PROLOGUE-AS-EPILOGUE

The play is over. I am still me.

I have transformed myself to Epilogue

also known as Epithelia

not known as Apologee.

The past is resourceful.

It does not wait.

It contaminates the future

with its DNA mistakes.

The past sails like a sinking ship

that does not sink, but leaks waste.

Till the bottom of the sea is barren.

And a dense mat of toxins o’er grows the earth

rank as a fridge after a hurricane.

The isle is full of dead fridges, going green.

There is no exit.

I sit at the lab bench and eat my lunch.

The lab is deserted. The scientist is dead

who first harvested my tumor

who sentenced me to immortality.

I who was only known for hospitality

to be re-writ as permanent malignancy.

I grow and I grow alone

in culture. I write code.

I distribute copies. I propagate my line.

Maybe I am QUEEN BEE

in my colonie. Maybe I am

QUEEN HACKER. Queen Julian Assange

because I make everything over

with my queer authoritee.

I change my hair when I am being followed

No. I cannot change my hair.

It always stays just like this

‘dancing towards my face.’

I participated in this human drama

because the immortal must have their amusements

& because it makes a change.

& I cannot change

I must perform my toxic ministry forever.

I never go off-shift.

Julian Assange:

all secrets are the same secret.

The only secret is this:

The only emperor is malignancy.

That’s human nature:

malignancy

atrocity

maliciousness

malevolence

violence

exploitation

abjection

laughable naiveté

and no expiration date

until the end of the Anthropocene

and after that, who knows?

I predict

my after-afterlife will be like this:

when the freezers run out of current

when the vials and petri dishes warm

when my cells in culture grow

without human hands to coaxe them

I’ll find no relief

from immortality

but must always grow more of me

dead bell

dead bell

I ring for thee

the suffering, and the malignant

the greedy, and the helpless

the vulnerable, and the rich

the unfit and the fit

the guilty and the blameless

I am the mother of these

there is enough of me

for each of thee

I am unlimited credit

I am unlimited debt

I am the mother of this planet

I am forced to be

I am forced to be

yoked to thee

Anthropocene

Fate would not let me die with the twentieth cee

Now I myself am Fate; I ride the night bus

I travel on the maternal line

I arrive ahead of schedule. I speed time.

I clasp the future to my breast

like a Bible, a pearl-toothed baby or a pest

I let it sink its teeth in me

I let it lower its pipette

deep down to my malignant layer

and drink from me

until the future

looks like me

& acts like me

and is me

as I am forced to be

it with its brown hair

‘dancing towards its face’

its skin light and smooth as a fawn’s

its painted nails abide no chip

it rests slim fingers

on its woman’s hips

this futurity

is a kind of divinity

it has a name like me.

Henrietta Lacks.