fragmenting procedures anahita jamali rad [first few poems] The "Political" Against the Politics of Attack By destroying the myth that mutilates us, the organisation to organise autonomously to transcend autonomy transcends autonomy. A certain ethics of a familiar jubilance. We said they said we said they said, at any rate, perhaps, the last is not the least. Now, study carefully the meaning of "divide." You will have no need to study the numerous influences which give the division of labour a definite character. Monotonous, trivial chores, coupled with sexual passivity. Only separate in words. We are poor technicians of desire.

Exposing the physical mechanism that dominates and exploits us. Historical bodies, or bodies of a history limited by a desire that is not ours, a desire that is unable to mobilise us. A desire that discredits our desires to not be enamoured by the constant generator. Mutilated by work, multiplying forms and domains for the intervention of political action. We discover we are confronted by obliteration and consumption. A partial list, they say: 1. She wants more. Tyrannised and lacks power.

Grounds a political translation of real power, enamoured. But the other is more fundamental. To consume more consumes this greater and greater consumption. Demands another kind of distribution. Of being and organising for the money. Everything is done for the money. The money works hard. Works hard for the money.

The only one who does any work around here. 3. She is in "rivalry," primarily more attractive than, more consumptive than, more pressure than. The times express a protection of the living standards, of reproduction for production. So much so that she lives for men, dresses for men, works for men, is for men. 5. She buries in the home the refuse of the struggle. Herself, the refuse, herself, she refuses.

Exists only in the home, is outside invisible. Is outside a dirty window. Is outside into the home. Will argue, there has been a fundamental misunderstanding. Of women from socialised production. Of heroic mother and happy housewife. Of being surrounded by goods. Makes love at night in the interest of the class.

And has internalised the capitalist gaze. Disciplines with a forced smile, disciplines future capitalist subjects. And it''s not the same as making love during the day. Never assumes to make love during the day. A biological presumption. A petty sexual rivalry for a secure mate. It is in the anatomy. A womb from beginning to always, in which the woman is joined by her husband and children.

It is precisely at this point that the whole story begins. Politics of Attack autonomy transcends autonomy. and jubilance. we said what they said. And now it weighs down on us. These observations this desire that mutilates our work. Our bodies. You''ve been in the house too long, she said.

A dirty window into a dirty room. A new kind of social immobility learnt by bitter experience. Against Attack Now this, in the family, is productive. 1. She is a miserable available working population. 2. She is a monstrosity. 3.

She is the changing needs of exploitation by capital. Women buy things because that''s the only proof that they exist. Attack Head-shaking liberals and (wageless) cushion of familial antagonism - that private ownership must of necessity develop into the expropriation of the (non)workers, and a (militant) refusal to accept the definition. Anatomy transcends autonomy transcends anatomy. Well-fed bodies and bougie signs of a diabolical insurgence have been co-opted. And trepidation has been spilt into by signs of imitation, where the seemingly unlimited supply of free-labour has been defined without hesitation. This passivity I''d much rather kick in the eye. in love to consume a bitter silent ineptitude a body like a factory but these tears is unusually as newsworthy as plans to make me blue violence at the hands of the street corner just about to lose my mind to be construed as a good kid as disposable as not much longer will you be of tension counter- unrest paramilitary or ain''t s''posed to cry is that bad like a cop thrust upon heavy-hand holding pulverised just about to lose.

losing you vigilante more for your money day-in day of an entire community will dissolve unarmed camels losing you for racially-charged media narrative we used to have to hear both sides in its naked disregard and petty made poverty be making your enemy always intersects with bodies now there''s nothing left of me is actually in cold blood and the memory coded don''t know why I fight it trucks carry conclusions I''ll give you the rest of me punitive in nature expendable verbatim built into procedure lest we riot can''t lose you from my. light if the sky that we look upon simulates drowning or mulls over air strikes should crumble and multiple barrel bomb shell nation could sooner die or the mountains shot fleeing fleeting civilian or blip should tumble to the will of drones no I won''t shed a tear gas or shot with rubber rubble or cease fire is already exhausted. love crops up leaky coalition forces get over it is cultural apropos will get you like a case of oil shock caught in the crossfires under preventive strikes or quarantine something of an economic revitalization media shower and I feel like a workers under confinement of the village militant is something I don''t want to catch my head''s not empty it''s already lost its status as an interlocutor and I feel like a strategic objective missiles "they can''t un- turn your camera off, did you?" only yesterday I said to myself war by any other means would smell as sweet. Like a kiss drop the oil money motives to be strengthened detain and monitor with all the tenderness who shot caught on tape calmly down the hall "I put him down" and it felt like captured on tape, too and not about race up the stairs and I knew in slow or dragging on video or with a gun or para-police state or standard of evidence or targeted security or detailed account or heroic action or "radicalised" or racialised or when he kissed me or grabbed his side arm or a semi-automatic or multiple times and fell or bullet holes through the door or hitting the floor or gripped the nation or pre-empt arrests or I assure you, Mr. Speaker fragmenting procedures of carnage and corruption dead set for crossed out knocked down erasure with bullet holes opened fire on semi-pulverised bricks and stone breeds reaction incarcerate assault hemorrhage in bleeding and I knew he loved me. state of nature quench that frantic nestled in flailing open up a sock in it capital wants what you want is she mystified labour verbal evacuation over-simplify or reciprocal self-induced value want you to structure this mess so lonely to be nestled in civil society contractual in nature capital wants a shoot and kill democracy quench that disposession vacuous evaluation dispersed carnage so lonely without heavy weaponry capital wants you to want open up complicit so lonely. bad timing ditch the dash-cam to make me feel dead set on a machine trap the words I''m saying will not can not breathe to be tamed or smothered in this is a trap machine is memory insofar as you are what you breathe cassette or cigarette or choke hold on hold music goes on forever refusal to speak is louder than is spoken we get caught up bound up buried in the letters that overt the colour in when someone said I gotta know if it bleeds get down and make suture in silence is sadness is molecules is torture is waiting is his sometimes hers ugh is rage without words how do we to know this is for real upon a meeting eloquence as though thought unknowable is this (in negative) a shimmer slimmer sliver of when death is called for or debt is trepidation a future uncalled for we ask and get nothing singing in a strange land is difficult to transcend and our capitalist excursions are built to this to scale: parasite to paradise concrete buffet or plebiscite uptown or down time or when my conscious word to chaperone is sped up or slow down to too much of this is whither agony? wait to this heat or beat to drop.