. its inhabitants came closer to defining citizenship than their forthcoming generations. There was a time for a flag, a time for grand rhetoric ...

The narration started with a conflagration that drenched the island in red.

I realise I might have distorted the torch and the rain, as my eyes had distorted the mushroom cloud engulfing the television screens in my childhood. In a similar manner to which the workers generated into middle class morals and a flaming torch melted into a parody of the abstract.

Dictatorship relics in Chile: Paying Homage to Miguel Krassnoff Martchenko

2011-12-25T20:29:00.001+01:00

An article I had published in Upside Down World, discussing the homage to Miguel Krassnoff Martchenko and subsequent outrage by human rights and activist groups in Chile. http://upsidedownworld.org/main/chile-archives-34/3356-dictatorship-relics-in-chile-paying-homage-to-miguel-krassnoff-martchenko

The Scent of Nostalgia (15)

2011-11-03T11:45:00.003+01:00

In a collection of portraits, revolution celebrates its existence. Within the realm of history, I behold a mosaic of clandestine newspapers, flags, brigades and the architect flanked by a man whose testimony reaches me through his daughter. From the shrines of the hidden biography I learned the inscription of the workers – an ideology sustaining itself through a combination of perseverance and patience. My mind is wrought with vengeance ... the necessity to sustain myself with the destruction of the oppressor.

The mosaics surround me – a torrent each claiming a fragment of truth. My fists are still clenched over the petals, reluctant to part with the primordial veneer. A smile, an expression of triumph, an act of insurrection against an oppressive censorship, and suddenly the gentle grey hues dissolve into a cacophony of colour. It was a transition into generations which constructed a memory from the periphery.

'A Poetic Concept of Identity': An Interview with Mapuche Poet David Aninir Guilitraro

2011-10-15T17:17:00.000+02:00

A link to my interview with urban Mapuche poet, David Aninir Guilitraro published by Upside Down World.
http://upsidedownworld.org/main/chile-archives-34/3260-a-poetic-concept-of-identity-an-interview-with-mapuche-poet-david-aninir-guilitraro-

The Anonymous Artist (10)

2011-09-15T23:37:00.000+02:00

Beyond the walls laden with the inscription of torture, the anonymous artist beheld a poem from the narrow land. Language assumed a disparate dimension, mingling with the marginalised to create a metaphor which floated amongst bright colours to the berated shades of brown striving to survive of the fictitious island. A nation was guilty of treason and society embraced an ephemeral purity. The poem imprisoned treason's voice within its own monotony. As colours from the narrow land descended upon the unwanted nationalities, the sanctimonious society was engulfed in pungent shadows, a nationality persecuted with a reverberation of their own malignant constitution.

The Anonymous Artist (9)

2011-09-12T19:42:00.000+02:00

The anonymous artist traipsed on the fringes of the fictitious island, observing the dynamics of manipulation. Hegemony's primary manipulation was that of memory - a distortion that shattered a definition of justice through centuries inscribed in patriotic verse. The remnants of a flag drenched in crimson fluttered miserably within the echo of a national anthem. In an aberrant part of the collective experience, society was expected to relate to the emblems of patriotism as an adherence to justice. An intonation diverted the anonymous artist's attention; it was a call from a philosopher to delve deeper into a fragment of renaissance memory, into the shrine of a vilified prince studied within the concrete walls exhibiting the torture of law.

Mosaics

2011-09-05T18:55:00.001+02:00

The pebbles succumbed to their subterranean abode. Their farewell reeked of distortion, as their opaque smooth flesh expanded and writhed beneath the dark water, requesting that the silhouette conduct their memorable descent. As he strode away from the water, I beheld the waves subside in gentle gestures, promising to obliterate the sensitive presence on the shore. I saw the magnificent eyes swell, as the silhouette steered me towards the streets that widened and narrowed, depicting our shared awareness in elapsed frames of fragmented portraits.

Seeking Social Justice Through Education in Chile

2011-08-26T10:34:00.000+02:00

A link to my article about the student protests in Chile, published by Upside Down World. http://upsidedownworld.org/main/chile-archives-34/3190-seeking-social-justice-through-education-in-chile

Administering a Form of Justice (52)

2011-08-12T16:13:00.000+02:00

Beneath the lacerated land lies a black stream enticing a ripple of devastating humanitarian aid. On the island of contradictory landscapes there is a fragment of stolen land which violates humanity in the name of justice. Alienation and isolation celebrate their sanctimonious union by administering the ethics of torture. Shackled with the illusion of freedom, society celebrates the distance and difference between the fictitious island, the lacerated land and the fragment stolen from the island of contradictory landscapes. Justice applauds the gullible and seeks the means to exploit the correlation between oppression and protecting civilians against a backdrop of swirling sands and forests spanning the anti-imperial realms.

Administering a Form of Justice (51)

2011-07-30T19:59:00.000+02:00

Beyond the purple sea, shreds of flags portraying legitimacy and illegitimacy shroud crude boxes hosting remnants of death. The lacerated skies bear the burden of hosting murderers and their weapons, pausing at irregular intervals to console the sand dunes, bruised and stained with bodies and blood. International justice fabricates and multiplies the mystery of death, violates a colour spectrum of skin, and fails to differentiate between acts of terrorism by defining death under a warped mandate of protection. There is a necessity to combat the exploitation of the continent however, need is rendered a victim of its own ephemeral survival. Genocide combined with the hypocrisy of humanitarian aid rain down on populations whose existence is vilifed and nullified through exalting the tainted hues of white.

Que sean como el Che

2011-07-29T00:40:00.000+02:00

The Scent of Nostalgia (15)

2011-07-26T22:32:00.000+02:00

The anonymous artist bequeathed a sliver of memory to the realm beyond the fictitious island. It was a relic of poetry and music woven into the contemporary, overshadowing the plundering of humanity just across the purple sea. Decades ago, revolution was the solution of the exploited. An anniversary led to history inscribing itself into a trial. A song that stirred from the peasants' abodes triggered a murder that perforated the memory of the yellow land. Fighting against the confines of an alienated society, the anonymous artist mingles tears with the ancient definition of revolt, bludgeons the rules of diplomacy lacerating a fragment of a continent and turns to the solace of the historical guitar defining a testimony of the poet who embraced the thousands of anonymous hands mutilated in the stadium.

Administering a Form of Justice (50)

2011-07-18T21:51:00.000+02:00

In its quest to avoid the tarnish of conspiracy, justice incorporates conspiracy within its own structure and authorises its legitimacy to haunt the invisible narrator. The unnecessary testimony is separated from the fictitious islands by the purple sea - the witness to shards of decomposing brown as sanctioned by the realm of foreign policy. The months in different continents merged to create a conglomeration of history steeped in a fabricated revolution, the trickle of oil, the concealed identity of cluster bombs, international and fabled courts; all subservient unto the fallacy of the universal declaration of human rights.

