Museums of contemporary suffering


On one side, the endless travails
                                                       of telenovela or pale, wispy-haired 
K-drama characters. On the other,
                                                      saints and their ladders,
lanced breasts and
                                                      severed heads. The anguish
of families separated
                                                      at a border; documentation
of the number of times migrant
                                                      girls bled or did not bleed
each month. Cells echoing
                                                      with the distinct sound
made by children crying.
                                                      Shoes and pink
plastic toothbrushes scattered through
                                                      the desert. Far away,
marble balconies where
                                                      little gods fuck
each other and eat expensive sushi
                                                      after closing
some new deal in China.
                                                      Warning: don’t watch
the video of the most recent mass
                                                      shooting; but if you did,
here is what to do about it.


In response to Via Negativa: Contemplative.



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