I was left in the kindergarten when I was two
And never picked up again
I am still there
Sitting in the sterile soviet monstrum house
With the other brainwashed people
Waiting for someone to pick me up
Where are you my beloved ones?
Sometimes I get tired and frustrated
I scream in pain and longing
I am a troubled child
Demanding my right to breathe fresh air in the spring morning
Just some small molecules of freedom
Entering my lungs
Is that too much to ask
please, allow me to leave this space
10-12-2014 Nyköping station kl 20:14
Under water pressure. I am about to give up. Breathing. It is too much heaviness.
On my breasts.
Breathe! Hinga! Andas! echoing in my head. All the different languages just keep entering my mind as if there still is a space for intellectual discussions about linguistics, as if there is a way I could argue myself out of this “discomforting encounter”. Should I pretend that everything is normal? Should I play along as if it was no water flowing in through all the doors and windows of the university building?
I grab my recent book “Intersectonality and feminist utopias” as if paper or my academic credentials could save me from disappearing into the nothingness. Everyone in the room is getting nervous; I know this feeling in the air. Lot of experience in research circles, one might say…
The internationally well-known professor grabs her chair, junior staff members and post-docs are silently weeping in fear. They have no chance. For a short second or two the room is frozen into the hierarchies. And then it breaks into fragmented panicking masses, everyone is fighting for their lives. All suddenly “equal”… or not exactly…
I decide to die after have seen it happen. Violence made visible.
Bodies in pain.
What a beautiful ending to a short story, I´ll take a brake now.
Have been wondering around for some minutes and just discovered as if the air is somehow disappearing. Cannot. Breathe. Anymore.
where are you?
encounter haunted by the dead
living bodies, stories and the beautiful
harmonies across the night air cut off.
Every point I would want to resist work
BE A BOOK
each chapter outside myself, each chapter experience trigger
finding one´s self face-to-face put on display.
I thought if I was, I becoming overly predictable?
A MANIFESTO FOR MYSELF
I write deeper strings in the labyrinth
becoming memories, really
I write living world flourishing
be call ed into the depths
ENERGETIC familiar DIFFERENT
10-12-2014 mellan Linköping and Järna
What if I open it?
The small and full of personal secrets.
Inviting, intriguing, impossible, imaginary, inspiring,
Would I laugh at your
exposed to the
or cry? or go mad?
INTENSE IS THE AIR
IN THE ROOM
Allowing myself not knowing
Can I be free in the definition of myself?
Smiling as I sail towards
WHO AM I, THEN?
9.dec 2014 #exwr14