art general thoughts

Sensational Suicide #2

Today I got sick again. I embraced my state as something that inevitably had to happen. I was waiting for it. My body gets infected every time I drain it with my enthusiastic behavior. Once in a while, it gets infected with different bacteria, viruses, and sometimes serious sickness that lasts for weeks. It always manifests as a fever that no Paracetamol in the world can solve, sharp pain in the kidneys or low back, and a sort of sadness.

I am very tired.

Today I sobbed after experiencing the drought syndrome I have been fighting for months. The long-awaited cry was performed on my kitchen floor while cutting the leaves of my grandma’s tea and sorting it out in the small jars. I gave the names after their purpose. For instance, the ”Kantarion Diary” killed the viruses in my body many times. I drink two extremely hot cups that almost burnt and melted my fingers. The pain felt very good. I enjoyed my fingertips embracing the heat while igniting the whole body.

And then I sang.

I sang so loud while screaming the words deep down from my stomach, the words that neither mean something nor actually exist. Sounds are being transmitted through my tight skin, through my body floating on the fever for the 10th hour today. It felt like I am flying on my kitchen table with the small tea forest surrounding me, barefoot, weak, and lost. It was my own crying stage that stopped right on time before somebody visited my world. Confused and scared, the visitor offered help. I rejected and proudly said: ”Today, I finally cried”.

the professional crying researcher

art example general

Voicing displeasure #2 The Professional Cry

Salty liquid. The sea of the eye lobe. Isn’t it absolutely the same as going to pee? Goes in – goes out. I drop the tears and let them unite into the army. Teary tear, just be.

There was me and four girls from Iran, by coincidence. We were trying to empower our feminity and learn to say NO. We said NO many times in these three hours. I almost broke into the tiniest thousand pieces of human flesh. I tried not to. Never show the instability, delicacy and fragile persona. Drop the humor, start the joke. It is not professional to cry.

NO, digital poster ©Nadja Kracunovic

The third girl said that she feels this socially constructed burden and pressure of being the ideal worker, the best one in the world. The best one in the class. The best one in the bed. The best from the best. Best beast in the wildness.

Me? I bumped into the presence of the physical objects being inside my body because my clock tik-tak-ed and it was time to drop it. What is this pile of thorns which pierce my stomach?

You are not allowed to be a pussy. You are not allowed to be a pussy.
If you are going to be a pussy, be the best one you can possibly be.

Cry holders, digital drawing ©Nadja Kracunovic

Crying my best

There is a cave inside my chest,
little yellow stone, in my own trap.
Hold it up, bravely
Let it shape and progress.

There is desert inside my belly,
blown away from the West.
I tried to protect it,
by sheltering it with my legs.

I must hold it up,
until I increase.

Melting the cave
into the cheese,
licking the floor
with my fragile knees.

I wanted to scream,
from the bottom of my feet.

My tears.
My precious tears.

The end of it is almost there, near.
Hold the breath, up – the chin!

Don’t you agree
with the crying discipline?
Controled by the queen,
I hold the steer.

I am crying my best!
Can’t you see?

Sharpen your tears, it is going to be a long one.

©Nadja Kracunovic