"A high level accusation, sustained by lies, and one which cannot be criticized once it has been consecrated by justice." Antonio Negri

Administering a Form of Justice (49)

2011-07-12T20:45:00.000+02:00

The marble halls of justice are epitomes of intimidation and national revenge. A conflation occurs between justice and revenge, with authorities christening this aberration a conquest for truth. A nation's immorality is represented by flawed declarations that shelter the oppressor's realm, treating conspiracy as an elevated expression of art. The invisible narrator's solitude is tarnished as justice renders patience an obsequious virtue - just as a fragment of a century ago the anonymous artist experienced the epitome of how education fostered a culture of rampant evil that fettered the revolutionary to wallow in a mediocre caricature of attainment.

Administering a Form of Justice (48)

2011-07-11T23:03:00.000+02:00

Justice wallows in the remnants of its rhetoric. Shifting its stance between notorious resolutions aimed at aiding a travesty of revolution and the necessity of activating the rules of diplomacy, justice fails to ponder the bloodstained moon. Within the articulation perfected with bouts of intentional stammer, observers of a bloody season are regaled with the dynamics and consequences of irrational warfare punctured by the politics of discomfort. With the trickle of oil still a distant mirage, imperialism decided to shift the balance of power to introduce the discomfort of persuasion. The spring shifts to autumn and remains entrenched in a parody of seasons and allegiances, while the fictitious island continues to open its ports and flagellate its constitution.

Administering a Form of Justice (47)

2011-07-07T22:01:00.000+02:00

The inviolable declaration of human rights resented a universal interpretation. It desecrated its terminology in favour of the tyrant and mellowed the outrage of wasted veins into the vocabulary of the helpless. The substitute for freedom was enslaved within its own necessity of survival, assuring its reign by advocating anomalies. Missiles were portrayed as special agents of serenity, blood was an inevitable shade of worthless red. On the yellow land, constitutions of neutrality were gently lacerated, allowing instruments of torture to display their insignificant worth to a population which had travelled in a realm reeking of worse prejudice than alienation.

The Anonymous Artist (8)

2011-07-04T13:00:00.000+02:00

Scraps of paper and tattered photographs cluttered the room. Beneath the pile of abhorred relics was the apparition of a signature in blue ink, engraved in tiny, careless calligraphy. The voice emanating from the scribbled name taunted the present with echoes of history. In the highest institutions of conformity, philosophy was moulded into degeneration - a relic divested of its own solitude. The anonymous artist edged towards the signature, intending to condemn it to a conflagration and rejoice in its demise, but a new assertion of power made her snatch her hand away, preferring instead to listen to its raucous resentment suffocating under its own definition of democracy.

Administering a Form of Justice (46)

2011-06-27T22:22:00.000+02:00

The oppressor's terminology creates bulletins which vanquish the necessity of freedom. On the fringes of society, the identity of the lesser crowd is submerged into incoherence. Within the stronghold of bureaucracy, the crowd is classified into diverse echelons of anonymity, to be tried in various halls commemorating the fallacy of justice. On pristine manuscripts, the lesser crowd's memoirs are tarnished to deplete the memory of its own existence. The crowd is incarcerated into the oppressor's definition of freedom - an anonymous entity scavenging for survival within the sight of an alienated society.

Memory in Exile - An Interview with Jorge Coulon of Inti Illimani

2011-06-25T09:05:00.000+02:00

My interview with Jorge Coulon of Inti Illimani published by Upside Down World.
http://upsidedownworld.org/main/chile-archives-34/3094-memory-in-exile-an-interview-with-jorge-coulon-of-inti-illimani

The Scent of Nostalgia (14)

2011-06-24T23:14:00.001+02:00

Fragments of a century fluctuate within history and a contemporay realm, mingling words with the philosophy of patience. The sepia shrouds the anonymous artist from a fallacious lament, allowing language to disassociate itself from its dissonance. The epitome of trust lingered within a realm that defied the mundane laws of necessity. From beyond the borders hindering our vision, the soothing tone lingers to create an abundance of sentience - a testimony that withered incoherence with its infallible tranquillity.

The Anonymous Artist (7)

2011-06-22T18:25:00.000+02:00

The anonymous artist gathered fragments of dreams, blood and sand obliterating all traces of morality and eradicating ethics with the remnants of survival. The declaration claiming universal protection deserted its definition, embracing explosions and entrails wasted beside corpses. The lament wavers within a fragment of recollection imprisoned on the fictitious island - surrounded by the complacency of an alienated society. There are instances where speech becomes incongruous - ridiculing the necessity of articulation. Within the confines of the fictitious island, the fragments of dreams weave a narration that differs from reported technicalities, with the entrails imploring deft fingers to soothe their mutilation by uniting them in a testimony beyond the disfigurement of 'revolution' and the insatiable appetite for oil.

Administering a Form of Justice (45)

2011-06-21T22:47:00.000+02:00

In the fable of mediated revolt there is a conglomeration of conspirators and a conflagration of the unwanted. A united authority protects the realm of power in an assertion brimming with misconceptions. Language is butchered before civilians to allow no argument for discrepancy between collateral damage and spilled blood. In the purple sea between the continents, shades of brown on splintered wood are embellished on agreements that deride declarations of human rights. In democracy and democratic revolutions, blood is retained as proof of success and the epitome of protection, neatly bypassing the necessity of debating the reign of a tyrranical majority.

Relics

2011-06-15T19:50:00.004+02:00

the stuttering serpents silenced the wind

whining about journeys jeopardised by dust

photos crammed in gutters impregnated with remnants

of innocent scorpions tangled in slaughtered lace

trailing from the executioner’s pen

a shard of image peers through its trapped breath

frothing beneath the colours, pining for its ancestors

drenched in sepia, stolen and fabricated

from the stained blade of a blunt guillotine

The Prison Letters of Fidel Castro

2011-06-05T18:38:00.000+02:00

An article I had published on History In An Hour blog, discussing the Prison Letters of Fidel Castro
http://www.historyinanhour.com/blog/read_28753/fidel-castros-prison-letters-a-revolution-inscribed-from-incarceration.html

Administering a Form of Justice (44)

2011-05-23T19:32:00.000+02:00

There are instances when the fictitious island embraces a pungent reality to assure itself of its existence. It pretends to forget its disdain for blemished colours and stained passports, willingly embarking on a resolution to devour conspiracy and embellish it with the honours of justice. Diplomacy retains its dictatorship over the reality of events and departments assert their authority over freedom. The fictitious island goes beyond alienation to mire itself into oblivion, as an invisible narrator engulfed in the scent of sand and fumes returns to the philosophy of patience without resorting to the obligations that come with the necessity of hope.

Administering a Form of Justice (43)

2011-05-18T23:08:00.001+02:00

Once upon a time, a hall swelled to massive proportions to fit a representation of political borders. In a gesture of humanitarian appreciation, a document was embroidered with rationally selected words. The declaration was highly regarded by the jailers of humanity, who had been persisting in convincing their followers to forfeit their freedom to think. They littered pavements with copies of the document, insisting that the concept of human rights went beyond the realm of necessity. There came another once upon a time, where humanity was categorised into civilians and civilians, depending on the stain of oil and the cry for intervention. In another ravaged land, a memory was tantamount to conspiracy and the people seated in the massive hall treated the lacerations with the dignity that accompanies a cacophony of words devoid of any significance. Protection, safeguarding, humanitarian aid ... All became subservient to propaganda, anointed to their privileged status by the idiotic applause of the class that was always right.

