THIS WORK RESULTED FROM MY VISIT OF THE “LEE BUL“ (2018) EXHIBITION AT THE HAYWARD GALLERY, AT THE SOUTHBANK CENTRE IN LONDON. IT HAS BEEN A WHILE SINCE AN ARTIST HAD NOT MOVED ME SO DEEPLY THROUGH his LINES AND TEXTURES. I SUPPOSE THE POEM SPEAKS FOR ITSELF.
We have made ourselves aliens, facing the metallic void.
Attractive disease, technological suspension of femininities, masculinities transcending pearls of cyborg stones.
Lights are still on, where have our reflections gone?
Mislead my cocoon, as white as delights, it adopted black as forever knight.
Admire us, stuck on this wall of recycled hopes.
Undefined arms and legs shaping hands.
We disturbed, we disgust.
The young blood versus minds shrunken.
Oh please, please, dismantle the web we are stuck in!
It devours sighs of life, cries intact.
No pity. No mercy.
Remember those angels, whose wings dyed black, struggled in the name of our own sake.
Believe no tongue, drying waters delivered by gods undone.
Oh please, please, allow me to destroy this entangled paganism, impatient for its rope to inflame.
We have made ourselves aliens again, when did our face ever mean disdain?