i woke up like this

Natures nationalism is the event of birth, that is, i belong to the event of birth, i am from this event, this event is my origin. See my flag as moving with me. Moving with all of the territorial excess of the word ‘territory’ and its allusion to the real; when the word ‘territory’ is contrasted with the word ‘map’. Birth situates me and from that point i move. I move like a flag rippling with the wind, i age too, i weather, i end up on an old womans lap and am sewn into, written over, history and whatever else.

How in any sense could i be truly progressive if i am from the long long tradition of birth? If i celebrate this tradition simply by breathing?

I woke up like this.

The right has inherited my proclivity for roots, stubborn roots, which is really just a poor translation of gravity, the right as a spatio-temporal poem of woe on the weights of gravity. Cult of gravity.  the left my incessant undulations as im taken by the breeze. Left as the euphorics of flight. Voice as it leaves the mouth of its locutor. The left makes poor poets when it loses the common sense of feet, the right when it fails to recognize itself in its exhaled substance.

Both belong to this event. THE event.  The same flag signifies both. They belong to the nation of birth and they find affinity in air.