I have the task of recording life.
Scribbling while living. Jotting. Transcribing. Taking in everything I can…so much gets lost in translation. So many details dribble from my lips. So many messages drip from my chin. Split between participating and observing, I sometimes get lost…
Some experiences elude me and I’m left asking, “What just happened?” My senses: overwhelmed. My creative process: abandoned. I scramble to gather the pieces. Nothing connects. Nothing works. Nothing fits in a linear sequence of thought.
How do I write about gaining consciousness to the sound of Ennio Morricone humming through my speaker? Where do I begin, when the first thing I remember was eating semen off the soles of another man’s feet? How do I describe the familiar flavor which I knew to be my own seed? How do I make sense of his tears falling from his eyes, rolling down my naked thighs?
He was so moved. I was entranced. Neither of us was drunk or high, but sex shifted our consciousness. I could feel his fingers probing deep inside of me. I could feel my throat struggling to swallow all that I have planted. I could feel his lungs rattling, he couldn’t stop crying.
I have the task of editing life.
Segmenting while living. Erasing. Rearranging. Trying to make my reality realistic…so much ends up on The Cutting Room's floor. I validate my truth using lies as a medium. I write fiction to trick people into reading my autobiography. Split between being the author and character, I sometimes get lost.
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| "Bas Fonds" by Errikos Andreou & Al Giga (Featuring Sasha Marini) |
1 comment:
Poetically beautiful. We are our own authors of our life. The things we see and experience just adds another entry into our tell-all stories. At times we become fans of others' stories, often intertwining our stories with theirs to create a collaboration. There are also times where we would like certain things to remain secret, only opening up to those we trust the most. It makes being human all the more interesting and exciting.
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