Arcs of light. Bands of photons shooting through the magnetosphere. Sprightly optical emissions cajoling Earth through magic.
Are you in control? From the top of the faucet, it flows down and hits the bottom? Splash! The repetitive sounds of water compressing the air and creating that hubbub. I can hear it creaking through the pipes, sewers, taps and seeping through my walls. How does it flow? Turbulent? Splashing it on my face, I dissolve myself in the diversity of water. I look up and moving my hand across the smooth surface, I feel myself. Untroubled, ordered, uncalloused and cold, I feel myself. People say mirror reflects you truly, but I have found it difficult to believe.
The smell of burnt bread. The mechanical sounds of the coil bringing the bread up. Crisp and crackling. The clutter of plates as I pull up the drawer. Roundness of plates, roundness of of the Earth. My mom used to say that the Earth is round, but I never seem to feel it’s roundness. The constant gyration and the constant struggle of gravity to keep me on Earth. Would I ever float just like this plate feels when put in the sink? I just keep playing it back. These fragments of sound. My feet always make a peculiar noise when I walk around my house. Tip tap, tic tac, thud, thad. The floor reverberates beneath me. The spoons chatter, the fork clicks while I gulp down my pancake from the plate. What about the burnt toast? I just make it to crumble to pieces with my hands. Particles, so minute, they tiptoe through my fingers brushing my skin. A sensation of touch.
A streak of light. A dot circling around another dot. Are those stars? Twinkling, shining faintly.
What are shapes for you? A way to simplify things. A fixed protocol for generalization. For me, it’s either matter or emptiness. Reading that book, I felt that I was going through a sieve. The regularity of holes and the specific order I felt were just another example of shapes for me. Sliding my finger upon the page, I felt matter for a second and the next, it wasn’t. All I could rely on were the minute sensory projections on my fingers. Those ragged pages spoke a different language to me. All my eyes could see were the sudden and quick impulses of matter. Sometimes I put my head in that perforated book and try to smell out the content. I wonder what people mean when they say between the lines. All I have is matter between the lines. Solid matter.
What was that smell? Smoke? Hazy and unclear.
So I went to an art museum. I don’t know anything about art and how to see it, let alone perceive it. I don’t know why people find pieces of sculptures and paintings poetic and heart wrenching. I just find them a mere representation of man’s visual ability. Touching a sculpture, I tried to feel it’s contours. So what is nose for you? A some kind of beautiful division? For me it’s just a steep slope. What are eyes for you? The emotional waves? For me, it’s just a dark place to be. And what are these lips for you? Lascivious perturbations of sound? For me they are just a soundbox. Just then a person collided into throwing me into chaos and delirium. The focus of attention and the grip of my stability were lost in a snap. Rolling on the floor, I could feel my impotence. I could not hang to any point with my vision while my hands fluttered like fish in the air. I was losing control, not for the first time though. Just hold on.
I could see some brightness. I could feel the tension in my eyes. What was it ?
Sitting on that rough wooden bench, listening to music, I was there in control. I was there hoping. Sometimes a flash comes, a bulb lightens up, but mostly it’s too dark here. The world is too dark for me. Voices keep me afloat among this constant struggle. Patches of darkness and flashes come and go, dots and dashes here you go!
karanvankani 