Administering a Form of Justice (42)

2011-05-14T18:23:00.000+02:00

Beyond the realm of the yellow land in a purple sea, the stench of death is categorised into colours and mourned less than paler shades of white. In auburn sands, the abhorred hue decays in sweltering solitude - fodder for swarms of flies. In fragments of fictitious landscape, a word trembles above all others. A new glossary is launched, defining illegality within a context. Miles away, the ephemeral declaration of human rights is also recited within a context of condemnation after failing in enforcing protection. The yellow land in a purple sea breathes a sigh of relief at the prospect of death preventing the staining of their patriotic hues.

Beyond Human Rights and Into the Borders of Society

2011-04-20T15:41:00.002+02:00

My latest article in Irish Left Review http://www.irishleftreview.org/2011/04/19/human-rights-borders-society/

Reflections from a Companera (2)

2011-04-07T21:31:00.001+02:00

The anonymous artist is wedded to the magnitude of embellishing the embodiment of loyalty into a restricted version of utterances. On the island of contradictory landscapes, the crevices of historic buildings are impaled with the memory of a defence that vanquished its brutal oppressor. The words seep to the fictitious island, seeking an eloquence that stutters in its recapitulation of the revolution. In an alley that holds the scent of past years, a house is converted into a library. The anonymous artist wanders in search of a name and speaks to an echo that is as ancient as its reality. In the swathing darkness creeping through the open door, the memory sustaining the anonymous artist etches itself into the palm of her hand - a testimony of loyalty transferred to her name.

Realities (8)

2011-03-20T21:19:00.000+01:00

There is an absence of fundamental freedom in the realities constructed by forces streaking skies in hideous light. The reality conjured by people who rupture the notion of borders is replete with erroneous justifications. Citizenship becomes categorised into a prejudiced philosophy which vilifies the undeserving and resolutions explode beneath their flimsy definition. A voice that lingers over words usurps our limited vocabulary to differentiate between blood congealing in the sands, lending captions to tag our photographic memory.

Realities (7)

2011-03-19T19:12:00.000+01:00

Realities restrict memory to resemble a string of incoherent utterances. Coupled with incessant scenes of fragmented documentary, history is moulded into categories of resolutions reflecting a conspiracy that shields itself within the silence of diplomacy. Within the ravaged borders of paralysed butterflies, resolutions shimmer and mock a community that has suffered a profanation of identity. The rhetoric induces societies to embark on an unconscious mission of selective memory, splitting hues of red into nationalities and spectrums, whilst conveniently neglecting the necessity of unadulterated recollection.

Administering a Form of Justice (41)

2011-03-10T21:09:00.000+01:00

A fantasy woven out of the consequences of oppressive justice begins with once upon a time ... , and obliterates the assumption that narratives may be extracted from one of the many variations of reality. Justice abhors the scent of sepia and relegates memory to a parody of language. The scenes and characters performing in its theatre are directed by tyrants who uphold selective freedom. The characters follow the script of conspiracy and act within the perimeters which may be ravaged only on merit of prejudiced preference. Once upon a time on the fictitious island, there was an anonymous artist who spent days mixing primary colours into hues of green to illustrate a poem. The poem transformed into prose and the spectators deemed the anonymous artist a character from a fable. In the fable flourishing around her, society was a mass of listless eyes that failed to acknowledge the absence of the narrator in the story that separated her from the crowd. The separation in the story was due to the manacles that bound the protagonists to a fictitious island. The only certainty was the existence of a crowd as fictitious as the island itself. Shifting from poem to prose, the anonymous artist sought a manifesto that sanctioned relics from the monstrosity of hatred, modifying the concept of revenge to a philosophy that sustained memory from the corruption of justice, wedding it to the fallacy of hope.

Administering a Form of Justice (40)

2011-03-08T09:01:00.000+01:00

Malfunctioning justice is infested with terminology that gives it a semblance of prudence. Beneath the sheer vestige of honour, the layers of truth embraced by justice spell out a different reality. Justice eliminates the power of innocence, succumbing to a parody of itself. In the narrow land, justice ensures its own survival by masking the owner of fabricated testimony. On the fictitious island, there is no mandate for masking voices. The hindrance of voices is eliminated by exile, allowing corrupted courts to manifest their power in a cacophony of actions as irregular as the logic that law strives to uphold. Beyond the shadows, a voice remains chained to itself, trampled upon by justice that deems it unnecessity to define its vile assertion of power to an alienated society.

The Scent of Nostalgia (13)

2011-03-02T21:22:00.001+01:00

The setting sun silhouetted our memories in sepia. Within the hues of history, another biography slithered out of its confines to witness its signature shimmering in the sand. The memory seeped out of photographs, sustained by a testimony of love. The revolutionary narration was steeped in the poetry of the past. The voice that lent its vibration to my calligraphy was cloaked in resplendent solitude. Until sepia bathed her memory with the dignity and ideals that could never be tarnished by temporary process of mingling with the earth.

Administering a Form of Justice (39)

2011-03-01T18:41:00.000+01:00

Silence renders justice a valuable form of servitude. It protects the irregularities sanctioned by law, enabling justice to act as oppressor. Society's lenience with the concept of trust has resulted in the spectre of false comforts to refrain from questioning the role of authority. Society has been corrupted by justice in the pursuit of reducing dignity to the quagmire of terminology to be debated and framed for future reference. Justice continues to assert its role as the greatest immoral entity of social deprivation, persisting in isolating invisible narrators within the confines of imposed acquiescence.

The Scent of Nostalgia (12)

2011-02-18T18:30:00.000+01:00

The biographies were not relegated to those inside the conjured borders. There was a narrator whose voice had been obliterated by the politics of oblivion, the anonymous artist whose metaphors had hibernated for thousands of days and a fraction of hours. The companera who travelled incessantly to the island of contradictory landscapes, inhaled the scent of ideals and found herself once again a caricature within the fictitious island. A singer from the narrow land who explained the betrayal of memory. A poem that flaunted a reality distorted by those abhorring shades of red. There was the embodiment of loyalty who reflected us all in slanting calligraphy. In a tiny room surrounded with dilapidated books of history, the renouncement of borders seeped through the crevices in the wall to engrave a testimony that went beyond the failure and limitation of justice.

The Scent of Nostalgia (11)

2011-02-14T22:22:00.001+01:00

The singer's voice reverberated, muting the mundane echoes that flourished after his assassination. I grasped the narrow land in my hands, letting the jagged borders tear into my skin. The blood reeked of melancholy, of a history that should have triumphed. In embracing the memory distanced by years and citizenship, the revolutionary song preserved the lonely strings of the guitar. The hues that visited me pertained to the era when a poem written before death paid homage to thousands of hands. Melancholy transformed into resilience; a thousand voices clamouring for their biographies to be scribbled in the sand.

