You see

You see a white shapeless luminance. It is bright through solid matter, through your eyelids the same as not. Keep them open. Put on the semblance of wanting to surface. The water is shallow enough to kneel in. You lay chest down with your dress rising and falling against the sand it sways filling with water and billowing then blown tight across you. The light and salt burn your eyes. Salt flumes in your eyes shimmer across finer and finer shapes etching out of the surface a horizon with indistinguishable attitude, and you sink again, your arms wilting ahead of you. Wet or dry you sag. You could be pulled anywhere in the world in a long long instant and be still a breath away from disappearing. You are always near the end, floating just before the tide, the rain washing through the desert, until it is dry and the edgeless wind blows you, or the clean hand of night reaches beneath your collar and replaces you with cold condensation. You would do anything, as long as it was nothing to you.

You dont need to be brought along or situated. You dont need a back story. It would be the same, reduced or obscured, flooded with salt water or wasted by blown sand, just floating. You must be the only one but you arent. Nothing has happened. Each start surfaces with everything ahead of it, each blink a coastline from the sea. You dont need to put anything together. You couldnt. Shapes with edges happen outside of you. Where they meet your skin they part and flow around you then coalesce as they disappear. You are left with nothing. You are a blot without origin. You are contingent. Let each block, each plat, packed to the frame with shivering shapes, go away as you pass into it, one after another until you have forgotten enough to be someone. Who will you be. Nothing inside you will be changed. Dont expect more than the rootless dust, the unidentifiable vapour, or any vantage that will give them form. They nod suspended in your eyes casting pins of shadow out of the white sky, from the white shape of a face and of hands.

Critical Response:

« | »