Falling and still
in a zero gravity grave,
flailing, kicking,
longing to twirl.
To upset the
still, stationary, stasis
of your
plunge.
Greedy handfuls
of black nothing,
a mystical leverage,
sends you into
a spin.
Falling and twirling
in a zero gravity grave,
dizzy and miserable,
longing for stillness.
its the flux. earlier i read a poem dedicated to heraclitus. is it fair to say that perhaps there is some heraclitus in this piece as well?
Well please note that at the beginning the character is sickened by perpetual stillness, the juxtaposition of his fall with the stillness of the zero gravity environ. Perhaps he sees his plummet but does not feel it. If anything this would represent the Parmenidean view. His freshman ache compels him to twist and throe until genuine motion is finally achieved, miraculously, only he soon regrets the Heraclitusian flux and longs for stillness again. It is assumed he will reach stasis again via the same mystical handholds which granted him motion. There is no control, no in- between to this dichotomy; it’s only constant is falling, watching the tunnel walls fly by as he heads deeper into the abyss. In the end we all choose which pole is the lesser of two evils…until we change our minds again.
huh, now you’re getting me to think of Heidegger (falling, being-towards-death) and Sartre’s Nausea.
That I’m getting you to think of anything at all is electrifying.