Curved Glass
Reality reaches me already reflected, glass upon glass upon glass, the trees outside the window swaying inside the television that mirrors itself in the mirror that mirrors itself in my sunglasses. June mirroring October like a mime in the park and walks through London, frigid. The radiators are silent, organs fallen into disuse. The cold, instead, has its own well-defined state — liquid. I asked the machines if chaos had a medical meaning. The machines were blinking. The body answered instead, raising its hairs like broken antennae in dead air — shiver or fear, indistinguishable now. The thermometer said: stable. We believed machines. Reality, Deformed. I was perfect until the fat reached the heart, until the hatred for people transcended me to become my counterpart. Things that do not exist incarnate in you, like ideas do. The insubstantial transformed and personified, parasitic ecosystems multiplied. I hate people who assume a fixed form for others to endure. a passive anamorphosis that even with changed perspective remains as before. I hate people who do not let themselves occur. I hate ideas, sifted by the tongue, they come out of the mouth, deformed. When reality reaches me already reflected, Curved glass upon curved glass upon curved glass. Hysteresis. Loop.
I started this poem a few weeks ago, so it feels a bit out of season with 40 degrees in the shade, but I wasn’t sure whether to post it or not, as it seemed like nothing more than one of my own ramblings. But then I told myself: ramblings are fine too.
Thank you for reading.
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This piece feels brilliantly disorienting in the best way, as though the reader is experiencing reality through layers of distorted reflections alongside the narrator. The imagery of mirrors, glass, machines, and deformed ideas creates a haunting atmosphere that lingered with me. I was especially struck by "I hate people who do not let themselves occur"... such a powerful and original way to describe self-denial and stagnation. Dense, thought-provoking, and beautifully unsettling.
matter of fact, i also hate people who assume a fixed form for others to endure, as much i hate people who do not let themselves occur. people try to petrify others into their own static bland versions while completely oblivious to the fact everything is in constant motion and so are we as we outgrow who we used to be into who we seek to become. the grander tragedy is that they’re too terrified to exist in their own messy reality, therefore demanding the same rigidity and conformity from everyone else. many take the right to be uncontainable, for granted. as well as the right to refuse to be a finished complete project in someone else’s files.