Our Final Statement: A Collective Poetic Remix of Autonomy and Dissent

This is a poem co-created by the participants of the theory sessions of the Autonomous Practices workshop at the Willem de Kooning Academy. It is a heretic remix of some of the content in the Verso Book of Dissent, a global anthology of revolutionary action. Each of us selected an appealing bit from the book, we compiled those bits in a pad, and I made the final editing. This is an attempt to explore autonomy as an opposition to power structures, also it is an autopoietic piece that contains millions of voices that certainly conspired with us in the conveying of our concerns regarding what it is to be autonomous.


Our Final Statement


It is very close.
Stand up, brothers. Do you want to die lying there?
We now face our deepest winter.
Like the Tiger cub with its sharp claws and its curved stripes growing (strong) within the cage, his strength came to maturity (like wood in grain) while he was in the bondage of his enemies.


ENGLAND WOULD STILL RULE YOU.
I let it out slow and firm, clean and without bumps out of my mouth, loud and clear over a shoulder, into her ear:
Oh, you idiots, women are shy, delicate and foolish in their very natures.
It was in consequence of my speaking out that I met disaster in the first place;
your efforts would be in vain.
ENGLAND WOULD STILL RULE YOU.


I am a homosexual, mum.
Never, mum. I did not trust you, mum.
Love is contraband in Hell,
cause love is a acid
that eats away bars. 
If the men of property will not support us, they must fall.
If the men of property will not support us, they must fall.
If the men of property will not support us, they must fall.


Final Statement.


And I pulled air hard and balled it down into my navel, and let it out slow and firm, clean and without bumps out of my mouth, loud and clear over a shoulder, into her ear:
They must make a philosophical/spiritual leap and become more human human beings.
I am a homosexual, mum.


Work enough in a day to supply you for a full year even without working,
the world will not know liberty until all that is religious, political, is transformed into something simple and human, is made susceptible to criticism and denial.
And you, what lords you are, naturally so bold, courageous, strong, learned—so there you are calling women all these names, even before your lips have touched the nectar from your mother’s golden breast.
It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win.
We must love each other and support each other.
Words that tickle and sound:
WE HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE BUT OUR CHAINS.


There is no reason goodness cannot triumph over evil, so long as the angels are as organized as the mafia.
Violated, dishonored, wading in blood, dripping filth—there stands bourgeois society.
You label women with all sorts of insulting names, calling them utterly feeble, stupid, bold, thoughtless—you beat out the sound of their names in shame.
I’m not against peace, peace is against me.
Stick to making love and babies.
Am I not the impartial judge? Proceed with the funeral!


Man can find meaning in life, short and perilous as it is,
time is very short but we still have time.
If we miss this chance,
the winter will freeze our lives.
The mind is its own place, and in it self
can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n.
Sing louder, in the key of G:
We have nothing to lose but our chains.
We have nothing to lose but our chains.


You have a strong throat, you’ve never been so lucky as not to be king any more.
Arise.
Arise.
Arise.
Arise. Time is at hand.
Just take four or five hundred women who are free from attachments, put bayonets in their hands, then see what a time they’d give you.
At this the old man once more fainted away, and in that state was peacefully buried.
But just because you happen to be strong, does that make it right?
Congregations genuflect,
the currency is not money, it is life.
People Can Cry Much Easier Than They Can Change
Let history be my judge, I refuse to accept any other judgment.

«