WRITING

outside mind


SI EN MENUDOS PEDAZOS DESECHA


A todas las madres del mundo
A la mía

A Virgilio Piñera
Y sus restos sondeando la isla en sus circunstancias



Me deshago,
en pedacitos mutantes
juguetones y descompuestos
lentamente y casi sin darme cuenta
enfilando para no sé dónde
deslumbrada y sin horror
con la frialdad de la no convicción
desprevenida, desprendida.
Me deshilacho,
y los retazos de mi misma
descomulgados y violentos
ya no responden.
Se han liberado a su propia suerte desconfiscados de sus funciones
sueltos y sin vacunar
como queriendo escapar en una danza boba:
La nariz da un brinco, se tropieza con el labio inferior
y loca de hambre se incrusta debajo de una teta
mientras esta cuelga desinflada sobre mi rodilla
-leche manantial de un día-.
Los oidos vueltos hacia la garganta en toques sordos
resbalan entre mis cuerdas vocales
afonías y desconciertos se desparraman.
Y no consigo gritar ni por placer ni por dolor
porque de repente me he quedado con un pedazo de alma
incrustada entre la línea húmeda que separa el lado izquierdo del derecho
a dos pasos de eso otro por ahí abajo que no consigo vislumbrar
convertido en una piedra cómica
esculpida con insistencia.
Entre mis ojos los pensamientos se descarrilan
perezosos pero elocuentes
con dulce retahíla pero insuficientes.
Una mano de diez dedos los atrapa y los retuerce
y ya vuelto bandidos
se escupen a sí mismos, desobedientes.
Tantas idioteces nunca dichas pero exprimidas como pasas de uva.
Sin embargo la lengua se ha perpetuado más allá del ombligo sobre la vulva inerte que
estornuda sin ponerse de acuerdo consigo misma.
El estómago entregado a la gravedad del asunto
cada vez más cerca de la duedécima vértebra
expira su último suspiro
y con su última fecalidad
cae sobre el espacio cóncavo esponjoso llamado un día pelvis.
Al ritmo que el corazón se desliza campante entre los labios vaginales
llevándose consigo todo, lo bueno, lo malo y lo sin nombrar.
Y como si fuera poco
uno de mis pulmones se ha fugado sin dejar rastros de oxígeno
uno solo, el otro desapareció
envuelto en el diafragma como una crepa
y creo que alguien le ha dado una patada o una mordida
pues nunca más lo he vuelto a ver.
Y para completar el cuadro
las piernas ya desprendidas de sus actos
aún sostenutas y en soslayo, sontienen no una conversación
sino un mejunje de un no se qué
arroz frijoles y café salé
manipuladas por dos nalgas aplastadas de internet.
Y así de a poco o a tumbos revoltosos
tropezándose cada parte sobre el resto de sí misma
en un abismo exasperante de carnaval
observo ese estrecho de nube que cruza mi ventana
ahora.
Preparo así mi despedida
y mientras caigo
ya en menudos pedazos desecha
sobre la mano florecida de mi hija,
resucito en mi último rescate.

Ana Kavalis
Berlin, sábado 20 de junio de 2020
En uno de esos días en que pareces no existir y de pronto una luz te salva.

Texto escrito en el contexto del taller online organizado por KarneKunst, Maternar en Cuarentena, Berlin 2020.


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Lilith´s Pomegranate (Berlin, 2011/2020)


I am Lilith
the disobedient
the irreverent
the dissident
the banished
the exiled
the missing one
the paperless and illegalized
the expatriated, the ex-patriarchal and the exterminated
the disintegrated in the search for a liturgy that protects her
the one who, in her escape, never forgot her way
the one who tried once to cross the wall and crossed the sea
exotic and erotic
paradoxical and peripheral
amazonian and shamanic
I am the feathered snake
the green Tara the white Tara the red Tara the black Tara
the unrecognizable tropical storm
the one that twerks cooking its best delicacy
(and if I cannot dance, I do not want to be in your revolution)
I am the bomb; the candle and I burn everything I touch
I am the juicy pomegranate ready to explode
the anti femme fatale because I am only fatal to myself
the one that discovered the orgasm as a pioneer
the nymphomaniac and the monogamous
the frigid and the multi-orgasmic
the bi the homo the hetero and the queer combined in a way that only I know.
the trans, trans-feminist, trans-nationalist and transformative
the violent and the assaulted
bad talk and bad birth
the one that kisses you, hugs you and throws you without a weather forecast
and bites your lips, squeezes your neck, examines you with her tongue and asks you again and again to squeeze her buttocks recovered from oblivion
I am the slut, schlampe, puta, pute
and the prostitute
and the university student
and the university prostitute
and the prostituted universality
the one who said no, and was misunderstood with a yes
the one who has cried tears of blood and drinks them sin ton ni son sin ton ni son
alleine
the one that does millions of things at once believing that in this way she could change the world
the one who gets tired and despairs and continues
the one that works like an ant and the one that never tires of dreaming
the one that does overtime in the factory and the one that manufactures a world in its own way
the one who makes the clothes you wear and does not see the money she produces
the one that often had a rifle in his hand and shot and hit many white roads at the same time
the one that started revolts and stomped on flags and liberated nations
the silenced heroin in an emancipative trance
the one that claims for water and lands and only responds with silence and violence
the activist Santa Gorgiana raising her spear against the neoliberal dragon
the one who does not shut up
the one who lost her way and keeps screaming
the one who questions its identity without knowing if it is questionable or not
which identity?
The artist, and the mother and the goddess
the one who wonders if she is going to have children or not
the one who imagines what it would be like to adopt one
the one who is afraid of being sterile
the sterile
the one that aborted dozens of times, for and against, legally and illegally
the one that finally brought 12 creatures to the world and raised 25
the one who never thought about caesarean and had the misfortune of being Caesar's wife
the one who still wonders if she was manipulated by the doctors
the one with an open belly, immobilized, numb, bloody, laughed out loud when she heard her daughter's divine cry
the one who breastfed not only with milk but with blood and sweat, hallucinated by an unprecedented love
the one that never abandoned her own children, but was abandoned by her children again and again
the one that still looks for them, dispersed and insoluble in the dark smoke of history
I am also Marina, Emelina, Carmen, Ana, Reina, Olga, Luisa, Tamara, Mercy, Sandra, Emelin, Dalina, Olivia, Ibis, Ivonne, María Elena, Lucia, Johanna, América, Camila, Zoé, Juliana, Carolina, Ephia Alex, Vanessa, Noelia, Diana, Giselle…
Marielle
executed
silenced
multiplied
rhizomatize mind
present, absent, and futuristic
I am because we are
I am the one I already was
and still to be born
I am the daughter of all the witches who failed to kill
you thought I was forgotten, lost, extinct
but I reincarnated as I fell from the sky and now, I touch you with my memorial slap
heretical and magnetic
direct and without premonitions
If I come back, it is to be spring
my body was, but is no longer Cuba, it is my body!
This is my flesh, and my blood has a power
Watch out Dear
ich bin nicht Ophelia, Heiner
nor the one that the river did not keep
nor the one in the rope, before I stopped to think
nor the one with the veins cut, my body does not prefer pain
nor the one with the overdose, unless it is for my well-being
nor the one that burns herself (sou a bomba e pego fogo no que eu toco)
I am even less die Frau mit dem Kopf im Gasherd
zwischen meine Lippen habe ich ein Messer mit der Kante nach außen gerichtet
today I stopped killing myself and I didn´t allow anymore being killed by others
Today I go out on the street dressed without roses
Down with the happiness of submission.

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