Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Satire, Unarmed

Rydym ni fydd yn dawel
Vi kommer inte vara tysta
No anem a estar en silence. Ons sal nie swyg
Ne nuk do të jetë i heshtur. Мы не будем молчать.
מיר וועלן נישט זיין שטיל אנחנו לא נשתוק. Me ei saa vaikida
Mes ne tylėti เราจะไม่เงียบ ebudeme mlčet
Mi ne bo tiho. เราจะไม่เงียบ Vil ikke tie.
ема да бидеме безгласни. Mēs ne klusēt
Nie będziemy milczeć.私たちは沈黙されません
Við munum ekki þegja. εν θα είναι αθόρυβη
אנחנו לא נשתוק Não vamos ficar em silêncio
Nous ne resterons pas silencieux
Нећемо се ћути
ما نمی خواهد سکوت
ما نمی خواهد سکوت
We will not be silent
Non imos ficar en silencio
Ние няма да се мълчи. اننا لن نصمت
No vamos a estar en silencio. Chúng tôi sẽ không im lặng.
Biz sessiz olmayacak. Kami tidak akan diam. Vi vil ikke være tavs.
우리는 침묵하지 않습니다 ħna mhux se tkun siekta.ما نمی خواهد سکوت
Wir werden nicht schweigen. Hatutakuwa kimya. Non saremo in
silenzio. Noi nu va fi tăcut .We zullen niet zwijgen Nem fogunk
hallgatn.Ми не будемо мовчати.Kami ay hindi tahimik. เราจะไม่เงียบ 

War does not determine who is right – only who is left.

~~ Bertrand Russell


Experimenting with words.  Can they together form a mouthless image that yet "speaks". 
Let's call him Art. He looks like a chunky-cheeked alien with a misshapen ear.
"Why am I all in red?" he asks.  "Red is the color of BLOOD.  And why is everything all black around me? Where is the light?"
"I don't know," I tell him.  "Will you pose for me?"
"What's in it for me?" he asks.
"I'll make you multilingual."
"Cool," he says.  "But next time make me more attractive.  You didn't give me a mouth.  I look distorted. Like a robot disassembling."
"To the contrary," I tell him.  "You're perfect."
"How so?"  .
"You're the ghost of the fallen, the forever silenced."
"You are not very good at this," Art reminds me.
"No one can see  the message or read the words--and even if they could, they wouldnt understand the language... So what's the point?" he asks.
Back to the drawing board.  I think about removing the Darkness.  Magnify and shine a light on the words, maybe. 
Oops, Art disappears, his eyes no longer open.  And he's even more misshapen than before!
Art protests at my little Art-as-Protest project, predicting:
"No one will get it."   Friends of Art will roll their eyes:  "Why did you give him only one ear"!!!?.  
You-know-who will shake her head and say: "Do you ever stop?"  
Sometimes.  But then I get reminded again ...

War at 11.  

"Pass the chips, please."

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