thoughts on People
Today I stumbled upon a poem I wrote for NIGHTMARE MIRROR, "people". In this poem the speaker talks about their experiences living in an ultramoderne monde, a world where people exist only vaguely, for nobody could ever be as powerful or as self-aware as they are, ruling over their own perception of existence.
"[...]Sitting where people sat,
Touching what people touched,
Breathing what people breath.
Smell of people and sewage in the city streets
Smell of food and beer in the mouths of the people that just got out of that restaurant
The pungent and sweet smell of the lady that just entered the bus."
Composed of two big verses, this poem starts with a description of the speaker's view of the people around them, and the marks they leave behind as memories in their head. The "smell of people and sewage in the city streets" has the same value as the "sweet smell of the lady that just entered the bus", as the speaker's way of thinking back to their past experiences from that specific day. People affect the speaker greatly, being their main focus, but they hold a position of superiority towards them as can be seen in the second verse:
"And when they're all gone to their beds, I stay[...]
Sitting where they sat,
Touching what they touched,
Breathing what they breath.
[...]Delight in memories,
In the ghosts of the people that were but no more.
A space full of life with myself alone living, singing, screaming,
[...]All around me is my property, I own all people."
Closing this poem with a taste of manifesto, the speaker tells us about their position over people (and non-people); the smells, the trash, the distant conversations, the white noise of life now a null element in the painting of a deserted street, but an existing element in phantasmagorical form, "the ghosts of people". It's only amongst the ghosts of people that they feel free, free to sing and scream and roll on the ground, free to exert power and to rule over a nonexisting empire; honestly, free to be themselves.
That poem I wrote on the bus, coming home, after a day of walking around alone with my thoughts. At the time I had just come out of the hospital after a week-long stay, and as soon as I passed through the front door an overwhelming feeling came to me, something like nostalgia but worse, as the sun shone right onto my face, and I could smell once again the polluted and malodorous air of the big city. That day I pondered about the meaning of people's existence, since from my perspective I was the only one that actually mattered in that reality.
People are nothing but another element in my life, an important substance, sure, but still covered with a thick layer of neutrality. When I get to know individuals it's always lots of fun, but when I'm just carrying on with my routine, the passerby I see from the window while brushing my teeth are all figurants, extras I don't hesitate on shooting with my finger pistol. The people from the memories I make along the day are never significant enough to carry private meaning; maybe one thing or two might make me remember a certain person ("the pungent and sweet smell of the lady that just entered the bus."), but it's always too vague to become worth engraving on my brain.
In terms of freedom, on the other hand, I'm a live performer that can never stop their act. For having nothing to lose, I can't help but be free anywhere and anywhen. Sure, there are shackles I can't dispose of, but they kind of are who I am. It's not about shyness, has never been, I've always been a leader after all, but my face, my body, my voice, my style of writing, force me to cover my flaws so I don't feel naked. I still feel the eyes on me and that's why I need armor – shimmering like water, but heavy like the ocean.
Being alone or being somewhere with people won't change my performance, the only thing that does is my inner self, the voices that won't shut up and always come back with a new routine, with a new agenda, with a new script why not. And I just now realized that I finally found a journal to write on. Thanks, Zonelets!
You can read the full version of "people" here.