Synapse. Antjie Krog

Synapse - Antjie Krog


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      1.

      the pants are unbuttoned, the erection thrusts,

      Lady Justice lies on the floor pinned down

      by men who dig around stubbornly in the squalid loam

      of their consciences trying to verbalise

      that she was looking for it, yes she provoked them:

      thus lust pushes justifiably

      through the President’s doublekeeled

      swindlehead. but behind this tableau lies of course

      another: one foot firmly planted on gold, the other

      athwart the land while one hand takes

      the other claws from the unbuttoned fly

      dangle Baron Boerdick, Viscount Saltdick

      and their mate the Duke of Acorndick

      in this tableau the worst has already happened: blood stains

      under the thighs of Lady Justice her eyes glazed

      nobody helps her up – between Lady Justice’s

      silence here on the floor and Lady Justice’s

      blindness lingers more than the injustice of three centuries

      and the recipe works like this:

      2.

      one does not know who one is one

      feels in a constant state of

      restlessness of nervous distress one

      feels forever weighed and found wanting

      one feels too insignificant to be

      worthy the reason for this one does not know

      therefore one feels how even less human

      worth is added to one’s dehumanisation

      after a time one adopts bravado and

      avoidance because wherever one turns

      that White Eye watches that White Eye

      judges that one is so nothing, so nobody’s

      somewhere in one’s deepest trampled self

      only scrapings of one’s hopeless

      hurtlessness and spacious fury move

      unquenchably one thirsts for a purifying deed:

      something bulletclean-freesinging something un-

      touchably cuttingloose something so

      ravishingly violent that the white-jabbering

      Eye can only shit out its fear

      if one beats with an iron pipe until

      blood spatters the roof one will

      call the police oneself: look, I

      have dealt with the Number One Boer myself

      3.

      between Lady Justice and Lady Justice’s historical

      blindness the Men of Great Nations play

      (corrupt of head rapaciously pituitary aflame

      with self-seeking covetous power neuroses: pornographically

      staking claims to everything) to keep what they’ve

      stolen while reminding themselves to steal again

      from those places they’ve sucked dry before

      between Lady Justice and Lady Justice’s silence

      row the Russian kleptocracy, the netherworld of

      the Ukraine the carefree historical virus of German

      corruption and an American president completely at

      ease with his stolen election handcuffing the rest of us

      with monopolies exploitation consumerism

      wars and spy-systems for the day of vengeance

      4.

      the lack of moral imagination

      feathers forth in smug first-world

      delusions: we deserve so much

      because we work so outstandingly

      hard. in the midst of their structural

      violence they set up courts and give

      shocked interviews about the South’s

      sloth, impunity, their Law

      and Disorder, Profit and Plunder

      their Casino Capitalism

      their Bogus Democracies

      their False Labels Fetish

      the Typecasting Politics of Phantom

      States the Bulging Bellied

      Dictators with their

      Queen Elizabeth-cloned

      Fake Dreams men who have never

      even planted a seed in the earth

      race around insolently with heavy weapons

      ray-bans and rotten cocks

      5.

      let’s use the pronoun ‘we’ for a change, become part

      of the world’s negating vocabulary for us because you are also

      us, us with the ethnic testicles and unemployed youth trekking like

      a plague of locusts it’s our representatives who leave behind rusted railway lines

      crumbling roads and the ruined infrastructure of towns yes we vote

      for the ones with the international salaries national syndicates but who can’t

      audit a foyer pot plant correctly or draw up a balance sheet

      6.

      how does one breathe in the midst of all this violence

      killing corruption rape the open and outward

      festering of hate in this country

      the searing and tearing apart of children – in-

      human the poverty the poverty the dehumanisation

      of it the grandmothers with their pensions

      and sparkle of children the phalanxes of youth

      bored and scabrous fed with ancestral

      sacrifices who hold up absurdities as tradition

      how does one live amongst this how does one live

      in honourable balance how do you keep your

      integrity amidst so much daily violation?

      7.

      between Lady Justice and Lady Justice First World

      attention is constantly diverted from

      the true locus of our deformed world:

      Lady Justice has long since stopped focusing on justice

      and turned instead to the law while poverty is not a given

      but the blemish of deliberate un-

      equalising through the systematic deprivation of others

      the law sleeps unwillingly in the beds of

      the poor. all our pants are unbuttoned

      all our erections are visible Lady Justice lies

      with


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