a poem for today, 16 December 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of seven sentences and its image]
The issue, then, is not who is or is not really whatever but who can be counted on when they come for any one of us.
People are being cheated, robbed, murdered, raped.
Desire emerges in a multiple form, whose components are only divisible a posteriori, according to how we manipulate it.
Causality is always a fraught concept.
Under the influence of this will to know, we make of sex a tidy thing and ignore the deluge.
They have neither emotions nor conflicts.
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.
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