Alien*ation

In theatre the term alienation ‘effect’ describes Brecht’s style of working. As we tend to always be reminded in readings it is taken from the German word….verfremdungseffekt.

Def. Alienation in the dictionary is described as: a withdrawing or separation of a person or a person’s affections from an object or position of former attachment. Distancing.

So I begin to write.

An addict I was, for probably my whole life, to certain things, to certain ideas and certain places.

I am an image of my former self, only those that truly know me can see through the fake skin I am wearing.

I am a reflection of something that has been left behind, or I am an image of a man exposed to the true reality of the world, my world.

I lived in a singular point, surrounded by alien colors, pink colours, colors of all emotions, now I find myself in a room with only a singular light illuminating, it’s not even bright, it fades away like yesterday’s memory.

What did I do yesterday? I was running backwards, chasing a memory of my former self. I found him, me, lying in a land of grass, with his head looking at the sky.

He was happy, I wanted to stay with him. I didn’t want to tell him that the things he loves the most will break his heart. That in time, from now, from this moment he is in, his smile will turn into many frowns.

That he will gain weight, not the good kind, not the one he wishes his skinny body could carry, no, no, no. He will gain weight in his heart, and in his chest it will feel heavy, his heart will drown in his own circulating blood.

His body will betray him. The images in his head will not be true.

I don’t want to tell him that. I want to sit next to him. Alienated from the rest of the world.

I am an alien here, in his memories, but I feel more alive then I have been in recent times.

I feel strange in the future, as if I am a guest in my own mind. In order to feel alive, I have to travel back in time. That’s really shitty!

_Purplish Flowers_

I want my hoodie back

I’m washing my clothes and some of them smell of you, not really you but the memory of you lingers on them. My Olfactory transmits you right into the front of my memories.

 

Each cloth I pick up, like an old cassette rewinds my mind and plays you; You are my old school jazz, and love making RnB songs.

 

You, in my big old clothes, like a hot sexy hobbo; somehow it looks better on you than it does me, maybe because I’m seeing twice the love.

I love how the hat tucks your head in and makes your eyes a secret; how it’s just short enough to show your thighs but long enough to cover the subject.

 

I want that hoodie back

 

Truth be told, I’m not sure if I want to wash these clothes, I want to lie here, in these dirty garments and just be absorbed in the scent of you; Be stuck in limbo of right now and what used to be

 

Damn, I really want my hoodie back, it’s not here.

 

You’re the last person who was wearing it. I said it’s looks better on you, yeah, only when you’re around me.

 

I’m going to report you

I want my hoodie back

So I can burn it, let it become ash just like our relationship.

 

Yeah

I heard you tuck it under your head when you sleep, like a pillow so you can think of me.

 

That’s nice, but like a league log table this race between you and I is over; I’m not sure you’ll even get that football reference.

 

I want my hoodie

It was mine, I only borrowed it to you because I wanted to keep your heart warm.