“sand clock” by Vasilina Orlova

“sand clock” by Vasilina Orlova

sand clock

sand clock. i did hear                                voices. it is not all the t
ime that my inner monologue                         is a cacophony of a multitude
 of seemingly independent ent                     ities, and hearing voices is n
  ot generally pleasant, for that reason      that they are as a rule extremely
   aggressive or deceptive and seek to a     ssault you or to ingratiate thems
    elves w  ith you (which might very well    be the sa  me); such an unfort
     unfortunate mental state is also calle d vocal (sonic?) hallucinations,a
      nightmarish experience indeed,   but even now  that I write,   I marve
        l at the subliminal, lunar existence of these nonexistent voices; I
          am amused  sincerely  (and good-naturedly),  as if  I  read  abo 
            ut   them  in  some  book  or  other,  which  indeed  I did. 
                 if  there  is  something  strange  about  hearin
                     g voices is that inevitably not only you
                         could hear them, but they, you--
                             it  is  a  communication
                                   a   communion 
                                   there is a c
                                      ity b


                                     t h e m--
                                   a ft er a l l
                              y ou are their host and
                       are    t he y your assailants; you
               their victim and you are their abuser  it is a majestic

instrument,  an orchestra,   a  discordant  symphony   of sound,  making heard what 
others  said  mostly,  a combination  of happened   events in patterns and clusters
they  never  combined  before.  sand clock,  an hourglass, turns into a cloud of sm

oke,  vapor,  a ziggurate of letters,   a redemption, a stream of sand, water, smok

e (again), fog, and possibly lentil (pulse) alike, a sentence that makes itself kno

wn,  a flow gradually widening  and then narrowing in its turn, not unalike the uni

verse in Plotinus’s Enneades (nines); well, he was not the one to give this title t

o his work, as is often the case with philosophers, particularly in the ancient tim

es–his pupil Porphyry selected the title. it sounds nice at least. enigmatic, attra

ctive.     a  word   processor   and   a   computer   game.   my   time   is  over.
                                                              hologram and flamingo
                                              an excerpt from superimposed
Category : Issue Four April 2017 Tags :

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