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FOR THOSE WHO ARE ARMED

(It is not) true that (I) write.

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It is true that there is no neutrality in writing – we know that – but we also know that, in order not to “bite our tongues,” we must consider the position from which we enunciate and where we are heading.

I write out of necessity and demand, for there is a desire that operates somewhere we call “inside.” Certainly, there is a desire to become public in the text.

Becoming public implies “instilling” in the other a “false demand”: as if the other demanded this writing, and, as if, through it, one gives something. This economy (between the One and the Other) is a false exchange, and it takes place in a symbolic space that is “pure contradiction.” One always “receives” with what is read and “gives” with what is written “more, or less,” but never the just, the equitable… The Real. This writing is a “false coin,” its circulation; a labyrinth of significations with no way out, and these texts, an institutional scaffold: a prosthesis of what WE LACK IN THE REAL and we intend to enunciate in the symbolic. But behind these texts come whispers that are radical in their causes... for those who listen or read attentively, these whispers will gain their radicality and will free themselves from their silence.

We, the Ngiba, are destructive organisms, and this “writing technology” is certainly a biological weapon. You must know that, like you, we too are armed “to the teeth.” We have the “common” right to take the voice that is missing from us; the words that are owed to us, which by right belong to us, and to summon in them what by right corresponds to us: what we must do well for ourselves, for others; for all.

At the same time, we have the responsibility to see that “something” that does not cease to “remain unspoken” in what is said or told about the experience: that which is in the deafening silence of the words I write for you; those we write together for those who, like us, are also armed.

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Ulises Matamoros Ascención, 2019