by Fargo Tbakhi
PALESTINE IS A FUTURISM: NEOLOGISMS
A DEAD COLONIZER IS WORTH A THOUSAND YEARS IF YOU WANT TO BE BRUTAL CONSIDER YOUR HANDS WITHIN MY POCKMARKS I FIND AN ELEVATOR TO SKY DON’T LOOK FOR LOVERS (LET THEM LOOK FOR YOU) THE SWEETNESS OF SPIDERS (YES) NEVER A CAGED PERSON WITHIN OUR SIGHT!!! ONTOLOGY < VIBES ARMPITS> NATIONS SOMEONE SLEEPS WITH SAND TONIGHT LET’S HOPE THE SEA GETS HUNGRY APOCALYPSE IS ONLY PERFUME FOR THE BANKERS CRUELTY IS ONLY A SALTLESS MEAL YOURBEAUTYRUBBLE TURNS ME TORUBBLEBEAUTY LET’S HOPE THE SEA DEVOURS US AND FEELS FULL
STOP! STOP, THIEF— YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!
I woke up today! AND I was GLOWING— I was positively rrrrrrrrrrrradioactive! My wonderful yellowing teeth were the shade of Joan’s shirt in Johnny Guitar and that hurt courage grimace of hers kept me honest while I truncated my life in about a ZILLION delicious and ill advised ways, take THAT Maggie! Some kind tree tipped its hat to me, for I was a RIVER! But sludge-filled! But polluted! I needed Swamp Thing to save me! So I yanked up a dandelion and shouted into its open magnificent face OH SWAMP THING WE LOVE YOU GET UP and HE DOES! But only to reprimand me for my gleeful pilfering of other people’s words— Liar I say Thief he says and we KISS! (I’m Tess to Swamp Thing’s Danny Ocean in this exchange though I don’t really have the nose for it) today has worked out better than my tea leaves indicated! My tattoo is healing up nicely and reminding me that I’m not special I’m just lovely, as I’ve always been, and all the hurts of my past and future are everyday lovelifying my yards and yards of skin— oh WAIT A MINUTE I DID FORGET SOMETHING! It is JUNE! I was going to say something about being… something. Purple? Heartbroke? Just normal broke? Ah well I’ll just stuff my face with mint leaves from Swamp Thing’s armpit and feel myself getting cleaner, tadpoles and crawdads and microbes returning home to my veins, and I realize that maybe morning-me wasn’t radioactive at all! Maybe that glow was something else, some bravery, some watermelon, some Norma Desmond, some refuge green and gooey breathless? Now what the hell WAS IT? But then sunlight pours out in the key of Herrman, a passing racecar window rolls down, my forever crush Paul (that hustler that rascal that outlaw Butch) inside grinning his goat grin and growling, You aren’t tired anymore. It’s June, Fargo. You're glowing because you're afraid.
Fargo Tbakhi is a queer Palestinian performance artist and a Taurus. Find more at fargotbakhi.com.
BAHR // بحر 