On post releasing crash

Burning through the chokehold of stifled freedoms. The epigenetic smell of charred flesh, the sound of neck bones. The inheritance of absolutes, deadweight in my gut. Nature recalcitrated, culture asphyxiated. I come in through the cracks, my purpose ciphered, like trying to hold on to the fog. How could there be an answer to the questions that don’t want to be asked? There is the tenderness of bruises inside the flush of my fever. What following the rules is meant to prevent. But there is no such game for me, I do not know how to play. Buried in the sand under the sea, to be resurrected by the waters. The wish of fallen eye lashes. Like the wish of fallen angels. Nothing plain to see, nothing evident to grasp. Liquid eyes and frozen hands. No more form than fervor.

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7 thoughts on “On post releasing crash

  1. I can’t tell if this is an exercise in letting stuff out stream of conscious style, or if you are dealing with more frustration about your art. Either way, I learned a word 🙂

    That word being epigenetic…see, you really do learn something every day.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Stream of consciousness from overwhelming feelings… It’s a need for an outlet for sure but it’s also a need for protection, as if maybe transparency can act as a talisman. And if it sounds like I’m not actually really saying anything concrete, it’s because I’m trying to describe feelings that are even less concrete, or rational, or tangible. And you know, my need for this, and the fears that provoke it, don’t come from having people like you in my corner, who I trust see me as an artist. It comes from a both paranoid and prudent imagined perspective of myself from the outside, from those who don’t genuinely understand what I do or where I’m coming from. I don’t totally understand why, but it’s crucial for me to let these invented people know how I’m feeling, so that they know I am a person, not a toy, not a target, not a tease, but a real fully human person. Oh yeah and epigenetic, such an important concept to understand where my fears are coming from, as I exist genetically in the lineage of all the men and women who have preceded me…

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  2. “The inheritance of absolutes”… how interesting. When a life is spent reaching for absolutes there is, indeed, a heavy price to pay. And, as Robert mentions, epigenetic is quite a word.

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    1. Well, not to be a stickler for details, but that’s exactly what I feel burdened with: I am consciously trying not to reach for absolutes, but still I have to deal with the ones I have inherited, precisely through my epigenetics… Hence my efforts at poetic alleviation : )

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  3. I doubt if the need, or compulsion, to aspire towards absolutes is genetic. I suspect it is learned. And much of what is learned reinforces the bars of the psychic cage. And, as an artist, you sit outside the cage of civilisation .

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