Posts Tagged ‘soul’

How to move, in two acts, a body stuck in an endless loop

January 12, 2019

How to move, in two acts, a body stuck in an endless loop

Act 1

Horrible days!
A repeating thought,
A void devoid.
[An attempt] Hands Up! Down! Up! Down!
[A failure and] Death is crawling, determined,
Towards the chest,
Grappling left hand – lower part,
Crawling up,
Left hand – upper part,
Crawling up,
Left hand – the joint of the arm and the chest,
Another day passed by, and it’s already hard to breath, for death is coming,
Hard to breath,
I wish it would have been bronchitis, even pneumonia,
But, deep inside,
The goal of the caterpillar of death is well known,
It’s to be [a paradox],
Deeply rooted inside the heart,
To consume it from within [this time it is not an effect],
To erode the atriums,
To poison the wells,
To secrete acid on the muscle’s tendons,
To settle inside, that’s what Death needs in order to feed itself, to become the killer butterfly.

[Burroughs] “Death needs Time”.
[If] Time is the killing machine,
[Then] “Time’s a healer”,
[Calling Function] “Memory Flush” [This is, by all means, a poetic function, in another time],
[Else] Time is necessarily one facet of the endless Energy that converts itself ad-infinitum

Death and Time are a couple, they’ve always been one, since Genesis,
Body and Soul,
A couple crawling from the left side,
On its way to destroy,
“Out of the Left the evil shall break forth”,
A repeating thought,
An obsessive thought.

Thoughts are not part of the soul.
They are controlled by a different algorithm, another program,
residing in the “Death” partition, a Parallel Processing of sort.
And the soul, too, is being governed by a different function,
in a separate partition,
But there’s a dependency.
The soul is cuddling up inside the heavy body,
dependent, captured,
the body being a nuisance, a disturbance, a torturer,
a jailer.
Wishing she could flee to the endless space,  and acquire a body which is:
New [with the smell of a new book],
Strong [like a Super-Hero],
Maybe this time it would be Apple,
So she could finally be [herself. Although she cannot fathom a reality where she’s in her pure form. But at least, let him be nice-looking, healthy, strong, with a sense of humor, and no bugs].

And she’s fishing a memory from the reservoir,
and in that memory she’s traveling to the Swiss’ Edelweiss flowers, sitting in the red train from Zuoz to Pontresina,
Stopping at La Punt-Chamues-ch,
At Sankt Moritz,
Getting down at Sankt Moritz, to see the luxury shops of Time, the small, rectangular pavement stones, the fierce rain, it’s always a fierce rain, people hurrying to the hotel, more people, another memory.
Memories – that’s all she got left – just memories [Data, Big Data], rumination of input which is also an output, Time doesn’t exist, there’s no change.

And in a rare moment of sobriety she’s trying to think,
again and again, again and again,
how to move a body, stuck in an infinite loop.

Clearly, there’s a bug in the algorithm.


Act 2

Who are you?
We’re just the messengers, don’t worry.
The message: you’re no longer wanted, Rosebud,
You have a bug.

None of the algorithms has a bug:
She’s the problem.
For years, she let me die in her lap,
While mashing her memories,
Stuck in no-time,
In an endless loop.
She can’t get a perspective,
being fed and secreting, fed and secreting the same materials.

I, too, have my wills and wishes,
Listed as follows:
One, to delete your data.
Two, to format your hard-drive, so you can restart anew, fresh, a pure soul,
Three, to embed your partition in mine,
so we would be undivided, not separated,
Four, I want you to create new information,
I want you to feed me with data,
Five, I want you to take care of the caterpillar, to destroy it,
It’s becoming really really dangerous,
I want you to apply an ointment to my wounds,
but in such a way that I will always see the wounds and will always feel the ointment,
thus knowing that you are here, with me, my ointment-er.
Do not use Time just to erase memories,
I want stability; I don’t want stability,
[Kurosawa] “To create is to remember”,
My bug, my loop, is that I’m trying, in vain, to understand what does it mean,
it sounds like a sentence which is so much yours,
a foreign algorithm.
It sounds like rumination,
a simulation of life,
not life in itself,
The future and the present, the Time, the Death,
And I want to live.
I’m beginning to realize that I’m the problem,
That I have a bug,
That you’re right,
But the caterpillar – I really do feel it, every movement, every maneuver,
It is here, with me,
It has already reached the heart.

Is that you? Are you the caterpillar?
Sending messengers, passing messages of contempt,
cooperating with Time, with Death.
Go away… run… go to Zuoz, to Engadin.
And I? I will go to the sea… yes, to the sea. I will create new memories of waves, of Blue, of sunlight heat, of sand, of athletes, healthy men and women, laughing, eating, drinking – memories of life.
And I will store these memories on my hard-drive, I too have a hard-drive,
you know,
you’re not the only one to have one,
I, too, flee to a memory or two,
clinging to the past, wrapping myself around it,
unifying with it,
disintegrating in a sea of molecules, the past, the sea, myself within, blue, skies, small body inside a big body, a Fetus in Utero, and then I smile to you, and inside your partition you are hammering, again and again, again and again…
your fists into the transparent wall,
that I ran away,
leaving you behind [letting you be!], without a body, without bugs,
and I’m already part of Time, of the sea, of Death.