BLINK
by Shefali Vasudevan
THOUGHT
REGRET
“Its heart beats on in a different rythm. A pulse in the thumb. A human heart in a hand. Keeps the hand alive, but just barely.�
A human heart in a hand.
Isolation vs. Solitude
I have
g n i h t y r e ev
I
WANT.
“My playhouse is underneath Our house, & I hear people Telling each other secrets.� - Komunyakaa
Now they
sit below
us ÁKLXMRK
over
FVSOIR KPEWW
“Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings always darker, emptier, simpler.” - Nietzche
My tears
are
on
the
Inside
“I believe that almost all our sadnesses are moments RI WHQVLRQ WKDW ZH À QG paralyzing because we no longer hear our surprised feelings living.” -Rilke
I am Nowhere
Anticipation: “In drawing, the trace always proceeds in the night: it always escapes \PM ÅMTL WN ^Q[QWV º +IT^QVW
one
is
you
a
one
is
trace
Fleas interest me so much that I let them bite me for hours. They are perfect, ancient, Sanskrit, machines that admit of no appeal. They do not bite to eat, they bite only to jump;; they are the dancers of the celestial sphere, delicate acrobats in the softest and most profound circus;; let them gallop on my skin, divulge their emotions, amuse themselves with my blood, but someone should introduce them to me. I want to know them closely, I want to know what to rely on. -Neruda
My whole body
is glowing
Sublime. “The beautiful, according to Edmund Burke, is what is well-formed and aesthetically pleasing, whereas the Sublime is what has the power to compel and destroy us.�
solitude
Amplified I wish I could change the past. Wheels are like clocks. Circular, round, endlessly spinning. “Please let me get off this amusement park ride.� I sit on a porch with silver lining. My friends Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty all sit with me as we drink tea out of silver lined cups. I want to feel something. Alive. Wind on my cheeks. Fire on my eyes. Explosive. A flaming purple giraffe jumping off the Empire State Building. And now all I can see are the colors splashing down upon me in torrents. Drowning me in everything wonderful.
Through the looking glass is a scene that I wish to be a part of. Through the window I can not see what is inside of it, but I long to know. My heart beats slowly. The beat of a drum. The tick of a clock. Rythmatic. Sequencial. Neverending. Neverbeginning. At a constant pace. It never skips a beat. It is one in the midst of a million. All beating together. The rythm is...beautiful.
...TUESDAY?