The most important attributes of animals, whether common to all or peculiar to some, are, manifestly, attributes of soul and body in conjunction, e.g. sensation, memory, passion, appetite and desire in general, and, in addition pleasure and pain. For these may, in fact, be said to belong to all animals. But there are, besides these, certain other attributes, of which some are common to all living things, while others are peculiar to certain species of animals. The most important of these may be summed up in four pairs, viz. waking and sleeping, youth and old age, inhalation and exhalation, life and death. We must endeavour to arrive at a scientific conception of these, determining their respective natures, and the causes of their occurrence.
– On Sense and the Sensible, Aristotle (tr. J.I Beare)
Sensation
Soap turns into a cloud in your hand, as you massage it over and over, your palms still not clean. They will never be clean. It is a fact that you need to perceive as soon as possible, for the goodness of your health.
A heaviness on your back as you bury your head in the pillow. Breathing is not an urgent matter right now, gasping is. Hair being tugged but it’s the scalp that feels it, it’s the heart that feels it. There’s a pulse in you, like a rabid animal stuck in a big cage, running, hitting corners that have softened over age. This is about crying, this is about the crying that gets let out in the company of the other, because of the other.
New shoes, cheap but new, so they are more valuable than the sturdy old friends from years ago. Muddy road, rain all over. New socks, smelled of detergent in the morning, helping relent the fear of stinky feet. One wrong step, one bad driver in a car, and there’s brown liquid seeping through it all. Wetness, the wrong kind. You walk and your feet feel spongy, you can already feel the skin wrinkling. There’s still an hour worth of commute left. You understand the meaning of the word squelch now. Such a tactile word.
Auto. Finally. Feet still groggy and soggy and wet and ugly and there’s nothing else you can think of right now, except the breeze hits you at the right spots, the damp cotton top is now a pleasant curtain between your skin and the world that is trying its best to grasp at your innards. A chill buzzes through you, you let the monsoon in. Wetness turns into a coldness seeping through. Skin turns into a sieve, the muddiness left behind. Entering your clean house is a headache for later. Right now, the road is bumpy, a perverted memory bounces around in your head. Everything is precise – you can feel your skin, your breasts, phantom touches, and the breeze cutting through it all. You are on the road, and you don’t intend to stop.
trial. will elaborate and will be SO back baybie!
it is always the other... the other inside, the other outside.
can relate