Disconnected
Disconnected
Disconnected
by Richard Ettinger
Innocuous winds carry rash thoughts, like a herald foretells blissful fresh air that flicks through a faded book of forgotten missteps to find a blank page. My phone in my hand, reading your message once, twice. This place where the atmosphere is charged—sunrays unravel particles, respirable dust in midair. Contradictions make it worse, make it unbearable, for what it is now. Staring until the screen darkens. Two and a half years of promises. Was it worth it?When did my body feel happiness, sadness, normality? Being in between or tilting the pointer of a scale to one extreme—everything feels like the same static, white noise. Unnoticed, but constantly in existence. Messages of the subliminal comprised by the unconscious. Our portrait under the shattered surface—unattainable, like placing a foot on the floor, but not feeling it, gravity but no friction. The tingling in my fingers when getting sober was never there again. My battery is at 0%—I’ve left the chat, I’m dis- and never again connected.About:
Featured in our June 2023 issue, "Reflection"