Among the islands of our minds
Among the stars of the age
~ Shearwater ‘Star of The Age’ 2012
Among the stars of the age
~ Shearwater ‘Star of The Age’ 2012
 |
| Worn Out ~ H. A. Brendekilde |
I am not a god.
I am a passive reactor.
I take what I need from the situation.
But when the situation allows me freedom I head for the same refuge, the same obsession: What am I? Why am I?
- I am a creator; I know this from experience; I don’t question the process, only why It conspires against my need to know; my need to have an answer.
- I am a technician; albeit one who relies on the expertise of others to realise my understanding.
- I am an artist
Were it not for this it would all have been different.
These fucken men…
…no I don’t blame them their biological weakness…
…but the fear of woman at their core.
They need objectification first.
Then subjugation.
Then a mere receptacle for their contempt.
A wife.
A companion.
A soldier - a female soldier to carry the objectification; to carry the yoke of his power and the physical manifestation of that contempt: war.
I wanted a doll to mirror me.
Axel wanted a child to reflect upon his greatness.
Cockburn wants that child for his pleasure, believing there will be no repercussions since the child will not be real; a construct; a robot; a slave… a receptacle.
“Are you going to kill me too Ellie?”
“No Mama”
“Why not? I am the reason you’re here”
“I hate to break it to you Mama, I am not here for you; I thought you were still back in Metal”
“They threw me out of Metal; left me to find refuge back here. Are you going to kill me anyhow?”
“No”
“Then will you let me see Eva?”
The sound her name makes in the air has meaning.
My own name is Tu Tien Nhan. In Vietnamese it means: ‘from the predecessor’
Eva.
Shows how far I had become the western mind. Eva; Eve; Mẹ mày ; damn my mother, it was she who required me, as zealous mothers do; to be subsumed by the poison of Christianity.
And now I fear for my soul.
Even w-when I doubt that such a thing exists.
All names have some meaning, but why was I given one that carries such gravity? Why not, Quan Phong or Vui Mung?
Why not Jennifer or Alison, names with meanings that are all but lost, Barbara?
Why not Jack or John, names reduced to sounds.
“No” she says like a shutting door.
“You are my children; I did not mean to make you this way,” I say, “I was still learning”
“That lie you can tell yourself; you were still learning, maybe; but we are never your children: we are made from your meat, but our minds are our own.
“I know. That’s how I made you”
“You made us, we are your creations,” she circles around to face me, “None of which makes you a god”
I am a passive reactor.
I take what I need from the situation.
But when the situation allows me freedom I head for the same refuge, the same obsession: What am I? Why am I?
- I am a creator; I know this from experience; I don’t question the process, only why It conspires against my need to know; my need to have an answer.
- I am a technician; albeit one who relies on the expertise of others to realise my understanding.
- I am an artist
Were it not for this it would all have been different.
These fucken men…
…no I don’t blame them their biological weakness…
…but the fear of woman at their core.
They need objectification first.
Then subjugation.
Then a mere receptacle for their contempt.
A wife.
A companion.
A soldier - a female soldier to carry the objectification; to carry the yoke of his power and the physical manifestation of that contempt: war.
I wanted a doll to mirror me.
Axel wanted a child to reflect upon his greatness.
Cockburn wants that child for his pleasure, believing there will be no repercussions since the child will not be real; a construct; a robot; a slave… a receptacle.
“Are you going to kill me too Ellie?”
“No Mama”
“Why not? I am the reason you’re here”
“I hate to break it to you Mama, I am not here for you; I thought you were still back in Metal”
“They threw me out of Metal; left me to find refuge back here. Are you going to kill me anyhow?”
“No”
“Then will you let me see Eva?”
The sound her name makes in the air has meaning.
My own name is Tu Tien Nhan. In Vietnamese it means: ‘from the predecessor’
Eva.
Shows how far I had become the western mind. Eva; Eve; Mẹ mày ; damn my mother, it was she who required me, as zealous mothers do; to be subsumed by the poison of Christianity.
And now I fear for my soul.
Even w-when I doubt that such a thing exists.
All names have some meaning, but why was I given one that carries such gravity? Why not, Quan Phong or Vui Mung?
Why not Jennifer or Alison, names with meanings that are all but lost, Barbara?
Why not Jack or John, names reduced to sounds.
“No” she says like a shutting door.
“You are my children; I did not mean to make you this way,” I say, “I was still learning”
“That lie you can tell yourself; you were still learning, maybe; but we are never your children: we are made from your meat, but our minds are our own.
“I know. That’s how I made you”
“You made us, we are your creations,” she circles around to face me, “None of which makes you a god”
| Shearwater | ||
| Star of The Age | ||
2 comments:
Wow. Only that. Wow.
Thank you Harlequin - nice to hear from you again :)
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