Living Under the Oppression of Democracy - The Mapuche People of Chile

2011-02-01T00:34:00.000+01:00

A link to my latest article, published at Upside Down World
http://upsidedownworld.org/main/chile-archives-34/2887-living-under-the-oppression-of-democracy--the-mapuche-people-of-chile

An interview with Patricio Manns

2010-12-22T05:56:00.002+01:00

The Legacy of the Nueva Cancion - An Interview with Patricio Manns
http://upsidedownworld.org/main/chile-archives-34/2832-the-legacy-of-the-nueva-cancion-an-interview-with-patricio-manns-

The Anonymous Artist (6)

2010-12-21T22:49:00.000+01:00

The anonymous artist had forgotten the syllables that conjured her name. The companeros addressed her with the definition of wise protection. Within minutes she had earned the adornment of loyalty - a title bestowed on her by the intellectual exile. This was the moment to eliminate the malignant shadows that traipsed around her from the distorted years spent at a mendacious institution. Language on the fictitious island stammered, bludgeoned with the unnatural burden of deception. The eloquent echo that seeped back to the anonymous artist was the extension of a triumphant revolution that did not wallow in suspicion, but asserted its unity with metaphors, as the fictitious island wallowed in a bloodbath that remained invisible to the masses that forfeited their freedom of thought.

Realities (6)

2010-12-17T20:08:00.001+01:00

Malfunctioning democracies have perfected the art of relegating society into a passive multitude that scavenges within the confines of restricted memory. With the coercion of subscribing to political rhetoric that fluctuates between extravagant praise and contempt, the citizens relegated their knowledge of language to a perfunctory symbol of distorted communication. Instead of reviving metaphors to create the revolutionary reality, the cloistered society seeks solace in the propaganda that continues to demand their subservience.

"The demagogues and professional politicians who manage to perform the miracle of being right about everything and of pleasing everyone are, necessarily, deceiving everyone about everything. The revolutionaries must proclaim their ideas courageously, define their principles and express their intentions so that no one is deceived, neither friend nor foe." Fidel Castro - History Will Absolve Me

Administering a Form of Justice (38)

2010-12-17T08:01:00.002+01:00

Justice is raucous in proclaiming its conquests but retains a silence that smothers the brilliance of colours in its tenacity to detach itself from a parody of time. Time was forced to translate itself into a cluster of months characterised by deprivation and a manipulation of distance. It became incarcerated in its own identity, corrupted by a handful of puppets who were bestowed with the authority of restoring a semblance of dignity to society and committed to the obligation of allowing traitors access to a sheltered path that led to a vestige of 'fundamental rights'.

Administering a Form of Justice (37)

2010-12-16T16:05:00.003+01:00

On the fictitious island, the malfunctioning halls of justice ensure that the identities of narrators who construct reality are perceived as part of the fable. Justice tries to portray time as a metaphor and judgments as the dignified signature of wisdom. Between the squares of the stained chessboard lies a parchment burdened with innovative ways of performing checkmate, translating the dimension of time as insignificant for the pieces writhing in invisible blood.

The Anonymous Artist (5)

2010-12-14T21:05:00.005+01:00

There was a hall in the alley, scented with fragments of music. The anonymous artist soothed the lacerations in her name with the compositions that glided towards her. The traitors who conspired against freedom stumbled in the darkness that swathed the alley, and with each hesitant step they took towards her, a piece of parchment swelled until it became her permanent shelter from the biographies that demanded and sought recognition. A paper mask, a music score moulded itself to her face, so the anonymous artist emerged with a protected dream and an immunity that transcended the rules of diplomacy.

The Anonymous Artist (4)

2010-12-12T20:51:00.003+01:00

Within the history that remains undocumented, there was a hierarchy that promoted rights by proclaiming their power to incarcerate freedom. Papers laden with calligraphy disappeared - to diminish the identity of the anonymous artist. In the following months, the artist traipsed through stale corridors, searching for her shadow. By the time the remaining months became a relic of the past, her captors had eliminated her name from the registry that documented prestige. A perfunctory letter deemed her a deserter, composed to promote the remnants of her name as unworthy of pronunciation.

In the silent battle waged between conspiracy and the anonymous artist, the latter claimed a victory that sustained itself by the inspiration of memory and the manifestation of language.

Administering a Form of Justice (36)

2010-12-08T21:00:00.003+01:00

It is the mundane definition of fiction that eliminates the role of the impartial narrator and crowns the fabrication of conspiracy as the medium that points to reality. An impostor seeks to tarnish a narration that asserts its freedom to reverberate. The words defy the redundant theme serving to alienate the senses that scavenge for justification. They embellish themselves on parchment, asserting their testimony and ignoring the decrees outlined by the malfunctioning form of justice in its obsession to assert itself as the authority of our morality.

Administering a Form of Justice (35)

2010-12-06T13:16:00.003+01:00

The absence of a trickle of blood satisfies a population that has relinquished the power of thought. The travels undertaken by words through the years have enriched the capability of venting contemporary definitions to define a momentary cause. In a malfunctioning democracy, an injustice is veiled behind a cacophony of verbal utterances that serve to widen the ambivalence between the spectators and executioners, conveniently eliminating the necessity of an impartial narrator.

The Scent of Nostalgia (10)

2010-11-04T22:40:00.002+01:00

Through the poetry woven in a foreign language, slivers of memory strive to reach me. The history of the narrow land bequeaths me with the odour of exile, and the papers are witness to the turbulent words. Reconciling the poet to memory creates a different reality within the confines of the present and the past. The voyage of the exiled narrator returns to embellish years with the words used on distant continents.

The Theft of Memory (4)

2010-10-28T22:12:00.002+02:00

The greatest asset of power lies in its reprimands to those who seek to unite themselves with the past. Contemporary democracy does not allow thought to flourish as a derivative of memory. It strives to separate the process of thinking from its roots, to annul reason and prohibit the masses from claiming the heritage of their ancestors. Democracy divests a revolution of its relation to the people by presenting the option of elections. In its ultimatum to any people who cling to language and history, democracy reminds its citizens of their vestige of rights - the compensation for reducing their memory to a vacuum.

Inscription

2010-10-27T21:32:00.000+02:00

the sheets regurgitating blood betrayed
the raucous bodies stilled in stilted seconds
stuffed in dead eyes, words writhing away
from diaries written on flowers that hibernated
at the sound of shelling dissolving the logic
of meaning in countries striving to restrain the sea

the sky lowered a basket brimming with water
soaking lullabies evaporated by thunder

The Scent of Nostalgia (9)

2010-10-26T22:02:00.003+02:00

If power admonishes the people who refer to history, the masses should stage an intellectual revolt. A way of mellowing the cry against injustice is by appeasing the people with words that are less than an apology and a travesty of the roots of justice. Power expects society to conform to its rules and assume the identity of the defeated. If society rises above the mendacity of contemporary democracy and its assumption that rights are equivalent to freedom, it might be time to unite the revolutionary singer to his audience once again.

