From Iceland — Nýhil Poetry in the Grapevine:

Nýhil Poetry in the Grapevine:

Published August 26, 2006

A fragment from La Dolce fucking Vita
So, right after a successful suicide attack on your office, in your safe absence, you will feel very free. It will be a magnificent and glorious feeling, but that feeling, on its own, only lasts a while, a very short while, indeed, a while that will be on the verge of a moment, after which you will hardly realise a while has lasted and gone at all and after which you will nonetheless have to shake your head, and take action to secure your lasting freedom. For that purpose you have two options. Either you can pretend that you actually were in your office at the time the incident took place and thus leave the world entirely, starting anew in another continent. This will, of course, limit your actions a bit, a lot, even, what with the internet and everything; as you are, in all likelihood, too lazy, too decent and/or too disconnected from the most advanced criminal and/or subversive underground to forge new ID, you will have to suffice with laying low in the public arena, for decades, or until you, for some reason or another, might desire to actually return to your first life, your life as you now know it, at great cost, emotional and otherwise.
(Don’t mind about me, I love you but it will be all right.)
Either you do that or you have the patience to collect all the sympathy and benefits offered you from others, from your neighbours, friends and family, your commune, your country, your foreign allies, and then make use of that sympathy and those benefits, to start anew, with the extreme advantage of a budget and a passport. Those two things do make life easier, in as far as despair is not the issue.
If you despair to the point of losing your soul there is nothing I can do for you, but life is probably easier and more enjoyable without a soul anyway so there should be nothing to regret.
If you don’t mind me saying so, I’ll recommend you go to Iceland. It is miraculously easy to start bank accounts there, and the locals are known to be quite promiscuous.
The text was written in English, for one on one performances in small spaces, cosy or claustrophobic.

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