The story ends, the event continues. After a chase lasting 10 years, the world breathes a sigh of relief: Bin Laden is dead. Justice is done. "Fuck you" - said Monty, a NYC drug dealer in the Spike Lee's movie The 25th Hour, the day after his entrance into prison - he said: "For me Bin Laden could come here and do it again if he has the courage. Fuck Bin Laden". Fuck him and all those like him who threaten our freedom: foreigners, immigrants, gangsters, priests, politicians, and even fuck Jesus Christ: on the cross one day, a weekend in hell, and then hallelujah angels up eternity". Yes: eternity.
Yes, because the difference between history and event seems to be just that: the story has a beginning and an end, but the event (the one with the "E" capitalized) continues, beyond his cause. September 11 - would say the sage - "no longer exists, but insists, into the reality of things." Complaining, send fuck everything and everyone has a way to esprire his resentment, to deny the fact, to focus its rejection into something concrete. But the event is incorporeal. The sage says: "It 's like a vapor on the prairie". You can send fuck the story, things, people, but you can not self-fuck from the Event, from the wound that has opened in our reality and will continue to insist, even when his execuutioner is dead.
What is our event? What else but "the birth of Hip Hop". The encounter with Hip Hop coincides with what we are, we think, we thought, and what'll do, we will, we will choose. We remember that more or less blurry - I was fourteen down to the gallery of the street - and yet the image of that meeting continues to exist, persist in us as a liquid photosensitive member on which impress the frames of our lives. An event that has made us "sensitive" to a certain lifestyle.



