Assertion turns Question: we watch tragedies happen, and ask–why?
Mirror image wobbles as whimsical as the eyes peering intently perceiving intensely, pondering perplexities of self and universe. Zoom out: these eyes are hazel, these eyes belong to my perspective. Zoom in: intoxicate self in the sensation and startling image emulated in words inspired by the perspective of my clockwork complimentary vision, in tandem mental recapitulation reverberates resounding truth from the eye trinity entirety –iris and cornea, retinal rods and cones, and the blind clairvoyance third eye eternal return immeasurably expansive through introspection and transcendence– in the cognitive processes aligned with my identity:
(Leavey Library restroom, Sunday night, washing my hands, and lose my breath when I look in the mirror at an image reflected back at me. Far right flow left: myself, a sticky note, a fragile framed graduate student colorless save the blood coating her face, looking in the mirror I see that she should see me too but shows no signs of awareness of life and in a fleeting second I catch a wide eyes desperate infinite well of suffering plastic wrapped under a vacant surface expression. The following is a free write attempt to articulate what I know I saw I know unknown unseen thoughts to say the least…in her eyes I saw:)
Vocalized omniscient chorus, the repetitive poetics versed and cursed the humanity out of the self concept and in contempt the sadness sinks deeper into an expansive blue more solemn and desolate than Lingering lonely men who have existed and faded away into the secrecy shrouded shadows unknown and obscured by pompous cumulus clouds. Serpent like spells, twisted and spinning, alone now and forever parted not by death but rather love. No light had illuminated the feeble cirrus spirit looping in lines of self damnation in her mind, a psyche so demented demons would rather be resurrected and revealed through exorcism or psychoanalysis or friendship or eye contact or human touch or the subtle and un notable recognition of a passing stranger than continue the cyclic masochistic routine of the present best understood as a perpetual dance with the devil herself.
Plagued by introverted inertia programmed to stay programmed parasitic to self perpetuation lost in the dementia of absorption load blaring voices ring bleating cacophony misleading inside the mind of the girl staring in the bathroom mirror, silent save the hum of flourescent artifice sunlight.
A sticky note posted smack dab center on the mirror surface reads: “Look at yourself-you are beautiful!” I see first the sisterhood blooming ideology emanating the positive energy of human bonding from the pale yellow square with Bic ink-stained letters in a conceptual inevitable realization deception perhaps but perhaps a deception I must knowingly succumb to see me for who and what I am beyond the silly mechanics of sinister constructs manipulating my body and how it reads. Sensation of ambrosia warmth fills me.
I shift my attention towards the young woman to my left I see her reflection before her, not seen not heard not a peep not a word but she bled crimson pain from the porous orface opened wide perhaps infected from her face, a tiny nose and simultaneously a Niagara faucet and conduit tip-off towards the hope held hostage inside the mind of a strangled and suffocating psyche.
The victim the culprit the one in the same girl is looking at the note posted sticking needles into her wound for what she had just done was out of line with a message she longed to identify and though choked by the inability to believe her word with uttering I could see volumes of turmoil wrought with the greatest war man has ever known in written history through gateway eyes watery and one-dimensional like a wall hit by the good intentions of a sprinkler by a flowerbed.
I turn and walk out and without a doubt I known rock bottom when I see the sliver of a body and sickly yellow hue of unhealthy skin pleading for vitamins, once elastic by weathered and beaten up from the inside out. In my life I have seen rock bottom through my eyes and with my eyes and so I gesture a rudimentary unscientific hypothesis summoned by truths I hold without statistical analysis and ripe impetus to continue the platform from which i form this theory and has inhibited further exploration with a ceiling of glass begging me to chase this hypnotic spiritual calling: rock bottom across coping mechanisms, defense systems, addictions and escapes, is characterized by a sense of fear and desperation mutually intelligible between and amongst all, blind to experience specifics and situations.
Prolific and cryptic hieroglyphs keep reaching towards the center, regress towards the mean, i recognize you girl I never knew, you do exist, I am thinking of you for what its worth, I hope on some disconnected level goosebumps blown to surface by whips of night wind wane the pain and wax in a feeling of validation.
And thus I reveal a piece of vulnerability me–BeMused defined:
So lost in thought as to be unaware of one’s surroundings: absent, absent-minded, abstracted, distrait, faraway, inattentive, preoccupied. Idioms: a million miles away. See ability/inability, awareness/unawareness.
Atmosphere’s “Gods Bathroom Floor” is the closest representation of Rock Bottom, for what I know and what its worth: