Belonging I

toa-heftiba-295056.jpg

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

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Sanity

Caleb George.jpg

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

 

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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

Artem Sapegin.jpgPhotograph: 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.

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