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But i'm out of ideas.
So here, a mv, a poem and a song lyric:
Cell
By Naomi Cohn
The blood of language moves through the word cell from monk’s cell to prison cell to biological cell. I don’t know why a Braille cell is called a cell. I don’t know how many blood cells Louis Braille lost when the awl he was playing with as a small child slipped and injured his eye.
Red blood cells live some hundred days before they are worn out by their silent hustle—looping and looping, pounded through the heart’s chambered cathedral, rushing out to the farthest reaches of the body with the good news of oxygen, squeezing single file along capillaries, like anxious deer probing their tracks through the woods. Rushing, silent, looping the circuits of the body. Again, again, again. Load iron. Dump iron. Load dump squeeze hustle.
Red blood cells pushed through the capillaries that pushed through my retinas. They broke loose to run a green swarm in the corral of my eye. But that is history. Today cells still push through the capillaries fenced off by my calloused fingerprint. This one that I run over the Braille cell, the pattern of bumps.
A red blood cell is measured in microns. A solitary prison cell is measured in feet. Six feet by nine feet or less. I don’t know what the unit of measure is for how living in solitary changes a person. We know that living in a confined space, without access to the long view or landscape, changes the eye. The eye, for lack of practice, loses its ability to make out what lies in the distance. I don’t have a unit of measure for what this does to the heart.
A Braille cell is measured in spaces in a grid—two across by three down—that can be filled with a raised dot or bump. Different combinations of dots represent different letters, punctuation, symbols, shorthand.
The oldest cell I find in the dictionary is the monastic cell, a place for contemplation. From the concealed place where wine was stored. As in cellar. I find Braille contemplative. I touch my index finger to a bumpy piece of paper. My hand advances slowly left to right, the touch receptors in my finger triggered by the uneven contact of paper and skin. Messages run along nerves, finger-to-brain, brain-to-finger. Cognition sizzles. Mind notices this feels different than the pathway of sound in ear to auditory processing. Listening pulls me out into the world in an infinity of directions. Touching my reading educates me on my exact location in the world, feet in shoes, weight of foot on ground, weight of bones and flesh in chair.
Source: Poetry (March 2019)
Apink - %%
When the dark night comes, my heart is pounding
(Pounding)
Melancholy the feeling I don’t hate, cool cool cool
(Cool cool cool yeah yeah)
I’m like an ice cream on the outside
I’m colorful and pretty but a little cold yeah
If you’re ordinary, you can’t see who I am
Someone real recognizes what’s real
I’m difficult not to look easy
It’s in vain, that is not enough baby
Tickling tickling the person who makes me fret myself first
I think it has to be someone like that
I’ll be happy Make me overwhelmed by delight @Drug
If you’re not confident goodbye
The sweet words without sincerity
Thank you but sorry ooh ooh
Will you answer me? %%
Please come out in the blink of an eye
It can’t be anyone %%
Please come out while I’m sleeping @Drug
%%
It’s cool the music in the night streets boom boom boom
(Boom boom boom)
It’s so cool looking out of the window view view view
(View view view yeah yeah)
Each time, I’m overwhelmed by temptation
Even when I’m swayed but no no no no
It’s a perfect picture that’s who I am
I’m waiting for a perfect frame really
You’re shining You look good on the outside
It’s in vain, that is not enough baby
It’s important to be warm-hearted
I think it has to be someone like @Drug
I’ll be happy Make me overwhelmed by delight
If you’re not confident goodbye
The sweet words without sincerity
Thank you but sorry ooh ooh
Will you answer me? %%
Please come out in the blink of an eye
It can’t be anyone %%
Please come out while I’m sleeping
%%
Even if I tried many times, it was so hard
Everything was the same I said I won’t do it again
But I’m lonely I want to lean on you again
You don’t know who I am only by the way I look
You’re trying to come closer to me
Will you answer me? %%
Please come out in the blink of an eye
It can’t be anyone %%
Please come out while I’m sleeping @Drug
%%
Source: stan tao, anticipate mamamoo cb
So here, a mv, a poem and a song lyric:
Cell
By Naomi Cohn
The blood of language moves through the word cell from monk’s cell to prison cell to biological cell. I don’t know why a Braille cell is called a cell. I don’t know how many blood cells Louis Braille lost when the awl he was playing with as a small child slipped and injured his eye.
