CONTENTS: Keston Sutherland, 'Against Imperialism: A Prolegomenon'. John Wilkinson, 'September 11th'. Andrea Brady, 'Grief Work in a War Economy' [essay]. Pascal Boulanger, '( 11 September 2001'. Stuart Calton, poem. Eric Suchère, 'N° 48 (septembre 2001), L'achèvement'. Harry Gilonis, 'Three Misreadings of Horatian Odes'. Chris Emery, three poems. Sean Bonney, 'The Management Consultant Has Gone For Lunch'. Chris Goode, text. Jérôme Game, 'this aggression will not stand, man'. Peter Middleton, 'And We Had Those Nightmares Where'. Hubert Lucot, 'Operations'. Marie-Angelique Bueler, 'Bombs and Bangs' [score].
But for now, in the universal highchair of the “double vacuum” (so politely undermultiplied by Amiri Baraka way back in 1977), what do we do? Suck or blow? Is resistance only a day away? To be idiomatic within a vacuum is a shining thing; to be vacuous in a plenary idiom is how we can now do this, it’s a kind of gluttonous fasting, Jerome on a diet of roasted peanuts in manic fast-forward, all chanting desperately and honestly and hatefully against the new season’s injustice, cantors with gobs blue-tacked to the hollering brick wall. Is irony in this way essentially a kind of clausal pile-up. Beckett: “It’s vague, life and death.” It’s a matter of, what? Maybe the body. Is the body now vaguer still? Since September 11th I’ve found that I’m able to come only intermittently, not in the continuous Heraclitean flux of our former estrangement.' Animals sense these things.A lioness whelped. Horses neigh.Ghosts shriek and squeal about the streets on CCTV. Is this a prophecy? Entausserung “as” family planning? Is my orgasm a fluent euphemism for bullet-spray, cut out by pacifist balls?