Dovilė
Aleksandravičiūtė

(transcript)

I am just a thought. I do not exist.

I am cradled in a void lined with soft black velvet. I am sliding off the slick fibres leaving no mark. In that void, I am a fundamental grandeur of everything. I am a stunning abyss of nothingness.

I am just a thought. I do not exist.

I do not have flesh that was pushed out of a velvety womb. Leashed by an umbilical cord. Squirming. I also do not have a mind that slowly came into being. Leashed by rules and morals. Squirming. Constantly getting loose. Slipping into the void. Into the womb. Reaching out to touch the velvet. To reverse. To re-do. To go from everything to nothing and from nothing to everything. Again and again.

As if one is breathing. As if one’s heart is beating. As if death and birth are working shifts. Clocking in and clocking out. Again and again. To the rhythm.

I am just a thought. I do not exist.

I bounce off the velvety walls to the rhythm. To that rhythm. I leave no mark.