These last two weeks, I've been working for 12, 14 hours a day (not exaggerating), immersing in Gestalt therapy and trainings, thinking and feeling and crying and networking. And just now, I gave myself two-hour break and watched a film about Gingsberg and beginning of changes in US. And then I walked into FB and found out about killings, about a protest rally planned on Tuesday (when I am in Kutaisi, working), and anger took over.
I'm mourning. I just don't know who I am mourning.
And here's my "poem".
There's change, there's process, there's relations.
What happens here and
what happens now.
Identity is a myth
I am different,
With the cat,
With a taxi driver.
I was different today from yesterday from year before.
And those who seek identity,
Who resist changes and process and relations,
Who define their own by opposing you,
And other faceless objects,
That we've become.
They come and kill us,
Because by killing they validate their selves,
Because by killing they know that they live.
We're blind. I'm blind. I'm walking blindfolded.
Until one day, they kill so many,
They kill so much,
That I'll be dead too.
Just drinking pregnancy pills.
All dead inside.
Come, kill me too.
Come, kill your darlings.