Date: Wed, 19 Feb 1997 10:03:14 -0500 (EST)
From: "Cyberdiva (a.k.a \"Radhika Gajjala\")" <rxgst6+-AT-pitt.edu>
Subject: i want to curl up and deny 


suddenly
	(or not)

these "spaces" are 
not mine

			they never were

not

"my" communities.
yet again
i
do not
belong.
		I hesitate
		i stutter
		i trip
		i stumble

wondering *if* i belong...


suddenly 
	(or not)

i fear
This non-community of
`non'-people.

		mere texts?
			(not quite)

mine and yours
that cry out in 
pain and joy,

or just plain boredom ...
as pranksters
		
	as though we exist.

			as if we are.

optical illusions.
translated texts.

			we
			are

texts are mine and yours
	claiming property rights on thoughts

	that have circulated
	and re-circulated
	for centuries

associate them with
I
	and sell
	to be reappropriated
	and absorbed

			
but 
		
	who are you?

I fear
	the (im)possibility 
	of becoming cyborg.
	(and what kind of cyborg would that be?)

The impossibility of
not
getting absorbed

	(to recall an earlier metaphor
		on one of these "communities"
		perhaps

	borg-like
	assimilated)

If its thought of as a "frontier"
then assimilation
elimination
occupation
appropriation
must be
the goal

indeed.

even in this non-space the language is the same.
		the same.
		for shame.


as i am
as i continue to 
be

	absorbed.

whether i resist or
			not.


displaced yet again
>from a community 
that is not
	yet is
IRL or not

	by my own fears.

The ether takes control.

	But the eyes watch and judge.

	all those eyes that belong to fingers that 
often don't type
when online.

	but
i must write.

or i cannot breath.

	My silence threatens to suffocate me.

I must reassure myself - tap at the keyboard.
(Feel the flow of ink
once again 
sometimes 
too.)
see the marks on empty "space".

		i don't *want* to share my thoughts.
		I want to curl up and
		deny 
you.

The song that plays in the background reminds me
of a voice i had that knew.
And soared in confidence.
reminds me of tunes,
raagas
>from the past
tunes i can barely name
in the flurry of the everyday
today.

Reminds me of a language i speak.
that i stumble over -
over the many dis-
placements
that my tongue has tripped over.

	A patched, sewn-together
	clumsy
	tongue....

Almost forgotten tunes
Almost forgotten metaphors

		I want to curl up and
		deny
		the now

sometimes
when i don't know what (if) the
now
is.

	if in the now i
	am.

A child who does not understand
all
my past metaphors.
He watches
sometimes confused
sometimes
amused

		sometimes even seeming to 
		uncover parts of his early
		childhood
		memories
		in other languages

		he knew the metaphors once.
		he knows he knew.

i know i knew.

I'm not sure which metaphors are "mine"
anymore.

	Displaced several times
	I'm never sure.

Some metaphors flow in this script
this script that stole my
tongue
when I was barely able to 
speak.

the patched together metaphors
flow to an e-mail address 
"back home".

	The metaphors awaken sleeping raagas.

	The writing is my singing now.

Always trying to steal back my tongue.
my "voice".

	In the flurry of the everyday
	the metaphors re-emerge
	in sparks
	in flashes
	and flit by in elusive sparks of memory.

as my brain falls to pieces
trying to recollect

	Was it imagined or
	Was it there
ever?



Mixed up metaphors.


			yes
			i have read my 
			"spivak"
			too

			the "haraways"
			the "fiskes"
			the bhabhas
				
			and the rest

who is located where?

is it easy to escape location 
	dis-location
"here"

	on cyber"space"

perhaps
not
 
			and i continue to fear

	wanting just to curl up and deny.






	

-radhika - Feb.18th 1997
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homepage::  http://www.pitt.edu/~gajjala/

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