A THOUSAND VOICES LINGER Pia Klejmič
The Girl walked and felt the Sun shining on her skin, but She did not wish to exist in this moment; She wished She were dead and as She uttered these Words the Wind heard Them and carried Them away. The Wind coalesced around the Girl and a wave of heat encompassed Her body. Suddenly the Wind departed and left the Girl alone, just as She had been all along.
The Girl wanted to bang the words out of Her head—a thousand tiny Voices in Her head, some speaking loudly, others yelling, the remaining only a whisper. She wished she could expel Them unto the World and sweep Them away, but They remained in place. “We will never leave,” They reminded Her, and She resigned herself to the abyss of unreality which sat at the bottom of Her mind and ate up the good Voices.
The Girl witnessed a shadowy figure of a person, perhaps a Thing—not distinctly human or unhuman. The Experience unnerved Her and She wished to see the Thing again, but It never returned and She wondered where It could be. When the Thing crossed into Its own Realm, It felt pleased It did not bring the Girl with It. She was not yet ready.
The Girl heard a Voice outside of Herself and She stopped to listen, but It did not carry on. “Please,” She begged, “speak to Me once more.” The Voice replied: “You must let go of this World,” and the Voice departed. The Girl felt It leave Her presence and She cried. She did not yet know how to let go.
The Girl awoke from a Dream but She was already awake. “We expelled you from this Realm,” a Thing whispered to her, “You are selfish and only dream of Yourself.” The Girl did not understand. “But I cannot control my Dreams!” She pleaded, but the Thing was not impressed. “You are naive,” the Thing replied and left Her alone in Her room. It did not return and the Girl did not dream the next night or the night after that.
The Girl did not know the Universe creates and uncreates at will, making her Life an uncertainty. A Voice spoke to her: “All Life is uncertain,” but She did not believe. “I am certain I’m alive,” She retorted and the Voice laughed.
The Girl sat in bed crying, watching the Tears dance on Her mattress. “We are free,” They exclaimed, but the Girl told them: “You are not free, for You will dry up and die.” The Tears laughed as They became part of the fabric of Her sheets, never to be Whole again. The girl asked Them: “How do You feel in there?” But there was no response. The Tears had already dried.
The Girl did not like that Her back was facing the wide open space in Her room. She would much rather face it, for She could only imagine how awful They must be in Daylight. The Girl did not like to think of Them but They arrived in the Darkness. She could not make them out; indistinct to the Human eye, They only existed in the flashes of the Girl’s blinks. But She could speak with Them and They with her. She did not understand Them, but They understood Her.
Vision of the Astral Self, acrylic on canvas
Oblivion, acrylic on canvas
Lucid City, acrylic on canvas
Behind the Eyelids Creeps a Memory, acrylic on canvas
MORNING ROUTINE Malka Lior
7:01 a.m. and the alarm goes off, a reminder of my existence past and present. 7:15 a.m. and the alarm goes off, I am not awake. 7:35 a.m. and the alarm goes off, I resent it. 8:00 a.m. and the alarm goes off, I am whole again. I am me, once more, in this moment. I get out of bed and shake off unconsciousness; it lingers for a while, and like a gentle friend I don’t know how to ask it to leave.
WHAT HAPPENS INSIDE Mac Epstein
You can’t teach a fish to climb a tree, or something, but I’ll be damned if I can’t wrap my fins around a branch and pull myself up. My father always told me: If you do something, do it right, and do it right the first time. I reconciled this by being perfect; if the world is a stage, then my mind is backstage. I rehearse myself before every scene, only allowing the audience to see what has been written, and I hope to G-d the audience likes it. When I was a child my mother enrolled me in acting school. I had to audition to get in and I was pleasantly impressed with myself when I was accepted. I blandly recited a Skippy peanut butter commercial and took headshots a week later. Everyone around me was older, and beautiful, and I was ugly and chubby. I hated myself. I wanted to be beautiful. I begged my mother to buy me makeup and new clothes. I hated it all so much, I stopped going to acting school after a year. I got rid of all the clothes that made me hate myself and got new clothes that made me hate myself less. I dress like an important woman now. I look like I have somewhere to go. I do have somewhere to go, bitch–I’m going to drive everywhere and do whatever I want. I’m going to put thirty dollars in my tank and hit the gas pedal with my brand new loafers. I’m going to run all over this town in my brand new clothes and you’re going to see me, bitch. Something inside of me woke up. Something inside of me said: Wake up, you weak bitch, and stop all this crying. Do you know who the fuck you are? Do you remember who the fuck you are? I can do whatever I want, I can eat whatever I want, fuck whoever I want! I can do it all because I am a liberated woman. I have cast off the shackles of paternalism and “cool detachedness”, and G-ddamnit, I can feel emotions if I want! I can fly right off the fucking rails if I want! This world is mine and only I can shape my reality!