Red blood cells live some hundred days before they are worn out by their silent hustle—looping and looping, pounded through the heart’s chambered cathedral, rushing out to the farthest reaches of the body with the good news of oxygen, squeezing single file along capillaries, like anxious deer probing their tracks through the woods. Rushing, silent, looping the circuits of the body. Again, again, again. Load iron. Dump iron. Load dump squeeze hustle.
Red blood cells pushed through the capillaries that pushed through my retinas. They broke loose to run a green swarm in the corral of my eye. But that is history. Today cells still push through the capillaries fenced off by my calloused fingerprint. This one that I run over the Braille cell, the pattern of bumps.
A red blood cell is measured in microns. A solitary prison cell is measured in feet. Six feet by nine feet or less. I don’t know what the unit of measure is for how living in solitary changes a person. We know that living in a confined space, without access to the long view or landscape, changes the eye. The eye, for lack of practice, loses its ability to make out what lies in the distance. I don’t have a unit of measure for what this does to the heart.
A Braille cell is measured in spaces in a grid—two across by three down—that can be filled with a raised dot or bump. Different combinations of dots represent different letters, punctuation, symbols, shorthand.
The oldest cell I find in the dictionary is the monastic cell, a place for contemplation. From the concealed place where wine was stored. As in cellar. I find Braille contemplative. I touch my index finger to a bumpy piece of paper. My hand advances slowly left to right, the touch receptors in my finger triggered by the uneven contact of paper and skin. Messages run along nerves, finger-to-brain, brain-to-finger. Cognition sizzles. Mind notices this feels different than the pathway of sound in ear to auditory processing. Listening pulls me out into the world in an infinity of directions. Touching my reading educates me on my exact location in the world, feet in shoes, weight of foot on ground, weight of bones and flesh in chair.
Source: Poetry (March 2019)
Apink - %%
When the dark night comes, my heart is pounding
(Pounding)
Melancholy the feeling I don’t hate, cool cool cool
(Cool cool cool yeah yeah)
I’m like an ice cream on the outside
I’m colorful and pretty but a little cold yeah
If you’re ordinary, you can’t see who I am
Someone real recognizes what’s real
I’m difficult not to look easy
It’s in vain, that is not enough baby
Tickling tickling the person who makes me fret myself first
I think it has to be someone like that
I’ll be happy Make me overwhelmed by delight @Drug
If you’re not confident goodbye
The sweet words without sincerity
Thank you but sorry ooh ooh
Will you answer me? %%
Please come out in the blink of an eye
It can’t be anyone %%
Please come out while I’m sleeping @Drug
%%
It’s cool the music in the night streets boom boom boom
(Boom boom boom)
It’s so cool looking out of the window view view view
(View view view yeah yeah)
Each time, I’m overwhelmed by temptation
Even when I’m swayed but no no no no
It’s a perfect picture that’s who I am
I’m waiting for a perfect frame really
You’re shining You look good on the outside
It’s in vain, that is not enough baby
It’s important to be warm-hearted
I think it has to be someone like @Drug
I’ll be happy Make me overwhelmed by delight
If you’re not confident goodbye
The sweet words without sincerity
Thank you but sorry ooh ooh
Will you answer me? %%
Please come out in the blink of an eye
It can’t be anyone %%
Please come out while I’m sleeping
%%
Even if I tried many times, it was so hard
Everything was the same I said I won’t do it again
But I’m lonely I want to lean on you again
You don’t know who I am only by the way I look
You’re trying to come closer to me
Will you answer me? %%
Please come out in the blink of an eye
It can’t be anyone %%
Please come out while I’m sleeping @Drug
%%
Source: stan tao, anticipate mamamoo cb
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