Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

 ? 𝞪/A


The dark, windy streets of my soul Are unrolled before me on a map. This city of thoughts is impressive, A profusion of sense, of meaning, Interwoven in a complex architecture That leaves no space for thinking. My first step is that of an animal Lost in his perception. The profusion Is too much, the senses overwhelmed, I roam aimlessly, oversensitive to all, An eagle prisoner of a hurricane, Who strives to survive, but who can't. My skin burns, too much information, My tongue's pierced with thousands knives Of taste, and my ears, my ears hear no more Than the shriek of my pain by my voice voiced Yet lost in the maze of the city, Whose infinite trajectories my eyes strike. My second step occurs now. I slowly realise That my brain can process, can idealise, And can make the city readable to my senses, For I'm embodied and embedded in all tenses, Memory and prevision of my self are a part And for the world are as precious as its heart.