Mount Mound Refuse

Author Bio: 

Jessika Khazrik has a BA in theater and linguistics. She is a writer, performer, and artist whose work converses with several fields and media. The different facets of her practice rotate around performance as she tries to touch upon remnants of a life and presence through acts of exhumation, infiltration, translation, and reclamation. Since 2014, she has been working under the platform of The Society of False Witnesses, which she founded while investigating a buried trade of toxic waste that was partially dumped three minutes away from where she grew up. Through this project, she looks at the notion of truth in all of science, art and the law and the ways in which they are reinforced on our bodies through the power they hold to attest and remember. In between her undergraduate study, Khazrik did the one year post-graduate program “Home Workspace” at Ashkal Alwan in 2012 – 2013, and is currently pursuing an MS in Art, Culture, and Technology at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). Her work was performed, exhibited and published in different platforms and cities such as Aley, Aix-en-Provence, Beirut, Bern, Boston, Mannheim, Montemor-o-Novo, and New York.

Cite This: 
Jessika Khazrik. "Mount Mound Refuse". Kohl: a Journal for Body and Gender Research Vol. 2 No. 1 (2016): pp. 103-110. (Last accessed on 08 December 2022). Available at: doi:

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I’ve invited a film crew to break into my parents’ house and tear down a wall in the living room.
I only wanted a piece a small piece to
A sample so i
Dug my back
Took a skin took the stone Left the wall, called
a lab.


Sort and lot, come on in, bring It on,
We’ll make furniture out of your ragged
Shoes and clothes, workers expired smirched uniform
Yellow uniform turn into
Blue, fire but do not smell, red
Uniforms turn into black, sell, we’ll
Pay the money if you take what we expel.
The way i looked at her and told
Her i am so many things not so human at all that my hair
Is a scion of vine, jeans, and wind swat, a wall
That when R__O steals my face my glottis
Glides in, thrusts up rocks my neck like a tumbling bell, a herald a wolf steals your face and sings aa a aaa aaaa in your head .
A triangle enters a circle and breeds.
It will not stand still it
Will not stand still. I am looking for
Words that do not function in stones
Extracted, buried and
Turned. Into buildings highways
Fantasies of a city reconstructed
After war, dirt, a forest is
A factory of dreams of halted witnesses
Dead from material for
Money distributed near friends.


From  the  depths  of   this   vast  yet  finite forest I saw us
I, Little Arsonist and R__O in
From  the  depths  of   this   vast  yet  finite forest     whose limits
We Have noted before coming
Here  but  have  in  this  moment  forgotten, the rattling  sound
Of beasts,  of our feet the  soft  thuds and  whispers
Could  be  heard. It
Accelerated, stopped then   relapsed  in  all  directions.  Was
Little  Arsonist  murmuring  or  was  it R__O?  I
Strangely  could  not  discern  between
The  two  voices  i  was  most
Familiar with,  or  perhaps  my  own?  We  were  used
To  being  alone  together,  but  not  in  a
Forest, not in this one.


this is the Arabic title, you could now write poetry. 1حقل في أكوام القمامة


Hurling Calmly Between Dirt
Hamstrings Climbing Barrels’ Debt
hello Come Baby Dance
hello Come Baby Dance

All the chemical formulas we turned into poetry
Hurling Calmly Between Durt

It will not stand still it
Will not stand still. I am looking for
Words that do not function in stones
Extracted, buried and
Turned. Into buildings highways
Fantasies of a city reconstructed
After war, dirt, a forest is
A factory of dreams of halted witnesses
Dead from material for
Money distributed near body and friends.


A thirsty hunter stood beneath a hole
A wolf glanced at him and never passed
Black rendered blue barrel fat
2لم تكن تستمع Little Arsonist
Waste installed on stone

The Lebanese Forces stood beneath a hole
A route of beautiful wolves glanced at them briefly
A صياد said
“we are not a secret”
it 2it tit it
Missing Mountain blared
Black rendered blue barrel fat
Little Arsonist
“Why were wastes installed on stones?”

A forestslept in a hole
Hyenas glanced at us tautly

Little Arsonist
Don’t think we were waiting for
Something else to be filling our words in this forest

Arthritic roads
Dioxins sulking under soil
In concrete
In buildings
My parents’ house
Hurling Calmly Between Dirt
Now we knew that
These militias even feared

Our words remain
As silts of toxicity and song
For instance track #13 was far
From the house which we pretended
To be in
At night while sound
Clinged into our hair
I banged my head so many times
Reeled my mouth loose
We did the same
In crowds and intimacy as you
Rolled and asked me why are
Words set apart by
S pace s
Remember when i fixed your keyboard
3مراراً that
When we would lie awake the next   day
Ournecks remembered
Dance kiss throe
Do it again and
Move to the
Antipodal  side
Now  walk
This  place  could  kill  you
I took hands and plucked the ground

calm carpets citifying corpses casting creeds horrifying having held her coming home hurrily habitually coming home hurrily habitually


From  the  depths  of  this  vast  yet  finite  forest
I will be kept
Under in a place
I have never walked
On still
Revolting against sleep
Until they do not
Excavate me to build
a state of affairs and flares
I stare and

Enter the strata while
I want to fuck this place
Fracking you under your nadir
Aaaaa your legs like stars
Relapsed  in  all  directions
Botanical marvels scatologies
Under infrastructures built
Apartmentheid walls
with wastes i did not know

From  the  depths  of  this  last  yet  finite  forest
I imagined the places you arrive
When you come.
In chemical violence

From  the  depths  of  this  last  yet  finite forest I remember well when
I was born on the
As when someone told me,
“I have a camera”
But I love
You in many
So I want to lock myself
In this room
And a forest
Be with you forever on
Glass, mathematics and paper
Buried in light digital form.

From the depths of this sad yet finite room
My screen abducted our solar complex
Impersonal sloven connections so
Slow they run and turn
Me on at night Little
Arsonist heisted my dangling
Locks in a left hand
She wrapped the curls around her neck
A word you repeat until your tongue
We wished we could look at the same screen and talk to each other.

From the depths of this sad yet finite forest
My breasts flew when
Little Arsonist asked me to
Commit sardonic murder with
4 lips
a n d 15 fingers
I went on my knees
Ate her nails
On a weaponized earth dredged
Up, down, mucky
Architecture, love and intoxication
I spew words ay
Abolish text
Invisible friends.

Hamstrings Climbing Barrels’ Debt
A Film Crew and a Family
Girls, hunters, wastes, wolves, a missing mountain, many forces
Political lingo very global, envyronment versus tourism
Why were wastes – secretly – installed on stones
Pronouns are assigned interchangeably ii iii iii ii

Dead form material for
Money distributed near friends

To you
i <<<333 wonder
Will i be
As cinema toxic
When dead and
Buried in
Or would
I have
Abolished language
With justice and invisible

  • 1. ḥaqlun fī 2akwam el qumamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
  • 2. was not listening
  • 3. so many times
  • 4. make me sway