overcoming nausea (an ode to jean-paul)
i am alone.
i am entirely alone. i rely on no one for nothing and if you were to ask me, in this moment, if i am okay, i would open my mouth. and what would i be surprised to hear if it was anything but an outpouring of white noise. static from another dimension, channeling itself through me.
i am a vessel.
i am entirely a vessel. i am simply the transmission of ideas my mind pulls from the air as antennae. no thought is my own. i am in flux, all is derived from the elements. all is an abstraction, a derivative. all is beautiful, so consummatingly beautiful.
i am beautiful.
i am entirely beautiful. i have ten fingers for reaching. i have two pupils that dilate in the light, and strong legs that carry me away. i have a brain that can out beat my legs in carrying me away. i have a brain that out beats even my own heart.
i am a heart.
i am entirely a heart. i beat increasingly less with each ephemeral breath. here i know nothing. i cannot surrender myself. i am inhibited and in actuality i do not believe in surrender but the opposite. a fade from black to grey or from white.
i am grey.
i am entirely grey. i do not think in spectral terms. i am a colorless entity. i am an entity that is colorless and therefore i think about you in terms you cannot understand. explanation would be superfluous in this world of heather. explanation would be superfluous in this world defined solely through meaningless explanation.
i am meaningless.
i am entirely meaningless. i am infused with so much meaning that i have been reverted back to primordia. the lord has basted too much into me. too much reliance, too much belief. i am supersaturated, bloated with thoughts. i am bloated with the sheer prospect of bloating itself. too much salt, they tell me.
erin mulvehill // 2009
