“sensing the hate”
the airwaves suggest me either to hate or at the very least to not care
& when i sense there are some that want to toy with my primitive fear of the other
i wonder who controls the airwaves:
is it the billionaires?
is it the uppered castes?
what if it's just some of them?
is it the uppered classes?
what if it's the multi-millionaires?
is it the elites?
what if it's the sum of all of them?
why do some want to benefit from my hate or apathy?
elites outsource their hate.
by transferring their fear to the hindu supremacist sangh the uppered-caste ruling elite
of the indian subcontinent outsource hate.
to see through communalism is to sense fascist casteism & to sense
the conniving minoritarian elites is to see through their pathetic majoritarian façade.
on-air & off-air sanghis carry out their social canvassing.
in a pitch-dark corner of my cosmic insomniac mind
the primordial fear of the other when harnessed to become the fear of oneself
bursts into an universe of prose.
i lose my self to lose my fear.
i transfer my self to a stray dog.
the stray dog chases away a feral cat.
the feral cat chases after a house rat.
the house rat gets caught cut up in a trap that i'd set up.
mother buries my blood-spattered sorry-ass rat-self in the backyard
to super-feed a dying tree
but by now i'm an ant climbing the dying tree
which my small son squeezes with his tiny big toe
& then in a puddle i become a jouissant unicellular organism that by giving zero fucks reproduces forever asexually.
you can't see the passenger pigeons anywhere anymore but you see fascists everywhere.
the sangh's off-air social canvasser screams as he flees:
thanks very thank fuck thank fuck thank
fuck you very much for giving no fucks whatsoever,
because i bark a bit & bite a lot sensing hate choosing not to love the hate.
when this culture suggests me, subliminally or otherwise, to hate & discriminate
i must create a counter-culture which
loves & cares because it's not self-love, nor is it self-hate, but care of the other is self-care.
i lose my self to lose my hate.
i transfer my self to a stray no-god.
i wake up & smell a 4c universe.
with nothing else to hate i'm an universe that hates itself
& i shan't i shan't i shan't
so something bites my hate out & it aches like hell for a bit.
but is this how or is this how or so a lovely universe begins:
not with a faint mutter
but a very big bang.
nowhere does the kill switch exist & everywhere fascism does, yet here we're
doomed to navigate between false positives & false negatives.
to sense the hate is to smell the fear & to smell the hate of elites is to sense
the fear of their foot soldiers.
the stray no-god barks but does it bite? i tell the creepy social canvasser that i fear
that he hates himself as much as he hates the other,
that i hate nothing else but his or anyone else's hate with all my love
& that i fear very much that the selfishly selfless barking stray no-god does indeed bite
the hate with all its heart & mind, with all its love & care.
0oo0
Ahimaz Ponrosa
has been published recently with RIC Journal, Minor Literature[s], Marlskarx, BEST BUDS! Collective, Glass, Elephants Never, Burning House Press, Big Echo: Critical SF, Paint Bucket, Speculative 66, formercactus, Dream Pop Press and MoonPark Review. He lives in the Union of India.
Twitter: @ahimaaz