_breasts #exwr14

Under water pressure. I am about to give up. Breathing. It is too much heaviness.

On my breasts.

Breasts.

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.

Troubled structures.

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.

҂

(8-12-2014 Linköping)

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