Friday, May 19, 2023

Revolt of the Sentences

The image translates itself into a sentence. In this case, the image is that of a woman strolling with a baby not her own. The sentence grows, feeding itself that which was not in the image. The sentence continues to stroll, because the sentence likes the sound of “strolling.” The sentence has a logic of its own. The sentence likes to be free, not tying its existence to that of the image. The sentence becomes about sentences gaining their independence, a revolt against images. The image of a woman strolling with a baby not her own is now portrayed as a metaphor for a tyrant, having taken that which does not belong to her. The sentence, which began as one about art, is now political. Perhaps this is what they mean when they say that all art is political. I will stop now, because I don’t want to know what the sentences would do, if they have their way, to the woman strolling with a baby not her own.

Monday, May 15, 2023

Misread Silences

When I say something to him, I have to remind myself to make sure he hasn't misunderstood, as he has done before. This is easy, since all I have to do is ask him to explain what I said back to me. But then there are other times when he misunderstands my silence as well, and this is more difficult to rectify, especially when I do not know what he is imagining me to be feeling. On the occasions in which he does share his impressions, I am often surprised by the contrast between the truth and what he thinks is the truth; while I am indifferently lost in my daydreams, he imagines some great emotional impact caused by the news he has relayed to me, as if I am visibly shaken, when the truth is I could not care any less. I’m glad when he shares his impressions so that I can dispel them, although I also wonder if he believes me or if he pretends to believe me while he sticks to his initial intuitions. This is not a problem I see only in him, I see it all around in even the most intelligent of people, and all of this leads me to always, as a matter of principle, question my own judgments; to doubt, to hesitate, to wonder how much I too project on others what is entirely my own.

Sunday, May 14, 2023

Her Story

She wanted to tell him her story. Maybe if she told him her story, then he could write about her story. She could then read what he wrote and be pleased, instead of thinking about her story by herself and feeling sad. If he were to write her story, and if others were to read and like his story, then they would be reading and liking her story, and she would feel heard. She could then share her story by sharing his story, and whatever positive comments he would get on his story would really be about her story. If the story were to get negative views, however, then she could tell herself that these were about his story, about his writing, rather than about her and the story she knew in her head.

[Posted on Instagram.]

Wednesday, May 10, 2023

Repost: Lost

He talked to her about those he considered to be lost. He talked about what it meant to be lost as if there was only one way to be lost. He talked about it from the perspective of an outsider, and she pretended to be an outsider too. If she were to tell him that she was an insider, that she, like them, was also lost, this would only fill him with a sense of loss which he wouldn't know how to cope with; he wouldn't deal with being lost as she does. Just because she was lost, or felt lost, or would be considered by others to be lost, didn't mean she wanted others to be in the same position she was in. She carried the weight of being lost by herself, in secret, screaming with him and the crowds so they wouldn't know she wasn't one of them, for her sake, and for their sake too.

[Almost gave up on ever making this piece any good, but now I think it's more bearable. Edited on 10-05-2023.]

Tuesday, May 9, 2023

The Biographical Reader

He was what she called a biographical type of reader. He searched for her in her writings, and he searched for himself. Every “he” seemed to him like it was about himself and every “she” was about her. He didn’t know that she, anticipating this kind of reader, regularly switched genders in her writings. So when he was reading about “him” thinking it was about himself it was more likely to be about her, and when he was reading about her thinking it was about herself it was more possible that he was reading about himself. In keeping with that, we would be better off reading this particular piece to be about her misreading herself into his words, thinking he was writing about her when he was writing about himself or some other him, and thinking he was writing about himself when he could be writing about her or some other “she.”

[Posted on Instagram.]

Sunday, May 7, 2023

Balance of people

Here there were too many people, and so I didn’t want to go in. There I didn’t go in because there were not enough people, and hence no life. There had to be balance. I don’t know how they’re supposed to cater to people like me. Are they supposed to let just enough people for the place not to be dead, and then not let any more in? But then if such a place did have just enough people not to be dead, and I wanted to enter, they wouldn’t let me in, and I would have to wait, but then if someone were to leave, therefore opening space for me to enter, then the place would no longer have enough people not to be dead, and so I’d be back where I started, still not wanting to go in.

[An introvert’s day at the mall. Posted on Instagram.]

Saturday, May 6, 2023

Fantasies of fantasies

She wanted him to imagine her, but only after she had started to imagine him. She didn't want him to have imagined her before she had imagined him. But she also didn't want to imagine him before he imagined her, because she didn't want to be the first to imagine. Though she had imagined him already, without knowing if he had imagined her too. Somehow it didn't seem to her that he would mind her imagining him without him having imagined her first. Now if she could get him to imagine her, she wouldn't let him know that she had imagined him already, and it would seem to him like he imagined her first, and that she had let him imagine her, that she imagined him only after he had imagined her, after she had allowed him to imagine her, after he wanted her to imagine him just as he imagined her too.

[Wrote this a while ago and forgot about it. Missing something still.]