1: Productive activity, especially for the sake of economic gain.
2: The body of persons engaged in such activity, especially those working for wages.
I notice my relationship to negation, when in close proximity to those at odds with Otherness. Which is to say the world that I inhabit, although the action of displacement exhibits a sense of form. Momentum is oftimes misinterpreted, itself an act of resistance, as a sign of resignation. This was a misunderstanding typically assigned to the servile demeanor of every slave. Reality is, the plot to overthrow the merchant regimes and plantation aristocracy was never spoken aloud. Prying eyes, prudent ears, forces one to adopt a disguise sewn from defeat and dejection.
Mind, if your contemporaries are in motion, attuned to the music of subjegation, quite naturally, you also must walk in lockstep, until the call is made.
Resistance is a dance old as time.
In the fields we would deliberately break tools, burn crops, misunderstand directions, clever subterfuge that was at once genius but also allowed the master to proclaim the need to further commodify. In their eyes we were in need of management,so that our dreptomaniacal souls could gain passage to heaven. Not much has changed. Government officials and corporate Titans still assume the masses are in need of guidance and work to quell our misgivings with Hollywood entertainment, fast food and simple escapes. We feed the machine which in turn dribbles tiny bits into our open palm.
Our bodies, despite the will to move, in spite of the desire to perfect a seamless transition from Doing to Being, is still chained to a brutal economy. Touted as most advanced, inclusive, a juggernaut built from blood, bone, disingenuous cruelty, unrepentant resolve.
Copper John once relayed to me a story handed down by his Guyanese grandmother. The slaves that did not make the full journey, those who died en route, tossed overboard, their bodies were collected by angels of the deep. Carried to the shores of their should-have-been home to guide the living along the pathways to freedom.
That said I am wrapped in my ancestors loving embrace. They have lent me the strength of their conviction, etched like the marks of maturity on my weary face.
As object this is at once ethereal and the cause of taxation, time management, prone to savagery through written word and implied violence. Subjegation through the suppression of ones past, for the betterment of a disquieting mode of production. The world is deemed a playground ripe for assault, the body a tool used to terraform the Earth in the image of Eurocentric hierarchy.
Work is a requirement for social esteem, basic needs, sustainable wealth that is in actuality a paperweight on the backs of the workers. Poverty, environmental terrorism and State sanctioned psychological warfare keep the worker class in thrall to this oligarchy disguised as Democracy. Marketable dreams, sold like corner store liquor to the have nots since manifest destiny was tattooed on the skin of slaves and the indigenous First of this land.
To free the body-self from profile slavery is to be in opposition of the course. Many of us, regrettably cannot escape the corporate plantation due to fail-safes built into the capitalist model. True to the Matrix Dilemma, we feel the wrong of it within, yet struggle to remove the paperweight as it has settled into a comfortable spot between the shoulder blades. We reach and only scratch at the edges.
Our proximity to free thought, financial independence is negated by the need to survive in a land stolen and an economy drenched in our blood. Even as we formulate ways to ‘get through’, as opposed to ‘just getting by’. The entrepreneur still has to file taxes. The artist must still hock their works through commercial ventures. The writers words must be seen, to be felt. The sex worker must still utilize the Draconian health care industry in order to ensure they are healthy.
To counter this we must continue to scratch the itch until the paperweight falls away. Once seen it can be reverse engineered, reused as a weapon to advance the cause of true freedom. What I’m saying is this…..
We have always stood apart, even when we were trod underfoot. We’ve always moved in shadow as our bodies dwelled in the sun. We stand apart so we can stand firm, together. The walls are crumbling. Each fracture exposes this regime. We have to keep chipping away until the wall falls. Wrapped in the embrace of years long resistance.