William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

This Body Is My Face

Fascinating are the little disturbances and imbalances that visit the body, as it reacts to the various impurities in its immediate environment, water-borne, air-borne, food-borne, human-borne — not even impurities, necessarily, but concentrations of different allergens, spores, molds, and the like. And to this list one would hasten to add words, thoughts, and images, all of which can be either toxic or beneficial. As rugged as it is, the body, if kept healthy and clean, with its functions and cells humming along, is a delicately sensitive instrument. And certainly awareness is not a matter of the brain alone; the entire body is a veritable organ of awareness, a universal flute and lung. Whether it is poisoned by unhealthy food, drugs, or subjected to prolonged exposure to violent images, the instrument, so supple and pliant when it is young, becomes less and less efficient in conducting its daily miracles as it tries to filter and dispose of that which offends it — until the time comes that it is simply no longer able to realize its former glory, and is instead driven to desperation, and into survival mode. When that happens, and while it is happening, it is foolish to think that the mind, with all its wondrous capacity, remains untouched. It, too, is in survival mode, steadily lowering the bar on its precious activities until it is left to defend only the most basic, while finding ways to subtly justify its downfall. That these words would be written by someone who thinks that he is, or was, or might still be, for the most part, agreeably insane, is also fascinating — at least to the one writing it. It might also be proof.


This Body Is My Face

This body is my face,
said the mind.

This mind seeks grace,
the body replied.

Recently Banned Literature, May 22, 2013


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