ephemera

Here lies before you: soft shimmer of sequins catching faint light. Dusty black floor, black painted ceiling, closed venetian blinds. Bodies move through tepid air, articulate images replayed in the mirrors on the walls. Lies gently curl themselves around your inert body. Lull your mind into vacant pools. Drowning becomes sweet as you watch the others from the side of the room.

If you gaze long enough into the light of a warm spring day and taste the tears that drip slowly down your face, then maybe the emptiness inside will begin to break. This is where pain begins: the exploration of what it means to be human, real, full of life. This is what it means to be silent: letting other voices emerge into quiet dusty air. This is glass shattering around your inert body complete with smooth enamel shell and delicate porcelain finish. All the pain in your body rises, takes up the properties of the sea: surging waters laden with life, dirt and refuse, giving and taking life as it follows the command of the Lord. You swallow. Open tightly shut eyes. Plunge face into salted sea before the rest of your body falls in after it. Water surrounds skin. Sensation bathes limbs. Find respite; delirium has seeped into your quick laughter, your solid silence.

Your face has shattered. Begin again: construct a mosaic out of smashed terracotta, fire-glazed ceramic, hand-blown glass. Tedious work. Sharp corners: cut fingers. On your knees, an image emerges. Begin to see where the colours need to fall. Shadows take on myriad hues just above the lip, beneath the brow. And suddenly you’re staring at your own reflection.