tick-tack tick-tack
I’ve put on my killer panties and the explosive Prada-Meinhof bra
tick-tack tick-tack
a tragicomic touch to my historical role
tick-tack tick-tack
I am a woman-bomb
I make cars explode
I make the tires melt
I make the windows shatter
I make the pavement cracks
and sewer's lids fly off
I’m a mechanical wonder
made according to a tried recipe:
eight kilos of plastic explosive
two kilos of iron nails
a meter of twin-coloured wire
a battery
detonator
and a switch
made cheap and simple
and still functioning, walking, ticking
with great manoeuvring ability:
I approach the target easily
I turn on by myself
I leave no evidence
I cause the enemy morale to drop
I cause substantial material damage
mincing breaking scalping cutting
I’m Multipractic!
genius patent of a genius inventor
I’m an alarm clock
I make circles in the air
left hand ‡ minute-hand
right hand - seconds-hand
tick-tack tick-tack tick-tack
my time is final
when I ring
BOOM
...
Saint Mona Lisa rises into the clouds
a celestial blue veil fluttering around her
she folds her hands and innocently blinks toward the sun rays
the sun-chariot takes her up
(deux ex machina, right?)
she’s flying
really flying!
without wings
without a head
the angels come to meet her
little flags flapping on their backs
O, angels, where is heaven?
Which direction I should take?
The angels say:

"We are the members of a worker’s union. We are decent and conscious citizens of heaven: we care about the future, we are concerned with ecology, we sort our trash, use recycled materials, practice macrobiotics, try not to pollute the environment with our humble existence. We are hard workers from nine to five, we don’t demand a rise for working overtime. On the weekends we do sports and go to the movies. We don’t drink, we don’t smoke, we don’t gamble, and we don’t do drugs. We learned to be humble and meek: ask nothing and get nothing. But now we’ve had enough: enough of discipline, of small wages and of living in a ghetto! We too want to be a part of the global village! We want the reconstruction of government! We want the rebalance of budget! We’ve fed up with the regressive totalitarian regime! Down with spies and the bureaucrats of old ideology! They should pay! Off with the heads of former dignitaries! Down with lackeys and running-dogs! Forward into changes! We must modernise production, we must have genetically modified vegetables! We want democracy! We want freedom of the press! Separate the Church from the State, separate the State from Television! Down with centralism! We want elections, we ask for Lower and Upper House, we want ministers, deputy ministers and the prime minister who rides bike! We want truth, justice and equality! We want a transparent budget! We want representation!
DOWN WITH ROYALIST MONOTEISM!
DOWN WITH ROYALIST MONOTEISM!
DOWN! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!"

The angels crash straight into her sun-chariot
she loses control of the wheel
Saint Mona Lisa is falling
Saint Mona Lisa kamikazeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Splattered on the pavement
the flags are gently falling on her scattered remains
softly like snowflakes
like rose petals
like autumn leaves
like confetti
like...
like...
she closes her eyes
it doesn’t hurt at all
she feels normal
she’d just like to finish this sentence
like....
like...
but her brain...
but her brain....
her brain simply.... somehow... DOESN’T WORK?!
...
...
no exit
no exit
we are ON THE AIR

No exit. The media are ready. The satellites will broadcast her into space and then down to the television screens. Before the dust settles the images of the explosion will have circled the world. Horror, death and rubble all mixed up into porridge. Nurses, the police, journalists, paramedics, survivors. The government strains to concoct a plausible enemy. In the smoke, there is a BIG QUESTION MARK.

?

The number of victims? The number of people missing? The number of people injured?
Light? Heavy? Critical?
Damage? Political damage? Diplomatic relations?
Emergency elections? Who’s to blame? Who’ll take the fault?
The government? Alliances? Secret services? Terrorists?
Who called whom a pig?
Who called whom a motherfucker?
Who killed whose family?
Who blew up whose house?
Leg?
Head?
Brain?
Who started this?
Who remembers the beginning?

In 1968, when the bombs went off in the Kaufhaus Schneider and Kaufnoh supermarkets, the voice of Gudrun Ensslin screamed into the phone at a German news agency: "This is a political act of revenge!".
The psychiatrist R. J. Lifton, a Harvard Medical School Professor, claims: " It can be perceived as a very idealistic act. They believe there's a higher purpose, that in some way they are bringing about a purification, a perfection. They are destroying the world to save it."
When on June 1, 2001, the twenty-two year old Saeed Hotary blew himself up in the Delphin disco in Tel Aviv killing twenty and injuring a hundred, his father said: "I’m happy and proud because of what my son did... He became a hero. Tell me, what more can a father wish for?"
The Scottish terrorism expert R. Gunararatna says: "You hear people say that these are all desperate people, or poor people whose families are in need of money. This is nonsense."
In the spring of 2001, a priest says: "These are heroic operations, and the martyrs who perform them have not joined the action from inability or despair, but led by a fulfilling desire to spread terror and fear among the enemy."
Before he blew up in the autumn of 1994, Hisham Hamed wrote:" Dear family and friends, I’m writing with tears in my eyes and sadness in my heart. I want to say that I’m leaving and ask your forgiveness..."
The 1971 "Urban Guerrilla Manifesto" attributed to Ulrike Meinhof states:"... better be careful not to get involved in something from which there is no going back."