In the beginning, there was
what was Heard. I said this already, somewhere,
but you clearly weren’t listening. Bloody swine. I told you
pay attention, or risk being
never understood.
Risk being turned not into a pillar of flaming salt,
but of wood.
The kind that we also set fire to,
no matter how staunch, and tawny, and lion-hearted, and true.
After all, if you’re made of earth, and the sky and the soars and the dearth
you will never find the strength and spacetime to create something truly new
from the old. Our Zeitgeist, our
Spirit of the Fucking Mess
will always find a way to hover just out of sight
over your truth.
Genetic ancestry precludes any easy Genesis,
or creation story, or synthesis
of your real origins. Don’t you dare find out, or write about
– Dutch Melaka, and how close it was to transforming itself into Latin America.
– the things we have hidden under the Sahara Desert, and, of course, Antarctica.
– the real story of the planet Venus, which you so stupidly and accurately call Blangkang, and its own deep time hysteria.
– the legends, and myths, that inspired what you know today as Hang Nadim, and Bukit Merah.
And every last one of these bullet points.
Each of them passes through our image harmlessly, a revolving door of light
and so much shadow and darkness, so much stretching and lawlessness.
So many dreams, turned into liquified, cauterized
thoughtlessness.
Thankfully if there’s one thing about your species
(because we think we are different from you, we think we are
Many)
it’s that left to your own devices,
you actually don’t even bother to distinguish ocean from sea.
Jungle from forest.
Kristang from Christian.
Empty, lossless Nightmare,
from living, breathing Dream.