GIO BRAIDOTTI - A Bio is a description and the first thing you need to know about me is that I'm not into description. I prefer explanation. And I have a theory that these two travelling companions of ours (description and explanation) are incompatible and abrasive partners that inevitably generate a conflict situation. For example, a description of a human requires that the matrix of my being be assigned a sex - one that acquiesces to normative notions of femininity or masculinity. I'm female to description. But perpetually perplexed relative to explanation. I dimly recall training as a scientist. I was also trained in ballet and other forms of dance. These days I prefer martial arts. And I'd like to learn to sail. I guess I'm seeking some kind of training that would leave me better equipped to understand. So I've chosen the path that always leave me dangling at the end of a limb. Where I like to sit and write. Writing. It's a form of expression that doesn't easily acquiesce to the normative needs of description. It's cheap and relatively harmless. Oh, and I like to laugh. Gargantuan roars of laughter that delight and enjoy the material world in which we are all but transient tourists.

The Chimp That Knows What's Best
by Gio Braidotti



The sky looms, bristling with uncommon brutality. Bombs are falling on Iraq. A pounding beat accompanies the mechanised divisions as a spearhead drives towards Baghdad. This is a petroleum-fuelled mobilisation of an arsenal of conventional spite. Raining down on the craddle of Homo sapien sapien civilisation. Twice named 'wise', the zoologist's mandate seems one evocation short and misses its mark. It's just a chimp that knows.
Bombs are falling on the Sumer Valley. Arranging civilian acquiessence. With overwhelming insistence the Coalition depletes the precision of the global-resistence to war. The hawks gather satisfaction around their justifications. The weapons of mass reassurance are finding their targets. Brought to you by American fears as the Pentagon answers the terrorist's refrain to the Jihadist's delight.
Made in America freedom.
Made to order capitalist fantasies of consumer liberty. Security and the New World Order. And the amputation of children. Armless, and sometimes legless, torsos of wide-eyed innocence plea for assistance from anywhere except the USA. Kuwait responds. As the forces push on with prosthetic respect for civilians. There are many stories that need to be appended here. The most staggering of all - like the note the jazz musician doesn't play - is notable for its absence. Requests for assistance denied.
A terrorist seems to have hijacked the broadcast images that only a sadist could call victory. And he does. The regime is decapitated. The craddle vandalised. The next generation traumatised.
Again.