Administering a Form of Justice (34)

2010-10-25T21:48:00.004+02:00

In malfunctioning forms of justice, the imitation of amnesia is sanctioned by the marble halls.

The manipulation of laws by corrupt puppets in power allow a victim to be shrouded in vague statements, in order to protect the identity of those who deem their actions to be more honourable than the will of someone whose citizenship is not restrained to a single country. Inconsistent testimony is allowed within the rigmarole of rights that does not concern itself with 'lesser' blood spilled on stolen land.

Administering a Form of Justice (33)

2010-10-23T23:26:00.002+02:00

The acquaintances of malfunctioning justice revel in the language of violence and intimidation. Distorted social norms expect victims to conceal their wounds and wither into oblivion, whilst reminding the rest of society that power rises above any law. Power is competent in exploiting its victims to gain an undeserved admiration, whilst concealing the reality that ridicules society's dignity in a parade of defence within the imposed incarceration.

Reality, Rights and Revolution (2)

2010-10-22T09:29:00.003+02:00

The power that rules society tries to separate our identity from the history we never witnessed. Society is taught acquiescence as a skill for survival, which ensures the dictatorships of elected governments. Revolutionary thought is displaced and dispersed and culture is riddled with the rigmarole of accepting to be ruled. Instead of coherent protest and revolt, people are allowed the sole luxury of moaning and rallying around partisan parties in false hope, spending a cluster of years in waiting instead of deciding and acting upon the philosophy that the revolution is decided by the masses. Any act of protest by puppets in power is a sham that strengthens their reign over the conquered.

"Constantly denouncing the government, with contempt for the risks and dangers, is like a whip in the hands of a lion tamer." Fidel Castro Ruz

The Scent of Nostalgia (8)

2010-10-21T20:48:00.003+02:00

The voices within the revolutionary songs have transcended the violence of illegitimate governments that sought to annihilate the people they wanted to conquer. Years before my birth, in the island of contradictory landscapes and in the narrow land, the definition of patriotism went beyond a flag. It resonated within a song, resided in the minds of the people who mattered and endured the years of exile with a conviction. Years later, I find myself reading a poem to cultivate the yearning to belong to the culture that manifests itself thousands of miles away, living a metaphor that does not infiltrate the consciousness of society on the fictitious island.

Administering a Form of Justice (32)

2010-10-20T10:15:00.003+02:00

The illusion of rights compels humanity into servitude and abominable gratitude. When violation of freedom occurs on a level concerning justice, a circle of begging, pleading and expectation is created, allowing the perpetrators time to consolidate their position of power. The distance between the social classes becomes irreparable as people in power revel on their pedestals and conjure up new strategies to prevent the unity of society.

Realities (5)

2010-10-16T06:28:00.002+02:00

Within the confines of contemporary democracy, people are burdened with the theft of memory. Certain portraits of history are relegated to the irrelevant, leaving a void that strives to reach to its roots. Within the rights flaunted by society, there is the silent oppression that reminds you to remain with the majority. So some words lose their definition and others swell with the frequency of use, whilst society gazes at itself and laments the loss of its identity through the purging committed by the representatives of democracy.

Land of Paralysed Butterflies

2010-10-14T22:58:00.001+02:00

This is the link to a poem I have had published in Palestine Chronicle, entitled Land of Paralysed Butterflies. http://palestinechronicle.com/view_article_details.php?id=16332

The Dictatorship of Democracy - A Reflection (3)

2010-10-14T22:17:00.001+02:00

The sealed boxes were piled into the vehicles under the nation’s scrutiny. A dreamless sleep would be sacrificed tonight as the responsible citizens awaited the result of their involvement on the pavement of politics. I leafed through the pages of a battered book discussing democracy, colonialism and freedom, wondering whether intelligent minds might find a solution to the discrepancies offered by democracy. The intrinsic need of the population reduced us to beggars, in order to conform to the laws deeming the magnified surnames our masters.

As I stared at the length of dull paper speckled with colours and boxes, I was overwhelmed with the lack of historical fragments to influence my thinking. Unlike the old men puffing on pipes, my mind was unencumbered with suffering and speeches. I was unable to remember the past which adorned a country with a memorable uprising. My years devoured mention of the era because I had also hoped to lead a revolution for the people. But after those years, rebellion was tamed and fractured into policies, and the tattered clothes replaced with elegance. Society was splintered into echelons which rendered towns superior to the ploughed fields on the outskirts of the villages.

The invention of these lengthy papers prompting our acquiescence was attributed to the definition of democracy. My last glance at the pristine paper was brimming with vehement epithets at the social inequality which rendered all our actions futile. Our jailed freedom coerced us to be loyal to a pretentious system, which rendered our spontaneity a rigid routine. Back in the safe crevices of the rubble walls, I waited for a memory which lacked my participation, to assail the present with a loud roar defining the dimming sunsets I had not been able to witness.

Administering a Form of Justice (31)

2010-10-13T21:19:00.002+02:00

Exile within a democracy is sanctioned by justice and carefully altered to blend in the atmosphere of alienation surrounding the people. Victims are created out of a fabricated conspiracy and the solution of exile soothes a frayed conscience that beholds justice as a chore. Meanwhile, the silent autobiography seeks to conquer an illusion of justice presiding over fabricated borders, and the cry from the island of contradictory landscapes wafts closer to expose the fiction created on a fictitious island.

The Dictatorship of Democracy - A Reflection (2)

2010-10-12T13:05:00.003+02:00

The declining days refused to grant us liberty. Our minds were perceived as passive and persuasive, and the colours frothed with rigmaroles designed to promote the narrators’ superiority. Shades born from mellow sunsets protected our autonomy, and together with the aged society which nurtured us, a dissenting uproar emerged which muted the efforts of colours to stain us with their indoctrination. We had recognised the injustices of which declared the necessity of natural rights to be ridiculed and reduced to a gift bestowed upon violation.

Tiny, sterile cubicles adorned with plain desks and wobbly chairs sprouted in every town and village. Each cubicle boasted of a grubby pencil attached to a length of string. Every mature citizen was expected to lead a revolution which would question the significance of trusting the magnified surnames to address the country’s needs. To our dismay, the contesting colours declared a rebellion sanctioned by power, exploiting the raw theory of nature against political dynamics. The citizens understood that the fabricated insurrection ridiculed the dignified spirit of the oppressed. But we had been tamed to oblige the despotic surnames which praised us for being an accommodating population. Beyond the safety of ancient rubble walls, we might have fallen in love with our role.

Minutes trickled into our skins, prompting us to walk towards the institutions founded to nurture our children. Groups of colours congested the pavements, regaling the shadows committed to dependability with pasted smiles or volcanic frowns. Each resonating step muffled the anthem of nature’s patriotism; our allegiance to colours whose shades we could not decipher except by name denigrated our hearts. We were taught to succumb and be scorned after making sure the graphite did not spill out of the printed squares.

My distance was parallel to the emptiness which should have been crammed with nostalgia. Peeking through the sheer drapes at the pavements burdened with empty, patronising minds, I tried to reminisce about a past prior to my birth. I was told it was an era marked by poverty, pride in a nation, and embroidered with speeches from an orator who inspired resilience in his followers.

