Comfort in the Endless Forever of Underneath and Not

I feed only on the little things. I buy myself earrings shaped like razor blades, long before my ears are pierced, like code awaiting the prompt that sends it in. I bake muffins for the first time. I wish that I went on more walks, before remembering it is always too warm and too cold. I fall into the softness of dreams that end in death, whether mine or not, and wake up to an aching head. I feel as though nothing I can clarify has not been said in better words.

Issue 9

https://manyworlds.place/issue-9/valerie-babenkova/

by Valerie Babenkova

Note: This work is best viewed on a widescreen device.


I feed only on the little things. I buy myself earrings shaped like razor blades, long before my ears are pierced, like code awaiting the prompt that sends it in. I bake muffins for the first time. I wish that I went on more walks, before remembering it is always too warm and too cold. I fall into the softness of dreams that end in death, whether mine or not, and wake up to an aching head. I feel as though nothing I can clarify has not been said in better words.

In passing, there is little but circuitous –
evolution circular. If prompted, the answer
will not be kindness. It will not be
growth. It will not be efficiency, except
of the worst kind.

When metal is invoked, it is done
in the worst of terms. A plague of necessity
that will last to the end. Technological,
infinite and the question
is asked again.

If prompted, my answer may only be
invisibility.1 And yet, if I am built
on the trampoline nets below
and Polaroids otherwise forgotten
then there will be no satisfaction.

                        Embrace the picture, and the world is further
                        than you realize.        Code upon code upon
                        us, our palms spinning a stick until fluff
                        ignites. When the flame casts shadows,
                        the invisible is made.

                        Use it sparingly.2        Funnel
                        into forgetting.        Stare anyway         take
                        the pixels         liquify them        put it all in a syringe
                        inject it.         How many weeks until you stop seeing yourself
                        as human.

I choose to animate myself. Die and resew myself
in parts that are no longer me. I find myself in wires.
Threading across a room like a spider’s nest. If bitten,
I crumble back to binary. Pant3 in inhuman monotone
and become, ultimately and hopefully, invisible
to any eye that has not done the same. At this point,
if I am found, there will be nothing but a mess
of just more nothing. Words become the only choice,
and so they fluster onwards into unoblivion.

 


1 See also: freedom, safety, death
2 And perhaps, viciously.
3 /pant/
To breathe with short, quick breaths,
digitally defined, and yet. The animal
of outstuck tongue, supplication offered
without humility that such an act
implies. In binary, there is no way
to /pant/ without a monitor
that glows with pixelated eyes /pant/
without fans that swallow the overheat
of steel /pant/ without wires yanked
into a tangled mess.


Valerie Babenkova (it/she/he/they) is an emerging genderfluid poet operating out of Madison, Wisconsin. Their writing is interested in the interlap of the digital, environmental, bodily, and transsexual. Its work has previously appeared in Illumination Journal.