Texas by Claudio Gaudio

Author:Claudio Gaudio
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Texas, politics, diplomat, death, execution, hegemony, American, philosophy
Publisher: Quattro Books
Published: 2012-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

21

Hakim organizes our departure, in the distance a woman rummages after a sandstorm. She is sifting through sand, mining the contours for a piece of clothing or a note. Her spine is cast, shaped to recover her son’s body. How many times can the same day begin again. There was a battle here, Hakim explains, from the air one could see people scatter like ants, only faster. On the ground nobody knew where anybody was, and then somebody brought in a bulldozer. Perhaps tomorrow there will be birth and no death, ashes at dawn and a summer rain, a paste in the back of the throat slowly eating the esophagus. The streets are filled with children who are not happy to be alive. They are waiting to march as one to the end of time. The sky is drawn in a yellow fog, the day is over and this is the end of time.

I remember so little of the Big Apple, the dull-eyed full-bellied fairy tale of his and hers everything, the beginning of a truly cosmopolitan epoch for budding aesthetes in black. In the eleventh century a physicist and philosopher named Ibn al-Haytham invented the camera in the port city of Basra. At the start of this millennium Texas destroyed all his books, cultural differences, explained a young man who studied philosophy at the university. Of the soldier from Tennessee who shot him with a tank he knew nothing. When I grew tired of Manhattan I’d visit Toronto. The people there have never been to Basra but Toronto is close to New York and that’s good enough for that little town. There, in the gallery district, they will admire your tiny stunt.

I wanted to be nice, what to wear to the evening meal, the dog and I united in my humanity, but I had not learned to speak as I should. I have only this flimflam and if I am granted reprieve I will fly back to prepare the empire’s collapse. I am not a spiritual man, that’s why they won’t let me live in a small town, a house, a yard and whatever fits in a shopping cart. In the spring I would stop and talk to Blanche in the parking lot. Her voice and mine agreeing on the war, better there than here, we’d say, and when will they fix the potholes. The killing has been relentless since Moses brought down the wrong word. I’m looking for a sky that will not crush us all. I will do my best to ignore my dream of Connecticut – silence like flesh like water, bodies everywhere.

Under no circumstance is the President symbolic. He is. That is, he exists in his unleashing. Thinking does not elevate him, or anyone. In Italy I kidnapped a suspect and sent him to Egypt to be tortured. The Italians objected and indicted thirteen Texas operatives. We secured the oil. Last night nothing happened. In Honduras I lived in a CIA post behind a Washington veto.

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