Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The Way Out

There are many ways to get rid of me. The simplest one, my friend, is to say so.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Falling, crashing.

Having exhausted all my compensatory mechanisms, all I'm left with is the need for indifference, again.
I have always counted on my spectrum of alter ego to show up and take over me during emergencies and on my book of backup masks to choose colors. I've counted on the rain to stomp, stomp, stomp on the pebbles that try to reflect me. And it would always take a while before I'd be me again, but I'd always be me, eventually.
But today I look inside and my alter ego is out of ego, my masks are short of backup reactions and the rain has just chopped off its hair. I find myself syncing with dust and pebbles, and denying the existence of skies. I find myself fading away into the spaces between the versions of me that once were; as if all I am is a side-effect of an underestimated experiment; and you could try a series of placebos and infuse tons of saline into me but I'd still be a dry little pebble.
How did I reduce myself to this?

Monday, April 6, 2015

Chapter 2

You need to bring your heart with you because if scissors go missing from the procedure room, we might have to use our hearts instead. 

And you need to bring a portable black hole to hide the scissors. A gush of blood awaits you, not the metal.

Please, I urge you to feel.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Chapter 1

My heart is like an over-crowded operation theatre. If you flood in, it can accommodate all of you but only at the risk of being infected, only with a complication of pumping a pandemic into all of me.