Eyeoneyeoneye
Feedback loop - living inside your head
"Latin: Incurvatus in se" (Turned/curved inward on oneself) is a theological phrase describing a life lived "inward" for self rather than "outward" for God and others.
You're getting too close You're getting too close to your source You've done the impossible now Took yourself apart Made yourself invulnerable No one can break your heart So you break it yourself
--
Homo incurvatus in se -- all of humanity curving in on itself. What about on a small scale -- what about just me curving in on myself, blocking out the world. What about shutting down so much that words don't work anymore. The only sound you hear is your own words. The only touch you feel is your own.
Hollowness. Feedback loop. The fear is the fearing. In a cycle of not helping. A cycle of hurting yourself and blaming yourself for that hurt. Cannot see how your hand could grip a tuft of hair so tough. How eyes could bear so many tears. How getting out of bed is too big a task.
That's you.
What small a body, how curled you are, your nose meeting your knees. The taste of jeans in your mouth--how is it? See your toes and count them, just in case. Remember how your mom promised they were candies, tootsie rolls and strawberry frooties. If you ever got hungry, lob one off.
What you can't do is think about what got you here. You
Cannot see how your hand could grip a tuft of hair so tight. You
Cannot understand how a word can be so hard to speak. Forget
etymologies, phonetics.
Until your whole body has folded in on itself (you're not so symmetric after all). You are one large ear, one not-so-all-seeing eye, a triangle of a nose, a circle. A lumpy circle.
You are a rock -- and you are Sisyphus too.
Flashes of your bad days, "visualizing a brighter future"--what a joke.
It starts with your nose--nose to knee.
See your toes? Count them--just in case.
Remember how Mom promised they were candies,
tootsie rolls and strawberry frooties.
If you ever got hungry, lob one off.
What you can't do is think about what got you here,
head buried into your body. You
cannot see how your hand could grip a tuft of hair so tight. You
cannot see how a word could be so hard to speak--forget
etymologies, phonetics.
What you can do is roll, your whole body into itself,
curve, till your hair reaches your ankles. (You're not so
symmetric after all.) Now you're one; you are the sound
and you are the feedback.
Flashes of your violence, your throat, impossibly hoarse.
"Visualize a better tomorrow"--what a joke. All you know now
are the insides of your ankles, the dirt stain on your jeans, the
feel of your fingers clamped under your knees. The inside of your head.
You are a rock--and you are Sisyphus.
Feedback loop - living inside your head
"Latin: Incurvatus in se" (Turned/curved inward on oneself) is a theological phrase describing a life lived "inward" for self rather than "outward" for God and others.
You're getting too close You're getting too close to your source You've done the impossible now Took yourself apart Made yourself invulnerable No one can break your heart So you break it yourself
--
Homo incurvatus in se -- all of humanity curving in on itself. What about on a small scale -- what about just me curving in on myself, blocking out the world. What about shutting down so much that words don't work anymore. The only sound you hear is your own words. The only touch you feel is your own.
Hollowness. Feedback loop. The fear is the fearing. In a cycle of not helping. A cycle of hurting yourself and blaming yourself for that hurt. Cannot see how your hand could grip a tuft of hair so tough. How eyes could bear so many tears. How getting out of bed is too big a task.
That's you.
What small a body, how curled you are, your nose meeting your knees. The taste of jeans in your mouth--how is it? See your toes and count them, just in case. Remember how your mom promised they were candies, tootsie rolls and strawberry frooties. If you ever got hungry, lob one off.
What you can't do is think about what got you here. You
Cannot see how your hand could grip a tuft of hair so tight. You
Cannot understand how a word can be so hard to speak. Forget
etymologies, phonetics.
Until your whole body has folded in on itself (you're not so symmetric after all). You are one large ear, one not-so-all-seeing eye, a triangle of a nose, a circle. A lumpy circle.
You are a rock -- and you are Sisyphus too.
Flashes of your bad days, "visualizing a brighter future"--what a joke.
It starts with your nose--nose to knee.
See your toes? Count them--just in case.
Remember how Mom promised they were candies,
tootsie rolls and strawberry frooties.
If you ever got hungry, lob one off.
What you can't do is think about what got you here,
head buried into your body. You
cannot see how your hand could grip a tuft of hair so tight. You
cannot see how a word could be so hard to speak--forget
etymologies, phonetics.
What you can do is roll, your whole body into itself,
curve, till your hair reaches your ankles. (You're not so
symmetric after all.) Now you're one; you are the sound
and you are the feedback.
Flashes of your violence, your throat, impossibly hoarse.
"Visualize a better tomorrow"--what a joke. All you know now
are the insides of your ankles, the dirt stain on your jeans, the
feel of your fingers clamped under your knees. The inside of your head.
You are a rock--and you are Sisyphus.
