it's been still
martina.raponi • April 27, 2020
over here for a couple of weeks
yet the screaming has continued
and the pandemic poetry has evolved through two new waves of layering
The rest of the processes of this lockdown's coping exercises refuse to peer out into the world, because they belong to the long-term commitment to the worldmaking craft, which involves reading, thinking, writing, thinking, re-writing, reading, thinking, writing..
They communicate - they ansible - with the parallel dimensions which my brain and my soul are inhabiting at the moment, the dimensions in which my body in lockdown co-exists with all my bodies in the multiplicity of possibilities inherent within the short uttering of just two words: what if.
I'm not stuck. I just travel a lot.
In this new phase, the demons are at the table, they feed themselves from the fridge as they wish and the bum a cigarette every once in a while; they steal one or two of my pillows at night, sometimes, but they don't press themselves onto my body so to make my bones hurt and my muscles ache when I open my eyes in the morning.
The clock melted into the slowtime dimension, and the demons are not asking anymore what time it is.
We stay suspended, and we wait.
And we managed to turn the waiting into something else, an exercise of vision.