This morning I rose from the dead again, I couldn’t quite locate where I had gone, I still can’t. Sometimes on the brink of wakefulness it feels as though I am on a substitute bench remembering something higher, waiting to be called when I see myself stirring, to be allocated back

to the body I didn’t create, the body which has grown taller and wider without me noticing.

Last night I lost my body again, but I didn’t diminish in any way. I was somewhere else waiting. Was the waiting room the same place I waited before my parents found me allocated to the body mum birthed in 95′? the place that Allah new before ‘Be’, that my family only knew of once I joined humanity to live my decree?

How much of yourself do you really know? You have sovereignty over your limbs for now but you are not the Lord of your sleep, siri has more power to wake you then you do. Why can’t you wake you up?

That thing that animated Malcolm’s mind and body and gave presence to his speeches, we try to give a pseudo life to through books and tongues but we can’t pinpoint it on film. And yet glimpses of it are recycled in editions and revisions of his biography, words and the legacy lives in hearts and  minds long after his vessel has become vacant and the carcass has fallen. Where was Malcolm located that day the image of his silent body was broadcast worldwide?

After the brightness

had been extracted from yesterdays canopy, I found it being turned on again. Yet again the sun and the earth are more consistent than us, as are worker bees who know and fulfil their purpose each day, and run their course from the instance of birth until death.

Does the ‘I’ of a double amputee diminish in any way? no, I don’t think so… Neither does the ‘I’ shrink during a psychotic break’s siege of the mind- I know so.

The truth is dumb and the Anthropologist has a degree despite your logic so hush. As long as markets of academic speculation can be built one above the trembling other, logic’s natural fibres which we recognise in ourselves, nature and the pages of the Qur’an will be camouflaged beneath fragile markets of empty ‘isms’.

This morning I woke up again, shocked, again, to find myself witnessing myself. Again. I am inside a body I didn’t create which has grown taller and wider without me noticing. I live in a world which masks me from the reality of myself: that I am living on the brink of death, and that I sit and walk on the decomposed civilisations that have come before me.

Tonight you will have a small death again. You were born into a race and you are running out. This day is a lifetime and your capital so trade wisely.

 

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