May / June 2022

As we leave the pandemic behind, they speak to us about being
the sur-realist feminist decolonized brown pacificst heirs
against the setbacks and [armed] with remnants, the leftovers of our worlds.
But we imagine ourselves over-real,
defending profound contradictions
mixing them in different tastes and fragrances and rhythms.
What’s real appears as an intermittence
we repeat over and over
without knowing what it can be,
what could change.

Before astonished gazes, everything collapses.

With full conviction in our visceral intelligence
we deploy our fights
sometimes mistaken for madness.
We are not sick, it’s just the way we act, the way we try.
We unite investigations from the sub-real
and we pack our spaces with our fancies.
We inhabit them with images that were left behind,
that could not leave us
and have now new meanings, freed from their origins
and owning the interferences added by distances and movements.

With the tautings of the ocean
beating inside us,
we can only concot
how
for who
with who.
Now.
And there, there is a song
here, there’s nothing
over there, our place
and over here, love.