feelings expressed with the vocabulary we
have, and it’s all inadequate, nothing can
express how it feels, why do reporters try
to talk this event to death, how can they
continue to ask people the obvious – how
did it feel when you saw gun-fire, what
went through your mind – I can’t read it
because it sounds hollow with repetitive
terms like horror and shock seeming so
empty – it’s like asking people what the
colour of the sky is – the painful tension in
the head, the sad sinking and blackness
covering the mind until there is nothing to
say in the place of the glib talkativeness
of the reporters who seem to be on drugs
or something, super-energetic they stand
there without tears, without feeling, like
machines, what a travesty, everything
seems unreal – when he comes, when
he comes – when he comes home again,
comes home again – he will never return,
never return only sadness and longing
will stay in the mind – the noise of the
overactive, mad reporters talking until
we expect to see them foaming at the
mouth – ice-cold and hardened to all,
interrogating juxtaposing and interpolating
and they do not convey a sense of how
people feel or the sad atmosphere, the
loud sound of their voice drowning all
Paris Friday 13 November 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment