Ani Sankar

Ani Sankar – every love story is a ghost story part one

a strange journey with and through a landscape that is at once the same and never the same / it is a haunted space because it is a hunted space / the karanga of Hape can barely be heard over the concrete impositions of colonial capitalism / sounds drowned out in favour of sterilisation / if I could visit the old world I would introduce my ancestors to yours / slip through temporal cracks with due responsibility and reckless abandon / unmediated by the border walls of fort greene and that fucking place with the five-ten-fifteen-dollar menu, you know that shit adds up pretty quick / head down pace quickens when I walk past the bar I used to work for three years, I swear to god the lights would flicker when I was doing 1am closing / you left behind a ghost in your image that sits on that railing by the crossing smoking a cigarette like you did on your lunch break / time and space collapse instantly / an infinitesimal pause in the ordinary flow of things / don’t fucking call the cops on people of colour / don’t fucking call the cops on people of colour / the rising tide of monopolised industry infiltrates the branding of the ‘new k rd’ / I used to get nervous walking past my ex’s skate shop on cross street and he wasn’t even my boyfriend back then / love found and never lost / don’t fucking call the cops on people of colour / the new spatial orientation of this street is ugly as fuck and there’s too much distance between everything / the gap between us grows but has the weight of a giant boulder / literally ten people own all these buildings / hunting for your perfect new retail space for your perfect new black silk clothing range that looks like b grade rick owens or your perfect new art gallery for your bourgeois pottery candle cake vape fried cauliflower art collection is an exercise in sociopathy / dip your own toes in garlic butter /that ash sarkar meme from when she says ‘I’m literally a communist’ / a momentously urgent need to tear out the concerete with my bare hands / there was class war yesterday there is class war today and there will be class war tomorrow