Categories
art complaints example general thoughts

Voicing displeasure #3 The Code of Visibility

I believe that invisibility for Him made me urge the visibility everywhere else. I must be loud. I must be seen. Spreading the presence wherever I can, proving my existence while being unrepeatable, unique, ubiquitous. You made me visible by hiding me. But watch out, I do have this voice.

The night felt long and exhausting. After I woke up this morning, there was a spit of trauma on my pillow. It is like many others very blurry, but while writing it I sharpen and sculpt it.

I am a parasite, poster poem
©Nadja Kracunovic

WALLS, DRINKS, CODES, AND SCREAMS

The bar was divided by many walls and halls as if it is an apartment adapted to a so-called place for celebrations. It felt as if the whole family and family from a family were standing in that celebration room. The blurry-faced shapes of human bodies, that presented my close friends were behind the celebration wall, with me, drinking vodka in a very hesitated, thirsty manner. In reality, I never drink vodka, but there I am – as drunk as Cooter Brown, celebrating. I can very well recognize the sound of Him through the walls – drunk as well, heavy smoker’s tone, intense and boisterous voice.

The agony entered the celebration room immediately after I did. Greeting the family (probably mine) and kissing the cheeks of the men that I have never seen before. The sweaty, muscular bodies are welcoming and celebrating my arrival – me being there after so long. At that very moment, I recognized just the figure of my little half-brother that I see for the second time. And then, He appeared. To be more precise in the description of this sibling relationship, the only thing we share is exactly Him. Approaching me confidently, bringing by each step this before-the-storm feeling. I trembled the celebration out of my skin. The scream was there coming from His mouth, manifesting years of anger – outrage irritated by my existence. Why is He furious? Shouting and breaking the glasses in front of my fragile, never-used-to-be-screamed-at body. I was the most visible and invisible person in the room. After more than 15 years of absence, He appears and yells all his masculinity at the female offspring. I could not hear the words, it was too loud to understand them. Fifteen years transformed into a simple spillage of anger. That might be the scream of becoming a father for the first time. At least to me.

All the girls in the world, unite. My code is being loud, being visible. My code is being patient and listening. My code is never ever in my life abandoning you, whoever you will be. My code is being strong like She is. The code of mine is taking care of the children, all the children of the world. My code has a voice must use it.

Nadja’s father (Serbian: Nadjin tata), the handmade doll
©Nadja Kracunovic

But, who wants to pass through me, must pass through my room. I yelled back. I screamed my face off, turning purple and spitting the sentences in His face while saying the words I can not understand. I am not a small girl to be shouted at – I am this deep voice that grew up from a child you never wanted.

After one drink
I turn pink
I scream for Him
My body blinks.

To get it all out,
I need some weeks
Increasing my voice
To fight the beast.

After just one drink
I scream to protect
I turn pink
And there comes my act.

I am a parasite,
I am the stain
I exist so much
that He can not obtain.

Voice up the visibility. Pierce the authority.
Categories
art book general thoughts

A drop in the bucket – about feeling disillusioned and gaining hope

Making a complaint can evoke a feeling of futility.

Giving so much, receiving so little.

Like a drop in the ocean, 

dissolving in a system that has not been waiting for your concern. 

Like a drop on a hot stone, 

dissipating with a hiss in a system not willing to see its own wrongs.

Like a drop in the bucket,

adding another one, and another,

until you are dried out.

The drop, the hiss, not heard, 

rendered invisible, inaudible, by the institutional barriers.1

Drop after drop,

until you end up dropping your complaints.

Making a complaint can drain you.

It’s exhausting, while what you complain about is already exhausting.2

Soon you realize that there are certain rules that define if you will be heard.

You have to find the right paths,

paths made so entangled; they seem to be made in order for you not to find them.

A paperwork so user unfriendly, as if build to avoid its own purpose.3

In fact, you even have to be right person to complain, 

and often if you are in a position where you need to complain,

you are not that right person.4

Making a complaint can disillusion you and your belief that you have a saying in a system.

How many drops do we need to break the barriers of institutions?

How many drops do we need to be heard by those who cover their ears?

Those avoiding seeing their mistakes, not willing to allow change. 

How many drops do we need to create a river that forms its way through the impassable structures of institutions? 

We might need so many drops.

Making a complaint can be very painful

But sharing pain can be a relief,

sharing energy can be empowering. 

Let’s unite, hear those who complain, join their voice,

Let the rain fall,

let the drops become one.

Making a complaint can bring about sea change.

“A drop is just a drop is just a drop

until she meets another

combined they run together

she rinses stone, gets through walls, she crosses borders, never holds

until all the drops become one

big deep blue

where every drop

is just a drop

is just a drop

is just a drop” 

Faraway friends – Intro (Rain is coming)

1 See: Ahmed, S. (2021): Complaint! 2021, p.6.

2 See: ebd., p.5

3 See: ebd., p.31

4 See: ebd., p.4