A woman is inside a suit of armor.
I am sensitive. I’m very sensitive. I am in a constant state of emotional surveillance.
She looks around, the armor is squeaky.
Can someone help me?
She waits until someone comes up, and keeps repeating the line until they do.
Just open up this mask a scooch.
She waits until they do, and talks though the mouth opening of her armor.
Thank you. I had an episode of a kind of micro-aggression or cruelty the other day, and this thing went right back on.
Referring to armor
Although thinking on it I wonder if there is such a thing. A micro-cruelty. Cruelty, or the desire to hurt someone seems a one size fits all. Some cruelties result in horrific suffering, even death, how can that be the same as a remark that makes your insides turn outside and back again? They’re related. Ugly right? That seed of desire to hurt, to curdle another’s heart? Been there done that, sad to say. The instant of that inspiration, I think, springs from the same place. Maybe a kind of Hell?
The devil? The darkness?
Alice Walker’s Celie said; “Everything you done to me, you already under, you.”
All springs from that same place that dark place, hurt, alone, afraid.
Love and trust, every day now. It’s a carnival tube ride and I’m running through it while it twirls around and tries to lay me flat.
When my father died my heart cracked open and I am putting it back together, this time on my own terms.
That photo of my father’s arm reaching into the frame toward my mother, her face startled and fearful?
She taps on armor.
That’s when this piece showed up. It’s got a weak hinge now. I’m on my way.
Underneath? There’s another layer, skin, bones, muscle. Once you get to the rhythm of things, heartbeat and blood rushing all over the place? That’s connected up. To what, I wonder?
Enquiring minds want to know.
A scientist in love and trust. (funny movie voice over voice) Dr. Love.
My blood told me to take the train or the bus.
Referring to another piece of the armor.
That’s from driving. Focus, focus, focus. Hardening, Hardening.
I’m riding the rails, now I sound like a Woody Guthrie song. Just like my blood rushing all over the place the train knows where it’s going and so does the bus.
The train talks to my blood, they have a lot in common.
The train comes in and out of the station, and the tide goes in and out with the moon, and my blood goes in and out with the planets. The planets know what to do.
The jokes on me, I don’t speak the language yet, but I will.
There is so much trust on my train.
Everyone expects to get where they’re going, and I think they will.
Can someone come help me take some of this off?
She waits till someone does; she takes off the arms of the armor, the helmet, the lower legs .
The impossible dream.
Referring to the armor
it’s soft, but don’t let it fool you. It’s soft and hard. What’s in here?
She knocks on her chest (heart)
That thing has so many doors. You need clearance to get in. Like a badge, like, fingerprint identification, like photo i.d. And you’re not even born with it!
Blood knows you can’t be trusted. Nope. You’d open up those doors and let anyone in. You’ll love anyone at all. You did before you came here, and look what that got you.