Skip to main content

autopilot

in an old kafka parable
there's a tale about the rooms inside the mind
the things in the rooms, lie unordered
unchecked, unregistered
while the rooms outside the mind
visible in the light of clear day
books, clothes, souvenirs from forgotten events
and name tags

announcing a person before their speech
their work before their face
their name before their grief

i used to be a person too
and had objects in my mind:

Thoughts took their trains
on regular paths, stopped
at stations known
Devices of parables
and metaphors, were plugged in, blinking
Books full of people and their stories
filled up the shelves
Many languages, like robes
hung by the door, and lay folded, dialects,
neatly into closets
And in the safe
some fears, under lock and key
And some keys, neatly hung
to take away to work.

at this time, someone else pilots
this room.

i can hear them fumble around the objects
that i made
feigning to be me
disusing, and casting about, the
things i had carefully laid, wanting
to continue to be
as me.

i can hear them speak
through my instrument
words of worthlessness, and disrespect
stabbing at all magic i've ever felt
with their bare claws

i hear them drawing blood
from the beauty that i have felt
i can do nothing, right now

my body remembers when it was not
on this autopilot.

Popular posts from this blog

angry

my grandmother used to spot in us a hereditary anger the chest learning to well up blood learning to leap and breath learning to crawl foreheads burning with heat of little children the attempt of anger to become disgusting raging energy that will occupy every living stream. nobody wants to hold an angry person rage drunk, getting bigger and bigger until other people are invisible like ants and you can dissolve them in your hot blood and things around you break and shatter at this point she would hold. a violent hand shaking her away Ya I remember my grandmother used to spot it in us as children already And hold our hand "until you get over your rage I will not let go of your hand"  hold VERY TIGHTLY "I will not leave your hand until you learn how you should calm down" i would fail despite that gesture  to understand what was happening and i could not receive love at that time because i have so much anger But the act she is doing is still that of HOLDING

लाल वस्तू

महाराजबागेतल्या गुंजेच्या झाडाखाली आईबरोबर बसून घालवलेल्या संध्याकाळी गुंजेचा पाला खाताना गुंजा वेचून, गोळा करून, घरी आणून सजवताना तशाच लाल गुंजांसारखे मखमली किडे पाळताना, त्यांना पावसाळ्यात पकडताना त्यांचा पाला गोळा करताना त्यांना लाजून गुर्फटताना बघताना, आईला दाखवताना मला थोडेच माहिति होते की हे अनुभव, आणि ह्या आठवणी कधी अशृ होतील आणि लाल शर्ट घालून त्या पावसाळ्याची आज तहान भागवावी लागेल

transitive

 i used to think the transitivity of verbs was like romance i (a subject) take you, or you take me (as an object) defined already through transitivity. i take you (there) or i take (missing) (missing) or i play (the piano) then i thought transitivity of verbs was like valence missing electrons in individual shells,  filled up by an incomprehensible spdf rhyme-scheme then i thought transitivity of verbs was illusory i present (you) with (thing) i present (you) to (infinity) i shower (you) with (love) i pointed (it) at (you) and that i could say i sleep you to dreams or otherwhere illusory. or the sevan kaarak classes i could fit any construction in a new logic i play (you) to (infinity) through (trees) in order (to sleep).   we can just use language however we please really and things that aren't understood now can still feel like something. a new action-class is always just around the next turn from use