Empire of the Senseless. Кэти Акер

don’t want to kill anyone because I don’t feel anger.’ I felt scared.

      ‘Look.’ The terrorist said to me with anger so deep that it couldn’t be expressed, ‘Knowing much information and not feeling anything doesn’t get you anywhere.’ He pointed his small bone at me. ‘The answer to your question is that democracy doesn’t get you anywhere.’

      The cunt was dead. Afterwards I went down into the tube to wait for her. I had been a travelling man, but now it looked to me like I was to stop travelling. Besides, the tubes didn’t go anywhere. No government sinks money into dead tubes. I stood; I cried: I waited. Nothing. I cried; I cried. I would do anything to have her touch me again even though she was partially human and I hated my own wanting.

      I looked for her burial place down there. I looked for the burial place of death. I looked for her whom I wanted. Because I wanted her, she was my demon. Dead and demonic.

      Even though I knew she was dead – particles of soil and pieces of garbage and Thames water and whatever else humans are, that is become – I cried for her. I knew she was shit, but I cried because I would do anything to get her back!

      (‘Oh sis,’ I cried in silent words which are tears, tears in the fabrics of reality, ‘I will become you: I will become as unreal as you.’)

      Pieces of chopped-up snake tail. Using my tail as bait. Fuck me so I can hate you. Children are born by being shovelled out of wolves’ bodies, but who does the shovelling? Are all wolves, therefore, females; are all females, therefore, as vicious as wolves? Tell me, my heart, what reality is.

      When I got home, which was like every other home, my love was waiting for me. She wasn’t dead, yet. She looked like a piece of red and dead meat. It was St Valentine’s Day.

      She wasn’t dead. ‘I’m on your meat line now,’ I told her.

      ‘You’re what I make you,’ Abhor said.

      Raze