I kill systems. I kill systems. I kill systems.
Who am I?
I inhabit a position that is counter to most cherished and worshipped beliefs. I am an affront to the status quo. I follow no doctrine, I am chaos as balm.
Who am I?
I am the holy witness.
I am fate's child.
I have been shaped by death, poverty, mystery and misery. I am wound as a weapon.
I cannot fit in. I do not wish to belong. I am not of this world.
I am who?
I am corrosive. I burn and render meaning down to its essence. I am the inevitability of a broken bottle, laying smiling hidden beneath the sand.
I seek truth like a missile.
I am a danger to myself. I destroy the ground I walk upon so I might meet the burning heart of this world.
I am truth's greatest ally.
I will hold you, place my body in front of yours if it means the miracle you hold within has a moment more to manifest.
I will not give up, for I have nothing but the moment we hold between us. I greedily seek my end, so I might meet the secrets on the other side of forever.
I have no idea who I am, nor do I wish to know.
For as long as I can recall there has been a punk foundation to my practice as a magician and artist.
I recall one instance in particular, I am sitting in the office of the artistic director at the Finborough Theatre, I am listening to him telling me the many ways in which my script falls outside the confines of what is deemed correct, fashionable and appropriate, he tells that I must rework the role of the female doctor. To make her dialogue sound more appropriate for someone considered to be a doctor.
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