Warm and cold

This is familiar.

Week scrawled on the footpath. What week?

What? Weak.

Walk forward through space and backwards through time; straight lines are curved in the minds eye.

Wrote the title before I started writing the piece, I’ve got ideas in my head about how things should be and I can’t seperate these narratives from ‘the real me’.

Sitting in therapy.

The light starts to act weird when I dissociate, I’m not sure if it’s a sickness or a symptom or a split in the matrix but I fucking hate it. It gives me a headache. And I can’t concentrate.

This feels familiar but you’re not quite sure why.

Keep switching between first and second person because I never know who’s doing the talking and who’s doing the listening and whether there’s any difference to begin with.

Whatever you do, don’t call them “feelings” anymore, they’re just impressions, you can arrange them arbitrarily it won’t really make a difference in the end. In the end. How do you want this to end?

Not sure how I want this to end. Your face starts to shift. I forget what it looks like as soon as I walk out of the door.

And I’m conscious of the fact that I only know myself from momentary glimpses into broken mirrors and I close my eyes and can’t picture anything at all. Forget where I was going before.

You keep asking me questions about what life was like before but I can’t answer because there was no Before Me. This is all there’s been.

This is familiar.

You’re asking me to walk out that door but you don’t understand: This Is Familiar.

By em

a sometimes poet, sometimes painter, always philosopher

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: