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Meesa gonna kill you!

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Sunday, January 25, 2015

If I were An Artist


The sexual act, successfully performed, was rebellion. Desire was thoughtcrime. - 1984, George Orwell

If I were an artist my politics would be desire, because intimacy and interiority are the last frontiers of the impossible romance with revolution in our here and now.

I’d run a live webcam feed wanking off to the archival video of L.K.Y's separation speech. When he cries on cam, aggrieved by Tungku Abdul Rahman's eviction of Singapore, I'll come.

I’d sculpt Raffles naked, smooth and pristine like Michelangelo's David, but give him a bigger penis, decolonial aesthetics.

I’d do anthropological fieldwork to confirm that Sang Nila Utama was circumcised, if he had multiple wives as befits a king, and did they lie around naked in a harem in tiger skins. Then I'll make a Haram Harem diorama based on my findings.

I’d play Sun Ho's gospel pop album backwards, record it, press it on limited edition vinyl and market it as death metal. I'll donate all the proceeds to the National Kidney Foundation after I personally check and audit that there are no more gold taps in there.

I’d kit myself out in full dominatrix gear-black leather corset, garters, wristlets, choker, whip-and saunter into Lawrence Khong‘s church singing off-key into a wireless mic GOOD GIRLS GO TO HEAVEN BUT BAD GIRLS GO EVERYWHERE. My armpits will exhibit luxuriant dark hair, which I’d have grown out for three months especially for the pastor with the shaved pits.

I’d pull an Annabel Chong: not with 251 men, but 252 women.

Fiction Writer, Author of "Ministry of Moral Panic"

(From: Singapore Art Week Supplement)
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