Rosa Luxemburg's Strap-on

here is Rosa Luxemburg's strap-on harnessed onto her body as she makes incendiary notes, britches open slightly to accommodate the thrust of ideas. perhaps, she thinks, the revolt should not wait for an equalized working class, for the false ideologies of the bourgeois democracy. but instead, like the strap-on, the proletariat should tack itself onto Marx’s cunt, the most technologically advanced layers attaching themselves to the organic in order to create a revolutionary whole. Rosa's strap-on wiggles slightly at this thought, enumerating her body as an event. communicated is not the agonizing terms of reminiscence, of an aesthetic loss uttered by the banality of its pragmatism, for this is the forging of a revolutionary program refusing to capitulate to the civilizing forces of capitalism. without warning, Rosa's strap-on rises in self-congratulation, becoming vertical in utter contrast to her radical ideas of the horizontal. the irony is not lost, and an unease quickly surfaces. the strap-on suddenly casts about for a rubbing space, looking to relieve an interior tension, looking to strike out into a gaping, wounded world, a world not quite ready for the intimacies of de-reification, for the erection of a pleading love

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