This Little Piggy Went To Market…

Wearing his Ghandi shield, warding off the necrotic waft of the cleaver poised always above.
He knew, in his piggy heart, that the state has a monopoly on violence, but envisioned himself more in the role of midwife to emergent organic order than pinko terrorist threat. Which was a shame, since from the Market’s perspective our juvenile porcine hero amounted only to value as dead-weight, as uncovered meat shaved from the solitary screaming eye under a concrete hijab, fit for feeding to hairless gluebags in surplus period wehrmacht togs. In such bifurcations dreams are unmade, pig-blood is checked out for redness, the sluices of civilization are switched; piggy brains become deterministic, synchronic flows are disallowed on hygiene grounds, your attention becomes a toxic mimic of the love our piglet-mirror thought he served, now braised on a pyre of old orders, laced with the finest pressings of totalitarian agriculture. In the land of sugar mountains, wine lakes, wheat alps and milk seas, the little piggies learned to starve and spew. In the land of imagination the fences grow taller and more razor-like than ever.

Kh
26.10.06



IMAGE: Superschwein from Bayer 'Animal Health Division'