He Said She Said: Palimpsest

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Tell us a story,
Tell even us.
Begin wherever you wish.

I forget when it begins or ends but I remember the sea…
I remember fighting for my first breath
against the push and pull of the tide.
I remember coming into consciousness;
That unsettling adjustment period marked by
A dizzy spell from resisting external pressure-
A force much stronger than my own.
All I could see were hues of blue and gray
mixing and then separating
into shifting amorphous shapes.
I saw the world through a distorted kaleidoscope
of formless color.
Naming the sky felt like a futile exercise
so I just focused on floating.
On the feeling of water lapping over my body.
On the rhythm of the waves rippling back and forth.
I remember bursts of light
breaking into the quiet of my breath.
And so I sank deeper and deeper into the sea.
Seeking refuge from the strange world above
into the unknown world below.
I liked to get lost in the thick clouds of
black dust that collected at the bottom
where it was cold and dark.
I felt oddly safe there
submerged in ambiguity.
I remember looking up,
chasing the silhouettes of stars
reflected at the surface.
The rays of light illuminated
the turquoise sea of bodies around me where
I dreamt the moon in all of its brilliance.
Sometimes,
I still forget the undulations of breath.
The echoes of waves
crashing against a distant shore.
I forget the others and their names.
All I can remember
is the sensation of moving inside the currents,
the turbulent episodes that would
push me into new waters,
the insignificance of it all.
I remember sinking into sand in search of secrets buried
long ago by unknown wanderers.
I remember their markings,
faint traces of what existed before me.
I remember these things because I have to,
because everyone else forgets
about us and how we came here.
People still write our existence
in myth and magic,
in mist and smoke.

I just broke y’all off with a little excerpt from my Senior Thesis performance “Palimpsest”. The description is inspired by a myth my father created about my past life as a fish. The story goes that San Antonio (my previous guardian) expelled me from the sea for being a talkative troublemaker (he needed to return silence to the waters). The corresponding picture is taken from the shrine of San Antonio in my motherland of Uruguay. I always go visit the shrine to pay respects to my old friend…I was compelled to tell a story In the midst of elections hysteria. Now more than ever, I find myself holding onto all of you and all of our stories because at the end of the day that’s what really matters. I know: CORNBALL CITY! I hope you all have a good weekend and for everyone headed back to school: best of luck with that (hit the books and hit the house parties while the rest off us in the Real World are subjected to dress codes and covers)

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