As our forces advanced to reclaim the city, a dazzling patch of green sat at its heart. Had the suffocating high rises been temporarily eclipsed by the remnants of the smoke? Or perhaps they had been levelled by the aerial bombardment, restoring the city to its Medieval origins. The green park, the former common lands choked off by private capital, now unshackled so it and we, would be free to breathe freely once again. But as we converged on the city centre, we saw that the green was pulsing. A host of iridescent green blowflies colonising the city’s charred corpses.
“ – the dangerous words, the padlocked words, the words that do not belong to the dictionary, for if they were written there, written out and not maintained by ellipses, they would utter too fast the suffocating misery of a solitude …” Jean Genet Introduction to “Soledad Brother – The Prison Letters of George Jackson”
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