UNTRACINGS BY ETTA SHON

FICTION + ART BY E SHON

Month: December, 2011

Grand Memorial

Damn I miss my old hood.

Many Sparrows

Blessed

For they shall inherit the Earth.

I Got Love For My City

Into the Black

Obliterate every trace and never return.

Mercy

I’ve heard them repeated over and over in every variation imaginable since childhood. The words echo through me and there isn’t a fiber within my being that is moved by these grand declarations of love, faith, and endurance.

From a comfortable distance, I can state that none of these tenets exist without condition. I have only what I’ve witnessed to rely on. In the face of staggering deception and the overturning of all that I believed to be true, I renounce these failed ideologies. Like a severed limb, I am vaguely cognizant of a void felt by their absence, but I cannot reclaim my former delusions of safety. I prefer to live in the clearest, purest state of reality that I can reach.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

All we have is Truth, or more accurately, the pursuit of it. And the Truth is only as reliable as the certainty of our perception. We are at the mercy of each others’ representations; what we contrive for each others’ viewing. One can only interpret and decipher these portrayals to the best of one’s ability, hopefully with intelligence and gradual wisdom. But never with absolute assurance.

Someone once told me that the Truth is so important to me that I am willing to go into the eye of the storm to reach it; at the risk of everything else, including my own safety and peace of mind. But as I see it, self deception is the ultimate state of unrest. So much so that I take great pains in facing the most uncomfortable facts with unyielding scrutiny, however unsettling what I uncover.

Nothingness

Two years have passed and the haze is lifting, along with the dizzying recounting of the details. Buried beneath the layers of time, falsifications, and accidental discoveries, the meaning has been obscured and whittled to nothing.

I have resigned myself to its effects. One could say that I’ve begun to embrace them. The last nerve endings have been killed off and I’m left with a dull throbbing of some phantom sensation I can’t quite articulate.

I take stock of the wasted time that has passed over me, and all that didn’t happen during that stretch of unreality. This is my greatest regret, as I scramble to regain momentum in its wake.

I observe the figures around me, these strangers whose paths have aligned with mine at this twisted juncture, and  I am attuned to a heightened awareness within me- a sudden jump in sensory reception. A twitch of the mouth, a peak in intonation, an unnamed emotion that flickers across one’s face for a millisecond. Each amplified and isolated, its meaning deduced to a startling clarity. While my capacity to feel has been diminished, my cognitive ability to process these minute indicators has been honed to an almost uncomfortable sharpness. As if my intuition were compensating for its deficiency in retrospect.

All of this could have been put to good use while I still had a purpose for it. But I’ve wasted enough energy looking back.

Now, I tumble through space in an irregular trajectory amidst the smoke and debris of the aftermath.

Debris. What a beautiful word to ascribe to such insignificance.

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