As the organizer I wanted to sort the world, draw the lines and put everything in it’s right box. It makes the world understandable. But the categories kept failing and unless you make a box for every single thing you won’t understand the world that way anyway.
Everything changed a little bit to the left.
I wake up at the subway with no idea of where I’m going. Who was I when getting on this train? I look out the window. We create this hard world. Then we create shoes to walk on it without damaging out feet. Lights passing outside in the dark while I’m trying my shoes against the floor.
Everything will move back again to the way it was and they will tell me what station to get off at.
Shellac and fabric box
Collapsing cube of bandage and shellac
Bloated cube of raw hide and concrete
Is it just these people I’m outside of, or is it everyone?
You raise us as islands and teach us to see ourselves as individuals, separated from the rest of the world. You isolate us in little compartments, stacked close together in big buildings, but separated so completely as if existing in different dimensions. We live on controllable islands of sameness in an ocean of otherness.
But you’re forgetting that there is no word for the difference between me and the world.
Or am “I” that word?
Doubtfully, The Introvert
Stack of concrete compartments
Stack of velvet compartments
Group of cages/city scape
Stacking compartments close together