#jdawinslow

[jdawinslow]

PDF copy of KUNST.EE with an article about Kirill Tulin I wrote is downloadable here (in English and Estonian)

[jdawinslow]

I hate capitalism, 2016

[meversusmysubconscious]

Seventy Four

The hyena is pet of a woman I loved. I gave it to her as a cub. By the time the cub grew up we no longer loved each other. She married a man I disapprove of. He is wealthy and keeps the hyena chained up in the atrium of his extensive house. The hyena wears a muzzle. It is unclear to me whether this is due to a previously undiscovered aggressive aspect in the hyena’s character or whether it is simply to reinforce the impression the unpleasant man wants to give of himself. My hyena has become a status symbol. I don’t really know why it is the hyena I am considering. It is clear that what I should be focused on is the three men (one the husband, the other my mentor, the third unknown) who are busy fighting a lion in the centre of the atrium. Currently the men are using matching, highly polished scimitars in this fight. They all have guns hanging from their waist belts. As I said, this man is very wealthy. My hyena is clearly distressed at the inevitable slow slaughter of its fellow quadruped. I try and entice him towards me. Between his grunts he notices my enticements. I stroke his head and carefully remove his muzzle. Ensuring that the three men are wholly occupied I then begin to slowly release the hyena from his chain. The hyena laughs once this is complete. The husband looks over. The hyena makes as if to leave. The husband advances. He stares at me. His scimitar passes down the side of my head. There is an ear on the floor. I look at it. I feel very weak. I attempt to pick up the ear. There is blood over the white leather of his expensive chair. I know this now because I am lying on the floor, looking at the chair. He bends over me, then begins to hack at one of my legs. I make eye contact with my hyena. The hyena bites the husband, I hear the sound of a shinbone crunching. I smile. The husband grabs the hyena and pins it down using his whole body. The hyena’s head is roughly level with mine. The gun pushes the hyena down further. Each bullet makes his small body quake. He collapses completely, all resistance gone. The husband collapses further. The gun of my mentor pushes him down further. I watch each bullet enter the same point in his spinal cord. I do not make eye contact.

[meversusmysubconscious]

Seventy Two

I am at the festival, although I do not want to be. There is a close up of five ugly men. I’m standing with my cohort by the water. There is not much we can do. At some point there will be a confrontation.

When the man with the rifle arrives we are not supposed to resist. When the man with the rifle arrives I throw him into the water. When the man with the rifle arrives I grab him and trip him as my father suggested. He stumbles towards the water. He pushes me so that I fall on my back. He heads towards my cohort. I grab the strap of his his rifle and yank him into the canal. He pulls me into the canal. He steps out of the water. I pull him back into the water with me. To stop him I will have to hit him repeatedly. I will have to bash his head against the small concrete lip of the canal until he stops. I do not wish to do this. He pushes me under the water. I pretend to pass out. He drags me onto the shore and starts kicking me. He is mostly kicking me in the ribs. “I will be fine” I think “I will be fine”. He hits me in the head with the butt of his rifle. This doesn’t hurt as much as I suspect. He sits down on my back. I judge by the way the muscles in his arse move that he is now pointing the rifle at my former comrades. “Any of you other fuckers want to try it?” says he. None of the fuckers do. “Any of you other fuckers want to try it?” says he, accompanying himself with a variety of taps and swipes on the fleshy drum kit he now owns. Once his compatriot appears he stands up. I remain where I am. The grass around my mouth is mercifully clean. I can taste canal. When the man’s feet appear I grab them. I drag him into the water. He has a hold of one of my compatriots. I pull his rifle off his shoulder. It lands in the grass. My enemy resurfaces. He is holding a pair of secateurs underneath the ear of the person who is not my enemy. Someone is pointing a rifle at both of them.

I run. I head through the suburbs that surround the festival. I run along the motorway, heading towards the coast. I head onto the long distance path. Ahead of me are two female joggers. They are running slowly, so that they can discuss their gentle lifestyle. I wait until there is a downhill stretch before overtaking them. I hope my bloodied face is not noticed, over discussions of begonias and the latest flood. I head to the coast. I head to the coast.

[jdawinslow]

[jdawinslow]

[jdawinslow]

Come along!

[jdawinslow]