shapes of buried sounds

“When it’s your turn to live through a war, you’ll see, you don’t have time to feel anything.” —Colette Marin Catherine

Zenon Zubyrtowicz

It’s all random chaotic vigilance these days.
Day number: “unknown”. Secret selves will be revealed
in the times to come. They know desperation
influences choices. Which illusions may end up real?

II.
This “new normal” hangs like a loose shirt,
an odor, a swallow. We are promised a brighter future.

III.
Philosophers and preachers predictions,
claims unproven, betray their nostalgia.
Doubts to the contrary raise suspicions,
an emotion of imagination and subjectivity.

IIII.
Uncertain and curious how permanent this now
will be is one way to recognize the game.
Loss, grief, time are the same measurement,
which requires comparison in some form.

IIIII.
The rich, and their need for luxuries, buy ready made.
Some beauty unimaginable, a pang. Sharp vanishing
click bait. Possession was an emanation: source.

a cult of one

It is necessary to permit error because information is not simply making the correct responses.
—Silvan Tomkins, from Shame and Its Sisters: A Silvan Tomkins Reader; “What Are Affects?”

put some respek on my names, February 2019, San Francisco, CA

What wildness still remains to be explored
and why haven’t I moved in that direction?
The horizon to the south cracks light.

It rained fish in Texarkana, Texas—
during the last days of December
and no one is afraid.

Imagine being actively denied
of embodied experiences.
That sense of knowing.

2014, Oakland, CA

A clause (particular and separate).

“Peach blossom has a beautiful sensual pink, far from vulgar, most rare and private.”
—D.H. Lawrence, from Sketches of Etruscan Places; “Flowery Tuscany”

June 2020, Oakland, CA

What is positive about fragmentation?

||

The rest of the trees stand naked, unashamed, claiming a brighter future.

March 2012, Portland, OR

|||

When is it ok to stop remembering?

IIII

Crisis as a series, predictable, and, if you believe, a trick.

2012, Seattle, WA

Should I accept the end is near? Or deny the possibility in the swaying shadows?

like a rush

A list, after all, is an incantation.
—Lia Purpura, from the essay “Sugar Eggs: A Reverie”

September 8, 2021, 11:05am PT, Oakland, CA

I almost paid attention every day this just past year. There might not be an instant memory to pull from but I remember:

  • new pages filled: creating a full, whole life
  • [absence]
  • days moving with the sun
  • nothing urgent getting done anytime soon
  • a chain of days: learning

23 February, Tuesday, 2021 — we reached that unimaginable 500,000 deaths yesterday

By April, languishing was declared 2021’s dominant emotion. The experts were specific—languishing, a residual and continuously active tense.

But we are extraordinary now, more so than the before times. We have an understanding, a swallow of temporary obedience, having squeezed through another dimension. In the same way Cliff Swallows, federally protected migratory songbirds, continue to build their nests under overvalued condo awnings built on their well-known migration paths, we can claim we too are still living.

What’s next will be found in the ordinary, beyond the cleaved repetition.