Silence
A
minute’s silence
A
three-minute silence
Silent
silent bloody silence
Silence
in the courtyard
Silence
in the street
Silence
at the warport
Silence
at the embasssies
Silence
in the parliaments
Silence
in the offices
Silence
in the factories
Silence
from the journalists
What
the fuck is silence?
Is
it a prayer?
Is
it womb?
Is
it a ticket?
Is
it an art-form?
Is
it an emporer?
I
ask you again
What
the fuck is silence;
And
who has ever heard
The
dead requesting it?
***
I
am confused
I
have been to a meeting
Now
I'm feeling murderous, suicidal
suicidally
murderous
murderously
suicidal
What
do I mean 'I feel'?
What
do I mean 'I'?
Fuck
off with your questions I'm cranky
I'm
sick of myself
and
I'm sick of humanity
I'd
blow the earth up if I could
I'd
dig down to the core of the world and
explode.
What
if the 'I'' could be shattered
What
if the me could be burning daggers in an
instant
flying
in all directions
Where
would I plant the me?
Where
would I set the me off ?
The
thought occurs
that
according to the orthodox view
the
universe is the result of an
explosion
is
that explosion ongoing
Time
space
matter
stretching
bending
colliding
flying
apart
all
created by
all
existing in
the
explosion at the origin
so
ourselves
and
all we do
is
part of the explosion
since
the big bang isn't over
and
things are flying apart
and
if there is a god
as
in a creator
as
even Stephen Hawking
seems
at times to be suggesting
then
she was a bomber
Perhaps
he was a suicide bomber?
this
neurosis is quickening
one
mad thought follows another
what
if
I
mean the formulas do suggest
everything
is possible
everything
is happening
that
in the infinity of universes
nothing
whatsoever is avoidable
and
all is redeemed
so
there is no death
only
every possible action
every
possible combination
shapes
and sizes
arrangements
and re-arrangements
heads
where your feet should be
balls
at the end of your fingers
necks
stretched thin as wires
little
fingers fatter
like
in a hall of mirrors going on forever
Somewhere
else I am my own happy mother
Rosa
Luxembourg is still alive
There
is no Guernica
No-one
has ever heard of the Swastika
Somewhere
else all the smashed eggs are being put
back together again
all
the broken children are being remade
The
drunks have stopped drinking and taken up
yoga
The
boys have stopped crashing their cars
foxes
escape unhurt from their traps
and
the snow is no longer spotted with blood
so
its all good
fun
just experiment
so
what
if
going
by these rules of engagement
I
were to blow myself up
would
that make me a God
What
kind of universe would my explosion make?
***
Dublin
ATGWU
Hall Middle Abbey Street
7.30
pm
Friday
Dec 3rd 2004
Can
I be happy if others suffer?
Can
I be true if the world is a lie?
Can
I be good if I allow evil to rule over
me?
What
is my life worth if life is worth less
than nothing?
What
is my death to the deaths of thousands?
What
is one bull in a stampede?
Is
it only by offering my death
that
I can prove I am alive
Is
it by stopping sensation
I
can prove that I feel
Love
is the proof of the objective existence
of others
***
His
Daddy says
eight
of ten every black people are scumbags
His
Dad says
People
in them countries they can't look after
theirselves
His
Daddy says
Hangin's
too good for them Iraqi cunts
Can
he love his Daddy?
Should
he?
***
Shalom
Doctor Faisal
Shalom
Shalom
Slide
One
boy
nine years old
Has
one arm
One
leg
One
eye
Black
scabs
Blood
black as oil
Thick
stitches
Smashed
genitals
Smashed
genitals
Slide
two
Girl
seven
no
arms
no
legs
shaved
head
scorched
eyebrows
smiling
at the camera
died
a half an hour later
Slide
three
Street
in ruins
crater
pocked
after
cluster bomb
heaps
of concrete
mangled
wire
steaming
limbs
unexploded
ordnance
bright
orange
looks
so innocent
shaped
like a baby's rattle
or
some other kind of toy
Slide
four
In
background
hospital
with
collapsed roof
in
foreground
four
male doctors
Two
of them now dead
one
sniped at
one
exploded
We
knew the American snipers
were
getting bored | 
