how
/ one / looks
I observe the world through the eyes
of a criminal. Not because I am vegan: not all vegans are criminals. Nor is it
so because I am using a figure of speech. What I mean is that a criminal cannot
have eyes that are not of a criminal nature.
Hence, during the day, I track the
forest mirrored in the knots of busy steps hurrying toward screens to display yet
another endless string of digits that like a waterfall pour down the pages
buzzing with euphoric electrons. I monitor the distant galaxies reflected in
the leisure sleeves, silk legs, and satin collars moving through the digitized
jungle, dashing through ecstatic pathways unaware of the subdued rhizomorhic
maps anchoring my look. I look at the spark glistening from the smiling
constellations.
At night, I see the facades of glass
buildings wrinkling, morphing, transfiguring into grotesquely distorted,
ghastly degenerated masks. Through thick folds carving the relief across that
bewildering facescape of the city sneaks a lick of steam. It reeks of its
gelatinous texture. It is salivating through the crevices appearing from
underneath the paths of steam, the aura of smoke. They pave the roofs, they
fold the trees, they envelope the houses, they leak into the swooshing currents
raging throughout the abandoned avenues. They lather the shop windows in a
creepy conversation with dimlit lampposts. They seep into clouds’ earlobes. It
rains moonoiling.
Short-circuited by the slimy adhesive,
bouncing particles are poised in the midst of their vertiginous kinetic
bacchanalia. It happens amid the orgy of hissing static. I like the sound of
it. It happens in the intersections in interstices. That’s the language i can
understand and speak. and so can u. it’s called the poetics of the remix.
--Kessenem / pleazy.
***
Being vegan, I observe. That’s one of the ways of
learning. I’ve learned many things so far. Yet, I continue to observe. I’ve
been taught that what you see, you need to connect with other stuff you see,
conjure up some kind of explanation about how stuff is related, and then, potentially,
summon some memories and check if those resonate, and then reimagine some
fantasies and dig if they feature positive valences, and then devise the words
to pin it all down, and think what it all means to you. I’ve done that zillions
of times. It kinda works okay. I can understand what some such instances mean
to me. Yet, I never tire of mobilizing the same apparatus every time I observe
something. And it kinda works for me. It works okay. You just do one step at a
time…kinda…but it feels different when you actually do it. Feels almost like
doing all the steps simultaneously, but you, actually, don’t. It’s hard to explain.
Maybe it’s not even possible. Who cares…
Once, I was observing stuff. I saw a rock. It was
standing indifferent to the rhythmic splashing, salt encrusting its rough
surface as the water was gliding down its steep slopes. It was desensitized to
the seaweed smeared across the dark green mucous, plush patches vibrating in its gelatinous ecstasy underneath thin
layers of withdrawing water. It was standing as if it had been the only
appearance in the whole universe. Totally unaware of it. I observed a table. It
didn’t know it had four legs. Whether people were sitting at it or not was
completely irrelevant for its being positioned as it was. It had no sense of
serving the purpose of an accessory in the phenomenon called eating. It was a
sad site.
I observed many such things. They were muted. At one
frozen moment, I was looking at the world populated with stuff that cannot be
related. No past emerged to color the lenses through which these things could
be seen. No fantasy reverberated. I was looking at that utterly devastating
site trying to explain the situation to myself. I felt as if I was standing in
the midst of a bunch of things that to me looked like incarnates of
abandonment, desolation, and vacuity. Space they occupied felt like echoes of
the wind gushing through colossal tubes. Space they occupied looked like a
hooting of the cosmic void reflected in their shadow. I didn’t like it.
I am vegan. Part of who I am is how I look. What I
just described is one of the ways of learning how to look. I learned to look at
those muted things as if they were a product of an imagination of the rock
while it observed the wave totally unaware of the foam it created as it glided down
the sides of the rock. I imagine the table could look at the plates in the way
salad could imagine the wooden surface as a pillow underneath the head of the
chalice as it exudes steam from the concoction bubbling within it. I learned to
explain to myself the look of those muted things the way I would figure out
words to talk about any other site. But not exactly in the same way. It’s hard
to explain how those differ. Perhaps it’s not even possible. Who knows…
: manners
first 4 f*ck sake!
--all hail the language of words as the vocabulary
of discourse imagines it as it converses with the vernacular of parlance, ha!
: lo,
yo!
--yo! no number can mask the magic of the utterance
as sublime as the mellifluous, soothing effect it pours over the tormented ear
of the interlocutor.
: ha!
no mask can conceal the vibrancy of
figures impersonating the world of letters.
--ha! no letter is as big as the world.
: the world is the realm many a letter has
been written about.
--letters, stories, tales…you name it…it’s all
rhizomeorphic to me.
: like
one said, manners first 4 f*ck sake!
: .
***
Being vegan, I observe. I’d been told that the globe
was a place so huge that the word vast was a joke of an attempt to suggest the
immensity of it. I thought it was unimaginable. I never tried to imagine it,
but I took advantage of that abstraction of the fact and sensed my habitat to
be an ever so expanding, versatile
entity. methinks me liketh it.
Observing is one of the ways of learning. Thus, as I
was immersing myself in the cornucopia of experiences of that nature, I learned
that the world had shrunk. I could never detect it with the sense of sight, and
if you cannot see it, some say, it’s not there. I never paid attention to that
caricature of sagacity. But, I’ve been prone to think that in some quirky way
it has. And yet, I could never imagine it.
Imagining is a significant component of learning,
I’ve been told. And it is. I imagine hard. Because I phantasmagorize. Because I
am vegan. I imagine that it is possible that the world has shrunk, and that it
has also been expanded and grew into: (a) a place that defies the notion
of size; (b) an incarnation of that
capricious subversion of categories; (c) paradox of sorts. In addition to my
phantasmagorizing and imagining hard, the reason for such an assumption is that
it’s been tiny and great at the same time, that such synchronicity both
undermines and reconfirms the notion of space, that such a hybrid is the
embodiment of a self-evident phenomenon, that you can hardly either grasp it or
explain it in its entirety.
I couldn’t talk about the world being miniscule and
humongous at the same time because it is unimaginable. But, I thought that it
was so, and I figured that thinking it was possible because of the way one is
in this world. I am certainly not an empirical fundamentalist, but I do know some
things are based on experience. As distances were growing bigger, the space was
becoming more confining. The more spacious, the more fragmentary. The more
compartmentalized, the greater the distances. The smaller it was becoming, the
vaster it appeared to be. Weird!
The more I’ve been observing, the more intense
static foam has been reveling in a wild, effervescent dance. The more I’ve been
learning, the more immobile the oak pillars are. The harder I’ve been
imagining, the more radical phantasmagorizer I am.
Being vegan, I observe. The world has become as
large as the universe, as small as the spark reflected in its core from the
smiling constellations. methinks me
liketh it.
Kessenem. / Pleazy.
Verily.
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