Bukaka spat here

A: Bukaka is a relentless, tasteless, walking revolution, she spits and swallows, is weak and indestructible. Her philosophy does not quote Foucault and other dead white male jerks: it is barboodas, klikusha, pfush. She has no footnotes. Blood, spit and cum boil where she walks. Would make an excellent weekly comic. I know you are not Raymond Pettibon: he never did anything that exciting.

A&B: No, Bukaka is not really a comic book with a savage and sexy heroine but rather the story of a mad and oppressed migrant who tries to find radical political methodologies and ways of living. It is more a metaphoric portrait of a current left activist than a spitting machine. It is a story of personal and ideological disasters, a story of a naïve but brave soul who can’t obey to a world of masters and slaves. As well it is a metaphor for the danger of discourses and how these discourses exist in bodies. Besides, this book is about the impossibility of any ‘literature’, any aesthetics now.