Katia N’s Reviews > Água Viva > Status Update

What am I in this instant? I am a typewriter making the dry keys echo on the dark and humid early hours. For a long time I haven’t been people. They wanted me to be an object. I’m an object. An object dirty with blood. That creates other objects and the typewriter all of us. It demands. The mechanism demands and demands my life. But I don’t obey totally: if I must be an object let it be an object that screams.

I’ll return to the unknown part of myself …To create a being out of oneself is very serious. I am creating myself. And walking in complete darkness is search of ourselves is what we do. It hurts. But these are the pains of childbirth: a thing is born that is. Is itself. It is hard as a dry stone. But the core is soft and alive, perishable, perilous it. Life of elementary matter.

My eyes are shut. I am pure unconsciousness. They already cut the umbilical cord: I am unattached in the universe. I don’t think but feel the it. With my eyes I blindly seek the breast: I want milk. No one taught me to want. But I already want. I’m lying with my eyes open looking at the ceiling. Inside is the darkness. An I that pulses already forms. There are sunflowers. There is tall wheat. I is.

I am haunted by my ghosts, by all that is mythic, fantastic and gigantic: life is supernatural. I walk holding an open umbrella upon a tightrope. I walk to the limit of my great dream. I see the fury of visceral impulses: tortured viscera guide me. I don’t like what I just wrote-but I’m duty-bound to accept the whole because it happened to me. My essence is unconscious of itself that’s why I obey self blindly.

So writing is the method of using the word as bait: the word fishing for whatever is not word. When this non-word-between the lines is caught, the word can be tossed away in relief. But that’s where the analogy ends: the non-word, taking the bait, incorporates it. So what saves you is writing absentmindedly.

To remake myself..I return to my state of garden and shadow cool reality, I barely exist & if I exist it's with delicate caution. Around the shadow is a heat of abundant sweat. I'm alive. But I feel that I have yet to reach my limits, borders with what? without borders, the adventure of dangerous freedom. But I take risks, I live taking risks. I'm full of acacias swaying yellow,..I am before, I am almost, I am never.