Val Sivilli

artist

Chapter 2 , Dial Left

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I can hear it making sounds. Like grunts and groans and repetitive throat clearing sounds. Sometimes they sound like words. Like ahhfongoogle. What is that? What word can that actually be? It seems like an expressions of frustration. It also sounds like a statement. …. “Aahhhh… Fongue Gooooougal.” Long stretched out syllables said slowly with introspection. Sometimes I try to listen, and sometimes I try not to listen. When I try to listen to the words, they stop. Quite annoying really. Every friggin time. When I try not to listen, jeez, they just go on and on and on. Like a flood of words, endlessly spewing nonsense and confusion with a highly charged emotional flare. Exhausting, really. One wonders where the real starts and the unreal begins.

So most of the time I live in a state of listening. I just listen to the flood of nonsense. Well, let’s be real, I don’t hear my wild animal all the time. It’s does seem to sleep at times. It sleeps sometimes when I am awake so I can have really clear just ME time most of the time. So I don’t want you to think that I’m like some crazy person walking around the world hearing voices. It’s not like that at all. I’m not crazy. I’m not one of those people who walk down the street taking to themselves and you think. “ omg, like that person is having a full fledged conversation with himself”. No, it’s not like that all. They are even having an argument with somebody living inside of them. No, it’s not like that, either. I don’t talk to “it”. I just occasionally have the sense that this wild thing is there. It lurks. It lurks loudly sometimes and lurks silently others. Most of the time it is silent. Doesn’t move much or anything.

But it’s those funny words I hear in my head. I’m not sure if it’s MY thoughts, or my animal’s voice.

Z-baaarrrrahh

Coal yone aye

Corn new tatata….

Ball lay

Cah garray

Trum barry

Well, that’s just some of them. I’m making it sound like there more than there really are. Just worried that you’ll think I’m making this up. I’m not, really, it’s just that I’ve had this feeling of foreignness lurking for so long, that lots of these unknowable words or actions have become kinda like old friends. Like a part of me . Pieces of me, but I don’t think they are pieces of me. I think they are a foreign being. Some thing entirely separate from me. Something not me. Although totally inseparable from me. Like we share something from before.

Before what, I’m not sure. What we share, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of a lot of the things. But I’m family certain that this thing is in there. I’m gonna find it, trap it… Then at some point I’ll give it a name. Or maybe I should give it a name first. Because then I can call it, and maybe it’ll come out, maybe it’s really really small, like a paramecium… Or a flea. I just hope it’s not really huge taking up a whole lot of room. Making a real mess in there so that other things are kept from being what they need to be inside there.

END chapter 2

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Author: valsivilli

I Paint. I do other things, too, but mostly I paint.

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