Sometimes we run restless
Sometime to escape the rush to understand
fragments of complex inscriptions pour in
conscriptions of words
weaved intricately to formulate a space
of an unsolidified memory
in every way.
In-between the letters resides the violence;
I have no interest
I have all desires
(disruptions, mainly we seek disruptions and resonance and flow)
empty corners filled with faces uttering:
(in the interlude)
any change pleas/pleads;
S told me today he won’t make it to his mother’s death; money will not come through
Y asked me about the exhibition I went to and we versed on the times when art was ours to feel
P thought I was meant to soak more in sunshine; oh no oh no I’m going pale again
D was not there nor was their dog….
anxieties of lapses and voids.
Recite a verse or two.
Everyday living overpowers:
know now know now know now!!!!!
but the streets in their shadows come to move less
only this time, evoking
‘Only whisper it. They won’t like it’ they usually tell me:
I have mourned the living that you’re destined to.
To preach living, and so
I archive a flower today
and re pave
Repave repave repave…
Shaimaa Abdelkarim @shaimabdelkarim is a PhD student mostly researching into the resistant and idiosyncratic desires of legalists and human rights activists. She is currently into archives and memory narrations.