Maybe this is what hope looks like
Curtains shut
and doors locked
as remnants of existence lay
left behind on window panes
that heard the wanes
and pains
of voices
that remained quiet
for far too long
© Hudson Biko
Photograph by Toa Heftiba
Tag: postaweek
Sanity
It was an afternoon.
As we found ourselves
sitting in rooms
silenced by those
who seek sanity
and their own silence
,
By those
who seek
more
,
Partially empty.
devoid
from voids
of temporary
interactions
as silence
gave in to
bounds
of sound
as it began
to feel
like the
seals
were finally peeling
off
;
But
we should have
known better
,
tethering
on the precipice
of sound
isn’t really
escaping silence
,
All it ever does
is seal
u
s
in it
,
No matter how much we try to peel it off.
© Hudson Biko
Photograph: Caleb George
the pipes flowed
The pipes lied there
perpetrating their
emptiness in
the presence
of everything
that didn’t
flow through them
As bouts
of air
flowed out
into mouths
waiting
in an expectation
that breaths
would finally mean
something
That they
wouldn’t feel
that empty
or filled with pity
Of everything
that was nothing
But they did
They felt
nothing
as if
it was everything
And then
the pipes
no longer lied
there
They were only filled
by their own lies
;
Perpetrating.
© Hudson Biko
Social
It flickers in backgrounds
of silence
and emptiness
As we wait
with bait
(ed)
breath
For it to
take us
To worlds
of words
carefully
crafted
manufactured
and structured
into entire constellations
made of
calculated impressions
and fleeting gratification
As we
watch ourselves
fall
into walls
That reflect
each
and
every
one
of
them
As ones turn
into twos
and twos
to
threes
and threes
to
fours
As we
For
ages
forage
through lines and feeds
Feeding
ourselves
More and more
and then
when we think
we’ve had enough
and heard enough
slightly more
Till
we begin
to feel
like
we can’t
feel anymore
like
we can’t
react
to
the exhaustion
and constipation
Till
we begin
to feel
(To feel!)
Like
like
like
Like:
Is this everything
?
Slowly falling
and fading
into
hesitations
that
cut through
consellations
of
calculated impression
Leaving
behind
scars of
our sanity
in their own darkness
Grinding
then
pouring
their remnants
into segments
Of
nothingness
_
What was I running away from?
© Hudson Biko
I Started Learning How To Code, and Its Pretty Cool
Photograph: Artem Sapegin
If you came to me seven months ago and told me that I would be learning how to code, I would have laughed at your face. Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. I would have probably told you, “Yeah, maybe” – the reasons for that are a whole other essay. But the main thing is, in the realms of my perceived reality, it was more like: “Yeah, maybe not” – and the maybe are the parts of me that are being incredibly optimistic.
In my reality, I was never seated behind a computer screen writing lines and lines of code. I was never stuck in between brackets and semi-colons. I was never consumed by wanting to know how to be stuck between brackets and semi-colons. And the only red lines I ever saw and cared about were the ones you get on that word document.
I liked that was everything was based on a platform of reason. That I could refer to a theory on that one paper I’m working on. That I could write a response to that essay topic. That everything was relatively straightforward.
But at the same time, I also liked that I could be creative. That I could make those thoughts at the back of my mind mean something. That I could speak poetry and act. That I could draw.
Okay, scratch that last part, I’m a pretty terrible artist. But I think you know what I’m getting at. It wasn’t that coding was never plan a, b, c or d. It was never a plan to begin with.
Nevertheless, the irony in prediction, is its unpredictability. I don’t really know how I got there, but there I was, sitting behind a computer, wanting to know how to write lines of code.
And I was right. It wasn’t based on reason. It wasn’t creative.
It was both.
It was this weird form of artistry and structure. It was mixing colours and shapes to create something I visualised. It was building those thoughts on a platform of reason.
It was appreciating those red lines. Don’t get me wrong, I hate them. But there’s an incredible satisfaction in solving the things that appear unsolvable.
In wanting to know how to get to the next bracket and semi-colon.
In continuously expanding the realms of my perceived reality.
In continuously embracing prediction and unpredictability.
finish()
hudson biko 