This desk here bolted to the ground is for you. It is bolted so that you may not move it. you may not re-create that space with chaotic configurations that unsettle the teacher's gaze, the teacher's memory of where you belong. so you vandalize, you etch, you draw on the immovable objects with moving messages. you traffic in Gaza, via Jamaica, and know not of its originary pain, but now you own it, you live it. you mark your place in your immovable space,
though you hardly mark in your books, turned face down empty, left in your immovable space... And it is that empty book that keeps you more immovable, and yet you vandalize, you etch you draw;
it is your work, submitted, assessed, ranked as invalid. it is you crying very movable tears and resistances in your very immovable space...

Categories: News

Published July 14, 2014