Two twos

Ensconced in Western historical narratives
Frustrated by the Western
historical narrative
like it’s the only
historical narrative

Is fuckery

I play the game, I know I play
the game, aware. Aware I play myself – Represent!

Representation is problematic

The notion of representation

The notion of problematic

Both more fuckery from the
‘woke’ western narrative

The very conditions within
which exist the notions of having to represent are

Represent yourself

I’ll represent myself*

*My selves

My two, three, four, infinite
multiple selves

 

I represent my twoness

When there are words for
colours, like fuchsia and cerulean and
vermilion

Reduced to such a mouthful
– mixed race: White British and Black Caribbean, or, that outdated: half-cast:
being half and half… to not be whole is to not exist.

Maybe I don’t exist.

I’m two not zero point 5

You keep your fuckrous
fuckrous terms

 

The colour of my skin tells a biological, ideological, philosophical, political,
cultural story, albeit within this trashy godawful western narrative

 

Therein lies a spectre of
white supremacy that has designs on my chronology

Telling me where I’m from,
what I am, and what I can achieve

I have a dream and I want to
believe

I have been, I can be, all of
me that is me

But sometimes, I feel my
entire existence as a bit of an afterthought

I don’t often see people like
me doing the things I want to do and I am afraid

 

When I receive equal ops
forms, to try and prove to whoever that whoever whatever wherever I am, is an
“inclusive arts organisation”, just by me being able to be there in some
capacity, does not make it so: I will always answer ‘prefer not to say’.

There should be a box to tick
that says prefer non fuckrous terms.

It will cost whoever whatever
you are to use me for your funding bids kmt like you’re doing me some kinda favour please

Some people think all black
people are afraid of dogs. I saw a black woman at Oval
station

graze against the wall coming down the stairs to avoid an owner with her pet.

Some scientists say behaviours
can be inherited through genetics

Stands to reason black people
running for their lives for years being hunted by white people with dogs
across the ages might add some validity to the latter correlating with the
former, perhaps. I am not afraid of dogs. But they will not sleep in my bed
with me.

 

Taking a breath, to absorb, letting this
sink in, letting myself sink down in these sinking feelings,

my attitudes transform. My anxiety, layers and layers, triggering as I go, peeling away as I sink in this unsticking

Moving in, moving with, cutting through;
moving on but not moving on from.

Stuck and sticking inside this sticky
state

These high stakes get high

So high and so mighty

Self historicise a journey through a
world of pirated and plundered attitudes, Pop Culture, and Pop Propaganda

Where almost impossible collaborations,
personal, political and social constellations.

Tentacular. And sprawling.

Self historicise my movements, movings,
being moved

Finding some fluidity in the concrete of
the narratives I’ve had foisted upon me day in and day out

Fuckery

Moving physically. Moving emotionally.

Get gripping, get slipping.

Where almost impossible tasks of finding
a shifting position and balancing in relation to the tensions

Reliability, embodied memories, oral
histories, works to be repeated

Not reproducing faithfully national
processes of memorialisation,

Nor British values nor National
Identities

 

Makes me feel like I’m always late to
the party

Belated to the narrative

Bartering and flaunting my ‘twoness’

I keep bouncing between being angry
about lots of inconsequential things that seem consequential at the time

Angry because I feel and experience the
restraints that I am living in

The legacy of fuckry

Knowing everyone wants to be fucking
woke but like, do you really? Do you really want to be?

And like, so what if you are, what are you
going to do with that?

And my own contradictions fucking choke
the joy right out of me sometimes till all I can feel is a hot sticky fury and dull thudding confusion

But I find, that in moving to this, toward this, letting this move me
and moving within this complexity and inaccuracy

Something happens far superior
to
the
intellectual and ineffectual discourse of problematizing and politicising I’ve inherited that now seems to be so treasured and that seems to span the entire western world so that I can’t even open my mouth without someone jumping right
down
my
throat I cant breathe

Something unexpected happens

The upwelling that I know

I know what to do, what I bring, what I outbody into the world and embody in my being

And wonder if this mystical and
mythical immaterial unsticking can materialise in other ways

A glance, a touch, an embrace, a
knowing, a trusting,

beyond my learned catastrophizing, my
ignorance, my rights, my self preservation, my failings to understand my anxieties and my bright ideas

Something gentle and patient and faithful

congruent, aligned, uninhibited

Something that neither disregards, nor
blames, nor acuses, nor neglects

But accepts and holds lightly

And quietly fortifies
softly boundaries me

and gurgles in my marrow, in my bones in blood in my guts in my mouth in my breath

 

I’m not deluding myself

 

For full interviews type into google:

M.I.A: I can’t find
anything negative about multiculturalism

Al Jazeera English
Published on 14 Jan 2016

4.42

 

MIA: Sri Lanka has
‘same government with a different face’ | Channel 4 News

Channel 4 News Published on 13 Jan 2015

12.48

 

M.I.A. talks about her
music video “Borders” on Al Jazeera

M.I.A. Published on 14 Jan 2016

3.38

M.I.A. opens up about
her feud with The New York Times

Strombo Published on 18
Jan 2011

3.20

 

Azealia Banks Goes Off
on TI, Iggy + Black Music Being Smudged Out

HOT 97 Published on 18 Dec 2014

47.30

Ta Nehisi Coates:
“We Were Eight Years in Power: An American Tragedy” (10/18/17 – ETHS)

Family Action Network
Published on 19 Oct 2017

38.24

 

This was going to be a
dance but unfortunately I haven’t spent much time moving

In the studio

So I made these signs

 

There is virtue
in the knowing  — what I’ve lived and I
feel a magnitude of thankfulness

The smells, the particular
shape of an eye, the lips, the rough stubble, the accents, the joy in meeting
meeting someone, not being able to make a good guess at what part of the world they’re from

London, UK, in it’s glory, is
truly glorious

I can see why those who
wanted to leave wanted to leave

They don’t get the joy of having open borders, open arms, embraces from around the world that
have travelled afar, that bring warmth

 

I smile when I see a child, like
me, one of my kind

Perhaps wondering if they think we’re
related. I give them a knowing glint of the sparkling eyes we share, I could
be your brother. Indirectly, I am your brother. 

I look at their parents or
whoever they’re with whether its a woman or a man and smile and wonder if
they’re wondering if this child will look like me when they grow up

I feel a solidarity and I am
glad to be something familiar for them

We recognise each other in
the streets

 

I think of my mother and my
dad, both wondrous, both beauties, my heroine and hero, my baby makers, my flesh is their flesh, my eyes and my lips and
my nose and my voice, their voices, their warm naked arms resting on each other

The 2 fair boyfriends that I’ve
had and how our skin contrasts and how pretty that makes me feel that we
are so different and so vulnerable and playful and at ease with each other

And I feel love about that.
In another life we’d never have been together, for lots of reasons, but now,
well, generations have come through a lot and it’s
beautiful
we can be here. I wake and go to bed
thanking God for the experience. Thank you thank you thank you. That’s how I
feel and I think that is good.

 

I think of the art that I
make and who it is for and what it should say and how I think I have it, think
I get it and then never really do, and I become judgemental of it, and think of
scrapping it, then realise how important it is to get it all out, out in the
open, the good and the bad and the mediocre, regardless, and stop myself from
trying to explain away, disclaim or apologise for it and just let it be what it
is. I think of the art that I make and who it is for and I feel proud. Because
it’s for me. And it’s for everyone. The twoness.

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