The Dictatorship of Democracy - A Reflection (1)

2010-10-11T11:16:00.002+02:00

I grew up learning about colours and the importance of not mixing them to form other hues. That process of creativity was reserved for the power that dictated democracy.

But the carriage plundering the alleys of forgotten villages reeked of a philosophy termed modernity, which was laden with concepts such as emancipation, economic growth and dignity. The villagers yearned to pursue the meaning of these laborious words and deserted their fields to purchase tomes burdened with definitions defining contemporary vagueness. The smell of soil lingering in farmers’ caps recoiled from these books, in which resided a verdict usurping ploughed lands. The shy snails and lizards hidden behind rubble walls feared us.

Awareness of our development was calculated by subtracting the years left for us to assume responsibility. As we aged, other colours emerged and defined their existence as a resistance to vertigo which lured the masses to seek valleys which alleviated their fears. The subservient populace speculated about the dangers of dissecting colours and adhered to a single shade, confirming an allegiance which flourished during the spaced routine of shameless democracy.

Exercises of separating history from present circumstances were parallel to stagnating in memories. Faces peered from massive billboards, either smiling or pondering the passing pedestrians. Emblazoned beneath the portraits streamed the rhetoric posing as metaphorical speech to create an illusion hovering between intellect and presumptuous rebellion.

My favourite strolls took me to the village squares, where benches staggered under the weight of old people brimming with memories of turbulent times and experiences which reeked of colonialism and upheaval. The servitude of our nation was mingled with resentment and appreciation. When I listened to the narrations, images of uniforms, pale faces and enforced humility sprang to life. Echoes of labourers toiling in fields conflagrated in the spectres of abodes demolished by the war.

I listened to hunger and poverty lisping the suffering of families in an elegy of tattered clothes. My age counted the crumbs of bread carelessly brushed off the table to be swept away. The child hibernating inside me thought of saving the baked dough to feed the sparrows hopping on the windowsill.

Weeks ago, I read the proclamations of colours vying to confuse and convince. Many villagers expressed the need of consulting dictionaries to discern the meaning of words which were given a new eloquence with every democratic exercise. The magnified surnames sharing a common culture with the insignificant masses looked down from their pedestals at us; fossilised specks on an ordinary tile. Our astonishment ventured to peer at the surrounding pristine tiles. The adjoining boundaries were threatening to limit our movement.

Administering a Form of Justice (30)

2010-10-10T22:32:00.002+02:00

It is a necessity sanctioned by justice that the invisible narrator remains exiled. In the politics of democracy, the notion of majority shields itself in numerous cloaks to hide its putrid facade. The same rigmarole of elections is implemented in malfunctioning justice - with the slight difference that makes it more treacherous towards the society it pretends to safeguard. During elections, the alienated masses have knowledge of their opponents. With certain forms of justice, the invisible narrator remains an abstract within the identity forged by the author of silent violence.

"Justice remains the tool of a few powerful interests, legal interpretation will continue to be made to suit the convenience of the oppressor powers." Ernesto Che Guevara

Hasta la victoria siempre! Venceremos!

2010-10-09T18:18:00.002+02:00

A little town witness to the execution of the revolutionary now holds a remembrance that spans across the world. Imperialism is deficient in philosophy - it flounders in its thirst for blood and expects history to neglect its own recollections of the companero who shunned borders and citizenship, embracing instead the ideology of liberation. The false triumph that echoed with the murder of a revolutionary now seeks its own annihilation, as the words from the embodiment of loyalty resonated through and beyond the island of contradictory landscapes, to inspire a revolution that seeks to conquer through embracing thought and exposing the fallacy of the political frame that categorises its followers into majorities and minorities.

Reflections from a Companera

2010-09-28T22:35:00.004+02:00

The democracy we are throttled with is a censorship of the cry emanating from the people.

In present realms, a date of remembrance brings us closer to history, and a dream that binds us tenaciously unfolds to shroud us in its definition. The reality on the island of contradictory landscapes strengthens with the words from the embodiment of loyalty . The fictitious island remains seething in the oblivion it created for itself. If there was a philosophy of certainty, it would be the reality of the dreamer who sought beyond to change the reality of the fragmented population that capitalism strives to annihilate with its rhetoric of equality.

Administering a Form of Justice (29)

2010-09-25T13:24:00.002+02:00

When rule and law become inseparable, there is no recourse for justice to fulfil its role. The combination of malfunctioning halls and minority governments masquerading as a majority create the illusion of rights to conceal the distance separating the government from the people. A bludgeoned term by both entities is the concept of freedom. democracy needs its followers to believe that freedom is accessible within its confines, and justice bestows this fundamental concept on those it deems worthy, regardless of blame, crime or innocence. In the wake of this disruption, democracy and justice act as the sentinels that prohibit thought as a necessity for the masses, regaling them instead with explanatory pamphlets and reassurances that the highest institutions are capable of attending to everything, as befits their patriotic duty.

The Distance of Democracy

2010-09-11T12:28:00.002+02:00

Democracy is a distant form of governance, beguiling people into believing that freedom belongs to all. The emblem of political justice shields a culture of silent violence. Behind each face lurks the unimportant anonymity of an individual, the biographies unpublished and destroyed to avoid discussion of whether democracy is compatible with freedom. Democracy is producing a culture of existence that disdains though and promotes the jargon that splits society into categories, rendering voices and language an aberration of their natural function.

Administering a Form of Justice (28)

2010-09-04T15:46:00.002+02:00

Wherever justice lurks, there lies the murder of a voice. The incompetence of malfunctioning justice is beheld in the theory that advocates an imposed estrangement. With a penchant for appearing supreme and fair, justice feeds on calculated oppression to retain its prestige. On the fictitious island, justice conceals itself and applauds when its spectre looms over invisible narrators, congratulating itself on the fortune of reigning over a society that is all too willing to become an accomplice in conspiracy.

Book Review - Fidel Castro Handbook by George Galloway

2010-07-31T23:57:00.001+02:00

http://www.greenleft.org.au/node/44790 This is the link to my first published book review, Fidel Castro Handbook by George Galloway, in keeping with the inspiration of this blog, the essence of which is a cultural revolution for all people.

A Fragment of Freedom

2010-06-19T15:29:00.002+02:00

To embrace a fragment of freedom ...
a) eliminate the suffocation of educational institutions and the expectations of conformity
b) realise the horrendous result of democratic elections

Democracy is incompatible with natural freedom. Its treachery lies even deeper than that of dictatorship, as it entices people to relinquish their thought for others to manipulate. The tyranny of democracy does not recognise the majority of citizens who hastened to sign their triumph, nor is there any consideration for the minority. There is abhorrence for the revolutionaries who constantly strive to widen the distance between their minds and the farce of electing a miniature majority masquerading as a collective voice.

