The videotapes are delivered to my door each day. I am not obliged to watch them, but I watch them. The things they show me have yet to happen, but are too close to stop. Moments of the future given some nostalgic VHS glow.
To be forewarned of the inevitable is a kind of torment.
__________
Notes:
1. Written on November 16th, 2021
__________all these things i make
that i think you’ll like
you don’t like
at all
_________
Notes:
1. Written on October 21st, 2021
__________
Oya leaves a new poem here every day. Beneath where the pictures used to hang, in the ash of obliterated art. If the wind and rain don’t wash the old ones away, a single brush of her boot does the rest.
She doesn’t mind that no one sees her words. The ephemerality of it all is the point. No-one suspects a thing.
___________
Notes:
1. Written between the 7th and the 10th of May, 2021
__________i woke from a vaguely disconcerting dream
into another
My life is not real until I write it down
That which goes unsaid
no longer exists