jorunn myklebust syversen

Reality is totally unstable, all limits – abolished for chaos.
The sounds are over there. They have become too many.
I don’t like it when the sound of the language fades. Often it disappears in favour of comprehension of recipient.
Sounds on the body. Close sounds like blows. Repercussions. Cold on right shoulder again and again. Swish.
The body must be protected from the world. Holding the face clear.
I am disintegrating. I am not complete anymore. Feeling every pain in the body. Spasms.
This one sound is my sound. The high-pitched, thin, yearning one.
Movement is my language. I am afraid of the sound of reality. In need of protection. It is so solid. The body can’t take it. Dying.
I talk when I move. Then I am truth – truth is an invention.
Sound stuck in the body. That is what prevents me from breathing.
Anxiety is to be blown up – but sticks.