Realities (4)

2010-06-08T10:40:00.002+02:00

Land remains a keepsake gathered in plastic containers for those on the other side of the barbed wire fences.
This aberration coerces people to meet as painted faces on a canvas, to weep for an unknown homeland and to strive in creating a memory out of fleeting seconds guarded by rifles. When each memory is spilled from burdened minds, the wrath will fade beneath the dignity of the oppressed, and justice will be portrayed as the shadow of violence that eradicated lives before they were inspired to dream.

Realities (3)

2010-06-05T10:39:00.003+02:00

Our reality allows the illegal incarceration of a nation decaying behind concrete walls, and ravages any attempt to ease hardship by destroying vessels of aid. It is the disease of democracy that applauds the isolation of people who bear the sears of violence. Countries upholding democracy contribute to a displaced nation's despondence by refusing to actively oppose the appropriation of land, citing diplomacy as the reason instead of political gain. The apathy shown by political power is in perfect harmony with what is expected from the dictatorship of a dominant majority.

Distances (10)

2010-05-26T13:47:00.002+02:00

In the distance separating the island of contradictory landscapes from the island of conformity, terminology arrived at the shores in a tangle of dissonant syllables, devoid of meaning. There was no rebellion within the population of the conforming, fictitious island, because transgression against words had convinced them there was no need for ideology, no need for philosophy. The submissive nation's importance was that of a collective existence that could be governed by the puppets of power with confidence, for there was no hope within a nation that wallowed in decadence.

A Metaphor

2010-05-21T15:06:00.002+02:00

The absence of the river was of no importance, unlike the wound festering in the absence beside me.

In the years before the sky weighed heavily on my head, I used to peer at the river from the dilapidated terrace that stood as testimony to seasons and the people that fluttered through as rapidly as time. The river was a distant, solitary blue vein contaminated with green and little boats disrupted its tranquillity. I thought of it as water – the faces beneath sprawling hats called it their itinerary. It was as predictable as their lives. They never sought what lay beyond.

One day it faded, changing geography and culture with its disappearance. The villagers despaired, reluctant to explore a land without water. I could have told them there was water elsewhere – I had completed my voyages on water, and land was a necessary transition to the mind of a restless wanderer. Their faces shrivelled; their hands gnarled and stiff, until only their eyes remained, trickling tears to entice the river into existence once again.

Tribute to Victor Jara - Venceremos!

2010-05-19T15:45:00.000+02:00

Tribute to Victor Jara - Venceremos!
The lines fainted, their dilapidated strands
wove bandages for crushed hands,
that strummed strings in the wake
of imminent annihilation. The anthem
defended and defeated, braiding
definitions around treacherous throats

History bequeathed the stadium
with punctured lungs and slain guitars.
In the long, narrow land, a memory writes itself.

Dawn dissolved in dark mines and the victorious voice
banished melancholy below the butchered bodies
allowing the revolution its revival in the blossoms
of an anticipated historical future.

Administering a From of Justice (27)

2010-05-15T13:53:00.002+02:00

Malfunctioning forms of justice in contemporary democracy rely heavily on association to build a reputation of severity. Beneath the facade of implementing punishment lies the reality of allowing innocence to be trampled upon by a society that forfeited its freedom to question judgement handed down by the authorities. Society is oblivious to the manipulation of rules that guarantee safety in its rush to applaud every conquest languishing behind iron bars. There is even less knowledge about the transgression that roams free and sanctioned by the marble halls.

Diary of a Companera - Beyond the Epilogue (3)

2010-05-08T10:58:00.003+02:00

The island of contradictory landscapes bore the embellishment of a culture that refused to succumb to capitalist power. I beheld a nation that indulged in thought and caressed books with the fervour of learned philosophers. The revolution was impenetrable - a resilient yesterday that flaunted itself in the history of forthcoming days. As the embodiment of loyalty had declared, patriotism shunned the shackles of confinement to a single land and roamed through borders to create a perspective of unity beyond forged incarceration.

The Politics of Power (4)

2010-05-06T11:59:00.004+02:00

The island of conformity avoids discussion of revolution. There is no greater discomfort than to challenge a bipolar society into thinking beyond the current realm. The spectrums had long since distorted themselves and the society that failed to think kept indulging in the favourite pastime of promoting partisan ideas, betraying their freedom to advance beyond the blemished propaganda.

Distances (9)

2010-05-01T14:15:00.003+02:00

The distance fabricated and maintained by justice diminished slightly. Beyond the island of conformity, a sliver of nostalgia executed the testimony of an exile. To fight against the fictitious island of conformity was a necessity that rendered alive the definition of triumph. Yet, the island remained a willing accomplice in ignorance and justice perversion, citing a declaration that derided the helplessness of beggars believing in human rights.

"In need, freedom is latent." THE GREEN BOOK Muammar al Qaddafi

Administering a Form of Justice (26)

2010-04-17T15:35:00.002+02:00

On the island of conformity, justice is an irregular and irreverent manifestation that disregards the invisible narrator in order to accommodate the consequences of fabrication. The power administered by justice conspires with time and negotiated freedom to coerce truth into a travesty of caution that translates into liberty for the author of silent violence.

Parody

2010-04-14T12:26:00.002+02:00

There are fleeting moments that transform into a grotesque bubble tarnished with time. The vague itinerary of society swarms close, singeing the anonymous artist's pen with transparent blood. In the alley, the mask writhes under trampling feet that trespass on its solitude, and the epitome of falsehood lures thought towards common accepted norms uttered by malevolent justice - the equation of enforced exile being compared to a verdict of guilt.

The voyage of time within confines of justice refrains from revealing its definition.

Administering a Form of Justice (25)

2010-04-10T12:27:00.003+02:00

Malfunctioning forms of justice present an interminable wait as exercising caution. The invisible narrator is coerced into a stance of cowardice as the only alternative to combat a fabrication that translates into months of solitude and deprivation. The alienated crowds smile, the author of silent violence breathes the same air as the anonymous artist, with the intention of disfiguring the metaphor embedded in the words.

Diary of a Companera - Beyond the Epilogue (2)

2010-04-07T11:34:00.002+02:00

Beyond the mundane realm, the island of contradictory landscapes and the embodiment of loyalty awaited the definition of a companera's name.

The embodiment of loyalty and the manifestation of wise protection entwined themselves in reminiscences of revolution - a tangible memory embedded in the nostalgia of happenings beyond remembered years. The ornate calligraphy beneath the testimony was both a metaphor of yearning and a temperament portraying the rage against the stifling atmosphere of a malfunctioning form of democracy.

The Scent of Nostalgia (7)

2010-03-20T14:42:00.003+01:00

The scent from the narrow land wafts towards the fictitious island. Nostalgia is stronger than memory and deeper than melancholy. It is the combination of history, the testimony of the revolutionary whose hands were bludgeoned with the intention to ridicule, death in a stadium and music exiled whilst refusing to succumb to oblivion.

The guitar strings sear my fingers with blood, and I am transported back to a decade beyond my birth - witnessing a ruthless coup and screaming to notify the singer of his perilous journey. I relived history in the music that was stronger than its recollection. It was an extension of the revolution that defied the politics of power and amassed the nation to liberate the philosophy of thought.

