Amalgam of heart and mind

"Who am I?" is the most vain and insipid question in the world

Like you, I am an amalgam and nothing else; the palimpsest aggregate of all of us and nothing else.

I, like you, have no choice of anything else, because there is no choice.

My brain is a catalogue of press cuttings passed through the blender of scratched vinyl grooves, of fleeting radio moments, of bodies glimpsed in a moonbeam.

There is no such thing as personhood in the eyes of the world because the only criterion that governs the world's imbecility in apprehending the other is: Is this 'other' caught or not? Is it male or female? Is he of the submissive race or is he not?

Which of us will submit?

I'm made up of silly, endearing characters like you like in the theatre or on TV. I am not real. Like you, I am a collage of fantasies of improbable outcomes and impossible everyday lives.

We are happy when the stars die. At least the gods don't fare any better than we do. That's always something to add to the dough of our gloriously mediocre lives. Amalgam of political formations, amalgam of ethnic minorities, amalgam of dentists filling in hollow teeth; in contrast to the times, I am in favour of amalgam, of genres, of species, of our most monstrous ideas fused with our most virtue-soaked precepts.

There is a system. Nobody knows when it will end.

A system where everything is mixed together but nothing is mixed. A system that equates reproduction with women, disability with childhood, weakness with homosexuality. A system that we beg art and the arts to reproduce as much as possible through comfortable narratives, so much so that we love the gender hierarchy.

So that creation resembles what it has always been, so that nothing is changed by us, so that transmission continues, so that conformity is overcome, so that inertia takes root.

See the page of SCRAPThe performance that inspired this article