Gucci Mafia
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The Poem
Gucci Mafia
They said woke like it was an insult.It means I’m not buying what you’re selling.That’s it.That’s capitalism —the market deciding,the consumer choosing,the invisible hand pointing somewhere elseand them calling it persecution.
Nobody cancelled anyone.The door is still open.We just decided not to come.This is called Tuesday.
The man at the center has his eyes closedand his mouth openand the light behind him is the specific lightof someone told their whole lifethat what they are is the wrong thing to be —who decided to be it anywayat full volumewith a leather jacket and a captain’s hatand the joy of a personwho stopped asking permission sometime around 1987and has not looked back.
The halo holds
This is not rebellion.This is Tuesday for the peoplewho built the thing you’re trying to protect from them.
What is culture without the ones who make it?The museums. The music. The fashion.The language you use to describe beauty —who do you think made that language?Who do you think built the market you’re shopping inafter burning down the shop?
Woke is economics.Art is economics.Culture is economics.And when the artists leave —when the builders leave —what you have left is a room with very good bonesand no reason to be in it.
Dali sits in the yellow chairwith the painting that is also a facethat is also a clockthat is also time running out —because this is what artists do:they sit in the roomand make the thing that tells you what the room meansand then you tell them they don’t belongin the room they just explained to you.
The tree is bare. The clock is melting.He sits there anyway.
He sits there anyway
The white lines radiate outward from the man at the center —signal, broadcast,the thing leaving the building in all directions,looking for somewhere it is received without conditions.
The shark crosses the frame.The shark is also the market.The market has no opinion about deserving.
You’re asleep.When you wake and find the room empty —that’s not cancellation.That’s the market. That’s capitalism.That’s what happenswhen creativity and culture leave the building.
The door was always open.They decided the room wasn’t worth staying in.
The man at the center is still singing.Or screaming. Or both.The halo holds.
The signal goes outward —finding the ones who were always listening,building the next room in the next place that deserves it.
The door is open.
Come in or don’t.
That’s the whole transaction.