From one of my favorite reads so far:
And so Eve ate from the Tree and knew that she was a naked child of divergent universes. She took the fruit to Adam and said unto him: There are things you do not understand, but I do. And Adam was angry and snatched the fruit from Eve and devoured it, and from beyond the cosmic background radiation, God sighed, for all physical processes are reversible in theory – but not in practice. Man and Woman were expelled from the Garden, and a flaming sword was placed through the Gate of Eden as a reminder that the universe would now contract and someday perish in a conflagration of entropy, only to increase in density, burst, and expand again, causing further high-velocity redistributions of serpents, fruit, men, women, helium-3, lithium-7, deuterium, and helium-4.
- Catherynne Valente, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Space/Time”
Been wrecking my mind to write a piece I’ve been only seeing fragments of in between duties and sleep. Spent the entire day sloughing through a string of Hannibal episodes. Love it so far.
I think my problem now is that I don’t have a problem.
No one ever dreams
of dying. From this side
everything is small:
dots of white dipping
between shades of loneliness,
wayward supernovas, coiling
inside themselves; sleepstate gods sipping
hot coffee from a cup of souls, electromagnetic
syringes plotting skeletons,
coordinates of a constellation seconds close
to being born; nameless
animals, granted eyes
of prophets, praying for prey
in a wilderness without
rocks and soil. No mud caking
your heels, no weeds, grime, or continents-
a landscape barren
of everything built to soften
all forms of impact.
I’m back, bitches.
Faced with irregular hours,
Dying people on all fours,
Migrating pains, double doors,
Boils and sores, all on a single floor-
- The question asked over and over.
- What not to say while someone is busy dying.
- Pain and its scale of ten.
- The moment I world taught me helplessness: 3 AM, running to the emergency room, an hour prior to the patient being wheeled in; ten hours prior to another patient dying; 3 hours before X and Y and Z would baselessly blame me for being human, not having enough limbs to see, secure the safety of X other patients in the ward congested, infested; indecision an ampule we forcefully inject on anyone but ourselves.
- The titles of books I have read to realize that no explanation will suffice for someone’s passing, permanent or otherwise.
- Patience. How it is the parent, spouse, child, or sibling by the bed, wiping a cold rag on someone’s burning skin.
- The weight and sleep lost running between wards, stitching sutures to close skulls and spines and that gaping hole in your heart- what it signifies and how it means so little in the span of all things we are meant to lose.
- Selfishness and its many faces. The bolus of potassium you so wanted to infuse instead of loosening the plug from the socket, one day at a time: slow as the solution meant to save her.
- The average amount of time it takes for someone to accept the loss of someone they love, calculated in dose per kilogram.
- All the unnecessary steps we undertake to convince ourselves we’ve done everything we can.
Long-ass (unpoetic) life update under the cut.
Dearly discarded, not so departed can of iced tea procured at price much to extravagant for her age and absence of income but it makes her feel better and what won’t she give to feel better?
Skeleton charm dangling from a village of others (ice cream, turtle, bottlecap, teacup, ring, Chinese cat) affixed to a corner of her mobile phone, reminiscent of a childhood spent seeing things in black and white, rewatching stop motion films; a rag doll jumping from atop a tower, prepared to reassemble, stitch up a torn body from cobblestoned depths all for the sake of love.
Camera that borders between categories of hand me down versus indefinitely borrowed versus But I need something for documentation as if saying such a thing repeatedly would make it true, would make her actually want to keep those memories despite the scratch on the device’s screen, despite the smile shot midway, the man who looks at the machine but not her, the click indicating the end.
Gloves tossed to the trash bin bearing infectious seed of patient previously interviewed, diagnosed with the desire to love infinitely, harboring germs alongside othersuch pains of human interaction; No need to identify the organism, said her superior, Just treat him and tell him to stop.
Blah blah blah blee blee making the most of free time.