Eeva Karhunen
LIFE OF A SCRIPT IN MEMORY A SCRIPT OF A LIFE IN MEMORY
Speaking of it does not interest me.
At best 'home' is a roadsign. I do not call home.
Coming home is coming to a body. My body.
My hips are mine.
I confess to be: a feminist. I am scared to write this sentence.
What I am scared of is that of which is shouted from outside.
My backbone controls my hunger.
I do not see the ending.
I do not write for children.
When writing, I notice what I am told to write.
I do not confuse you when on board. I take a flight a couple of times a year.
Then working ethics meet research methods.
These hands work for the freedom of speech. My lecturer says hands do not.
I write with my fingertips. There is a possibility for a pen.
I was famous. Now I am here.
I am criticized. I can take pressure.
I am in the West because I do not want to give away my location.
No. I do not need medication.
I do not have to lie.
There are words: "politische lesbian."
There are consequence of words. Those of freedom.
I learned to read and write later than learning English at the age of 4.
English is a language. Some say it is my second.
I have seen a truck load of sheep being taken to slaughter.
That is a business morning. City looking empty.
This is a diary.
This is what I am told to write.
I want nothing. Wanting nothing is making peace with death.
Resting in peace is an association.
Do I have to die for you? I have not. I am not dead.
I have experienced danger.
The promise was option. Now there is none. Should I --- thank --- you?
Is it an option if someone chooses for you?
I do not cry in your eyes.
I wonder if I hang with tears.
My favourite past time as a child was to look out the windows of a Mercedes-Benz.
I do not regret.
Eeva Karhunen (born 1986, Kuopio) is an artist and a poet. Her debut collection Unelma (ntamo) was published in 2009. Her poetry has appeared in and on Unikankare, Kirjo, Kerberos, Nokturno, Kulttuurivihkot and LEHTOlapset (ntamo) 2011.
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LIFE OF A SCRIPT IN MEMORY A SCRIPT OF A LIFE IN MEMORY
Speaking of it does not interest me.
At best 'home' is a roadsign. I do not call home.
Coming home is coming to a body. My body.
My hips are mine.
I confess to be: a feminist. I am scared to write this sentence.
What I am scared of is that of which is shouted from outside.
My backbone controls my hunger.
I do not see the ending.
I do not write for children.
When writing, I notice what I am told to write.
I do not confuse you when on board. I take a flight a couple of times a year.
Then working ethics meet research methods.
These hands work for the freedom of speech. My lecturer says hands do not.
I write with my fingertips. There is a possibility for a pen.
I was famous. Now I am here.
I am criticized. I can take pressure.
I am in the West because I do not want to give away my location.
No. I do not need medication.
I do not have to lie.
There are words: "politische lesbian."
There are consequence of words. Those of freedom.
I learned to read and write later than learning English at the age of 4.
English is a language. Some say it is my second.
I have seen a truck load of sheep being taken to slaughter.
That is a business morning. City looking empty.
This is a diary.
This is what I am told to write.
I want nothing. Wanting nothing is making peace with death.
Resting in peace is an association.
Do I have to die for you? I have not. I am not dead.
I have experienced danger.
The promise was option. Now there is none. Should I --- thank --- you?
Is it an option if someone chooses for you?
I do not cry in your eyes.
I wonder if I hang with tears.
My favourite past time as a child was to look out the windows of a Mercedes-Benz.
I do not regret.
Eeva Karhunen (born 1986, Kuopio) is an artist and a poet. Her debut collection Unelma (ntamo) was published in 2009. Her poetry has appeared in and on Unikankare, Kirjo, Kerberos, Nokturno, Kulttuurivihkot and LEHTOlapset (ntamo) 2011.
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