(no subject)
What happened to my thoughts. This is not me, I thought. But the entire world points at this and says, That is you and by it we will define you.
I suddenly latch onto this. Grabbing at air, slipping through fingers. Blood, slipping through fingers. This is not me. These thoughts, these words, this skin, these organs, these eyes. Then why the fear.
I see through a camera. Panning as eyes shift, cutting shots at every blink. While my mind yawns, wakens from suspension of disbelief. Thinking of the world outside the theatre, outside the air conditioning and darkness. Betraying cinema. And waiting for the end, the credits, the music. But we can never know it. This is not a film.
Films are our fantasies. Our closed endings. Our completeness. A world and end we can understand. What if it wasn't so. Would it terrify its audiences.
I suddenly latch onto this. Grabbing at air, slipping through fingers. Blood, slipping through fingers. This is not me. These thoughts, these words, this skin, these organs, these eyes. Then why the fear.
I see through a camera. Panning as eyes shift, cutting shots at every blink. While my mind yawns, wakens from suspension of disbelief. Thinking of the world outside the theatre, outside the air conditioning and darkness. Betraying cinema. And waiting for the end, the credits, the music. But we can never know it. This is not a film.
Films are our fantasies. Our closed endings. Our completeness. A world and end we can understand. What if it wasn't so. Would it terrify its audiences.