Venceremos

2010-03-13T12:31:00.002+01:00

The metaphor of universal patriotism and defiance of citizenship should be undertaken by the masses. Victory is not for the party and its elected members. It is the harvest of revolutions, whose travels within borders and calligraphy have traced a new philosophy that is in harmony with the inherent feature of humanity - a return to freedom without the rigmarole of human rights.

Diary of a Companera - Beyond the Epilogue

2010-03-11T07:56:00.002+01:00

Another short journey to the realm of contradictory landscapes brought me facing the embodiment of loyalty to the revolution. I might have arrived on a date of commemoration - there seemed to be another presence reaching through the eternal realm. I sought to mould my language into their melodious vocabulary and managed to utter a conviction that held more depth than a slogan. It was the definition of a realm that sought the right to defence, and in its language there was no room for traitors.

Encounter

2010-03-09T10:37:00.003+01:00

A fragment of a century ago the anonymous artist met the invisible narrator in a land that wallowed in colonialism. The invisible narrator hailed from a land that believed in endowing the masses with power, whilst shunning the contemporary model of democracy. The anonymous artist was a defective product of assimilation - shackled on a fictitious island that made an art out of intimidation.

Their meeting defied the mundane rhetoric to create a symphony that reeked of dissonance, according to the institutions that thrived on creating a society built on norms. Throughout the absence created by vengeance, the invisible narrator and the anonymous artist hastened to create an identity that could not be manipulated by need, recognised parody for the miserable exploitation that it embodied, and defied the stillness imposed by justice by eliminating borders to wander within the essence of creation.

Reinforcing Ridicule

2010-03-08T11:56:00.002+01:00

Those enamoured of the antics performed by democracy are very willing to participate in simulated exercises of protest. There is never the scent of dissent within demonstrations organised by people in power. Such parodies serve to appease and alienate the participating crowd into mellowing their concerns and venting their frustration into frantic applause and banner waving. The crowd becomes the abused tool which serves to give a mediocre demonstration the lacking fervour.

Paralysed Butterflies

2010-03-08T11:49:00.003+01:00

A misrepresented country with diminishing borders sighs and rebels simultaneously. The illegitimacy of usurping land and dignity from a nation is condemned, and the oppressors feign indignation at calculated speeches brimming with diplomatic tactics, reserving their triumphant expression for those who support democracy and the erroneous power of elections. Even protesters may be ensnared in the meticulous task of jotting numbers in perfect calligraphy translating into names ready to enter a coalition of increasing incarceration and displacement of citizenship.

Administering a Form of Justice (24)

2010-02-27T13:51:00.002+01:00

Justice and bureaucracy are inseparable companions. Prosecutors are enamoured of the prestige that comes with their positions and narrators are obliged to exercise caution and patience to avoid unwarranted accusations. In systems that parade the proclamation of innocence until guilt is proven, the administration of justice gorges itself on the self-satisfaction that the majority of the population embraces the parody and alienates itself with documents that demonstrate the seal of higher authorities.

Administering a Form of Justice (23)

2010-02-27T13:48:00.003+01:00

There are occasions when the malevolent form of justice teams up with diplomacy and incarcerating borders to create another realm of melancholy. Unity needs to transcend the barriers of ownership and seek refuge within the confines of philosophies that battle extreme desolation with the flaming beacon of resistance.

Distances (8)

2010-02-27T13:43:00.002+01:00

In the emptiness created by circumstance, the invisible narrator and the foundations that constitute the parody of freedom meet to share the lament created by an erring justice system. In their cloistered existence, the narrator and the parody of freedom reveal their identity, with the realisation that not even freedom is safe from annihilation. Justice continues to smile patronisingly, allowing prosecutors to assert their position over innocence. Distances allude participants with the notion of protection and observers are guaranteed the pretence that ethics are an extension of impeccable judgement.

Resistance (2)

2010-02-09T10:45:00.002+01:00

Resistance is the form of logic that transcends hatred. The oppressed that move from hatred to resistance defy the core of oppression that waits for people to ensnare themselves into exploiting their own fears, thus submitting incessantly to need. Resistance defies the concept of need as freedom ceases to depend on acquiescence, and blends itself with revolutionary philosophy.

"I have said all along that vengeance holds no place in a revolutionary's heart." Fidel Castro

Need (2)

2010-02-06T12:43:00.002+01:00

Leaders of democratic politics are effective censors. They coerce society into submission by creating the necessity to conform. The dependent society looks up to its leaders and fails to articulate its discontent, because participation in elections mutes the natural freedom of thought.

Society has to realise that the misrepresenting leaders it elects are bound by need, and they gain their strength from exploiting the natural freedom of people to nurture their own philosophy.

In a democratic society, thought appears to be just as treacherous as it is considered to be in other forms of political approach.

Distances (7)

2010-02-06T12:36:00.002+01:00

The distance imposed on the exiled narrator would not be a testimony in history. Anonymous faces who suffer turmoil in the hands of treacherous justice are silenced within the vast confines of time. The anonymous face has no flourishing signature to add to the biography, but an incessant ability that thrives on instinct and survival - characteristics that are the opposite of the merciless laws that uphold fabrication as truth. The exiled narrator holds a firm faith that the entity of time will unravel to betray its metaphoric mystery.

Distances (6)

2010-01-23T14:54:00.002+01:00

The exiles retreated to separate lands, once again bound by traditions and laws that encumbered their natural freedom. the philosopher and the companera immersed themselves in the shades of sunset, and there was no distinction between the invisible narrator, nostalgia and the fervour of revolt. The essence of distance was made whole by the necessity of closeness, and the hues smearing their faces bore the scent of fresh blood pouring from the laceration administered by justice.

Need

2010-01-20T13:05:00.002+01:00

Current forms of demcoracy and capitalism have ensnared humanity into servitude due to the concept of need. Poverty, class divisions, and a lack of philosophical politics have churned out an environment which produces beggars who are starting to wonder why the Universal Declaration of Human Rights has been transformed into mediocre, popular rhetoric. The beggars created by need are slaves of work, victims of censorship, and an available commodity of poverty that prompts puppets in immaculate suits to exercise lessons learnt in diplomacy.

For the revolutionaries, it is diplomacy and its capitalist patrons that are considered the heirs of oblivion. Capitalism is as much indebted to need as the destitute it claims to protect. The need of the capitalist is greater than that of the oppressed, who have the ability to survive through ideals.

Democracy and Educational Institutions (2)

2010-01-20T12:57:00.003+01:00

Democracy demands our submission to educational institutions, which strives to mould minds into repression. Educational institutions and their elaborate calligraphy on parchment should not be confused with knowledge, for knowledge cannot be garnered from individuals who patronise a system that fails to justify its persistence in negating its inherent failure.

Democracy and Educational Institutions

2010-01-16T14:46:00.002+01:00

Educational institutions uphold democracy as an unfailing system and hasten to implement its politics to manage a mediocre hierarchy that boasts of knowledge and thought.

As the minority of dissidents discover on the fictitious island with a confused identity, the compatibility between democracy and educational institutions stems from their commitment towards betraying and oppressing any form of intelligence.