I am torn between writing and getting some rest.
I have not slept in what seems like ages...I am tired. A fatigue that is hard to describe...It comes from an unfamiliar place. Not your ordinary kind of fatigue...
In French they have a better word for it - it is called "usure"...
I don't know how to translate "usure" into English and I can't be bothered to search for an online dictionary either. So "usure" remains "usure" and I know what it means.
Of course, in the back of my mind, there is another subject I have to write about, but am postponing it.
Whenever I postpone something important, it is usually because of two things and not necessarily related. Either am too lazy and that particular thing requires lots of efforts and energy from me. Or because that thing is too close to write about.
So I will write about not writing what I need to write about. I will circumvent the subject and flirt around, knowing fully well that like in any flirtatious situation, the essential is never said, never expressed...
What are these iron rods that block me, as if I am in some prison ? As if I am caged behind steel bars ? Is it fear, avoidance, or just a lid of silence, since silence is more clement than expression, at times.
Silence has this knack of being very kind...blotting out, at least momentarily, the shouts that need to explode, the cries that need to erupt, the screams that will awaken everyone around...Silence butts in and stops them... A garde fou.
A balancing act, a dance, works its way between silence and expression, like someone walking on a tight rope, measuring every step, tethering either way, knowing that on each side is an abyss awaiting...The abyss of silence and the abyss of unbridled expression.
Expression. Ex-pression, De-pression, Op-pression, Re-pression, Su-pression...
I like that pression business. Pression, press, pressure...
Pressure out, pressure in, pressure down, pressure back, pressure...
I am pressed.
Pressed for what - I ask ?
What is pressing you ?
Who is pressing you ?
How are you pressed ?
I am pressed.
Like pressed grapes, squeezed out, squeezed in...
Pressure - the exertion of force upon a surface,
You pressure and you have compressure...like a compressed file, you zip and unzip it...Zip it up. Silence it. Unzip it now...Zip and Zap...
Zap it away, fast...a fast forward.
Obliterate it, zap, zap, zap.
But it lingers...
Zap shouts, zap.
But it lingers...
Silence it then.
But...I'
Shut it,
take that lid
press against it
compress it
turn it off
switch it off
silence it
for now,
until expression moves back in
sneaking itself
and swivels around
the iron rods
through the bars
and the wires,
through the cracks of Silence...
Painting : Iraqi artist. Wissa Zako.
I have not slept in what seems like ages...I am tired. A fatigue that is hard to describe...It comes from an unfamiliar place. Not your ordinary kind of fatigue...
In French they have a better word for it - it is called "usure"...
I don't know how to translate "usure" into English and I can't be bothered to search for an online dictionary either. So "usure" remains "usure" and I know what it means.
Of course, in the back of my mind, there is another subject I have to write about, but am postponing it.
Whenever I postpone something important, it is usually because of two things and not necessarily related. Either am too lazy and that particular thing requires lots of efforts and energy from me. Or because that thing is too close to write about.
So I will write about not writing what I need to write about. I will circumvent the subject and flirt around, knowing fully well that like in any flirtatious situation, the essential is never said, never expressed...
What are these iron rods that block me, as if I am in some prison ? As if I am caged behind steel bars ? Is it fear, avoidance, or just a lid of silence, since silence is more clement than expression, at times.
Silence has this knack of being very kind...blotting out, at least momentarily, the shouts that need to explode, the cries that need to erupt, the screams that will awaken everyone around...Silence butts in and stops them... A garde fou.
A balancing act, a dance, works its way between silence and expression, like someone walking on a tight rope, measuring every step, tethering either way, knowing that on each side is an abyss awaiting...The abyss of silence and the abyss of unbridled expression.
Expression. Ex-pression, De-pression, Op-pression, Re-pression, Su-pression...
I like that pression business. Pression, press, pressure...
Pressure out, pressure in, pressure down, pressure back, pressure...
I am pressed.
Pressed for what - I ask ?
What is pressing you ?
Who is pressing you ?
How are you pressed ?
I am pressed.
Like pressed grapes, squeezed out, squeezed in...
Pressure - the exertion of force upon a surface,
You pressure and you have compressure...like a compressed file, you zip and unzip it...Zip it up. Silence it. Unzip it now...Zip and Zap...
Zap it away, fast...a fast forward.
Obliterate it, zap, zap, zap.
But it lingers...
Zap shouts, zap.
But it lingers...
Silence it then.
But...I'
Shut it,
take that lid
press against it
compress it
turn it off
switch it off
silence it
for now,
until expression moves back in
sneaking itself
and swivels around
the iron rods
through the bars
and the wires,
through the cracks of Silence...
Painting : Iraqi artist. Wissa Zako.
