Her head is gently bent down
as she reads through
the last edition of stories
It’s read off a tablet
tied to her hand
by some weave
Sometimes little mechanical butterflies
arrive at her hand,
settle for a moment,
held up by their
metal-like structures
She looks at them the stern way
a dog owner looks at their dog
as the dog lets out its uninhabited side
for a minute
with a mixture of discipline
and fascination
Sometimes they stay for a moment,
flutter their emerald coloured wings,
eyes open, eyes close,
they mimic looking,
like looking at the world
and then closing your eyes again,
thinking it will look different
next time your eyes open
At 21.30
I crush a pinch of poppy seeds
and sprinkle them over
a cup of warm water
If I feel festive
I add a teaspoon of honey
By 22 I’m asleep,
to let my subconscious take pleasure
in four of the most productive hours of the day
these four hours could be described
with the scenery of the road sweepers
that clean up the remnants
after the closing hours of an amusement park
During these hours I’m elsewhere,
gliding through landscapes
while the frequent hum of machines
take possession of my muscles
For the remaining 4 hours of my sleep
I enter a lighter state,
I glide into a more apprehensive mode
this is where I’m able to see myself
levitating from my body
A coy moment, a moment of play,
as I ease back to my awake life
There is departure and return,
beginnings and ends
and in between there are two separate lives
In my sleep,
I feel like I dream things into infinity
When I’m awake
I learn to systematize and structure,
I study and write
I tune into her thoughts,
and we explore these things together
We exist side by side as this happens,
and our hearts melt into one,
heartbeat at the time
my even heart pace,
deep asleep, calms her
But recently I’ve become aware of something different
as I’ve transitioned into our shared fabric
It’s a shift in tone,
her voice carries a sub-narrative
that I haven’t been informed of
It’s so subtle, and at first I was just convinced
it had to do with me
Was I too cold to participate?
The more I’d started to spend time with her,
the more I’d come to understand
that the zones she traveled through were mnemonic
it was a technology to store memories,
and to access them again
Sometimes I would walk next to her
for a long time
until she’d become aware of my presence
that would give me the benefit of observing her
After she’d welcomed me in,
this was more difficult
as we became one
She writes portraits
Or rather
she has found someone
who writes them for her
She considers herself a compiler of assets
Her collaborator could be
compared to an archivist
Someone who analyses content
It was no easy task to find someone
suitable
for the extent of her documentation
Sometimes she asks herself,
why recompose something so compostable
as the memory of someone?
When you miss someone,
what is it, you miss about them?
An image, a picture?
Where in your presence do they reside
when you forget about them?
The way they look at you when they ask;
should I get you a coffee?
Their voice on the other line,
breaking up through a weak connection,
telling you they are on their way,
and the way they smell
when they come pick you up from your work
Waiting outside,
the way they look
at the people passing by
and the passers by
gaze on them
How they speak
to someone over the counter
You lock eyes,
for the first time
How did they feel the first time you touched?
The way they get dressed,
asking for your opinion,
what color suits them the best?
The way they undress
How they fold their clothes
after they’ve been washed
Open the fridge, open a window,
ask for a lighter, gaze at something odd,
in the periphery of your shared frame
Is it the way they touch you
when they try to reach you,
reach through you,
that stays
when everything else has departed?
It’s been cold
for what feels like
four entire seasons
All the cycles I used to know
have now been replaced
by an idle continuation
Like when you accidentally bite into
a too large chunk of bok choy
and become aware
of the limiting space
within the architecture of your mouth
As you refurnish
and chew through it
the texture slowly dissolves,
and each bite dims the different flavor
and texture between the leafy blades
and the bulbous bottoms
It’s easy to forget
how something used to feel
in its animated form
when it's vitality is shredded
into dull permanence
She
who calls herself
the technologist
found me
in a time
where I’d started to reflect
on the chaos
that had prevailed in my life
up until the cold settled
I became her collaborator
to a project
of which scale I had little
understanding of
Who knew
turbulence could take root
in this frosty soil?
At 14:22
I make myself tea
from some of the leaves
I’ve managed to keep dry
between the pages of a book
I wrap a blanket
around my legs
and I sit down
in my ergonomically friendly chair
to write
Little did I know
that turning the shape of my torso
into the letter “S''
would have such an impact
At the present moment
I’m a firm believer
of keeping a position
where your head is straight,
your eyes are focused,
and your jaw is relaxed
You know
whenever my jaw is clenched
I’m reminded
I’m trying too hard,
including being too forceful
with these routines
That can really make me feel
like an extra
in my own life
Sometimes I just feel
secondary to the plot
That I’m the kind of person
who resides in the peripheries
of any bystander’s
attention span
Actors,
they’re not there
to merely mimic
natural expression
and plausible scenarios
they act to create tension,
to tie a thin rope down your throat,
and gently pull up your intestines
one by one to lay them out
on display for you
But recently
I’ve come to learn
that I am necessary
to a greater plot
At 14:30
I start my writing session,
just like a pianist
who dexterously spends hours
warming up her fingers
through repeating scales
and memorizing the work
of other composers,
computing apprehension to detail
I’ve learned that
14.30 is the exact time
when I’m well able
to veer into my own work
In my writings
I like to revisit places
and situations
In the past year
these places have become more
tantalizing
They’ve been coated
with a pungent flavor
hard to really place my finger on
I know
that the voice
speaking to me
is leading me through
imaginary landscapes
for a purpose
that is not mine
The memories aren’t mine
but I lend her stories
from my life
There is not much conversation
between us,
it’s an intuitive act
and therefore it’s crucial
that I start at the exact same hour
every day,
one that I’ve come to know
as a playful and light hour
I’m unsure whether her place
really exists on this earth,
but it feels very familiar
She feels familiar
It feels too easy to say
that I feel like we know each other
“from a past life”
but I say it anyway
I find comfort
in documenting her version
of a life
One day she tells me;
<3 - 2023-12-29 13:36:28 - <3<333333
adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:37 -
- 2022-10-06 00:56:37 -
adolphus50@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:35 -
Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:33 -
Developer - 2022-10-06 00:56:25 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:09 -
- 2022-10-06 00:56:08 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:06 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:56:05 -
shannon_boyer@moneysquad.org - 2022-10-06 00:56:03 -
joan14 - 2022-10-06 00:55:57 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -
- 2022-10-06 00:51:14 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:13 -
Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:12 -
118 Yundt Burg - 2022-10-06 00:51:11 -
Suite 574 - 2022-10-06 00:51:03 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:45 -
- 2022-10-06 00:50:44 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:43 -
nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:42 -
nico.franecki@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:40 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:38 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:21 -
- 2022-10-06 00:50:19 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:17 -
baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:15 -
baylee_harris@bdcimail.com - 2022-10-06 00:50:13 -
lonnie46 - 2022-10-06 00:50:08 -
E - 2022-04-11 00:22:06 - so beautiful
- 2022-04-11 00:21:49 -
- 2022-04-11 00:20:38 -
*_* - 2022-03-31 12:01:05 - I love it!!