from the diary of dislocations

Transitions №6

Author: Vadim Keylin

* * *

I am not a storyteller
and this is where my story begins

in exile

in the hanging gardens of omission
on the verge of sliding into obscurity
with the shattering of a stalwart premise

a pathetic act
so devastatingly unprofound
that it ripples through the flowery landscape
raising into the air
the last vestiges of the baroque narrative

nothing comes together
but some things do come to haunt

queer apparitions in chains of threadbare signification
roaming through the draughty ruins
of this dilapidates self, so poorly constructed
from a multitude of missteps
and betrayals

no, I am not a storyteller

I take a step back
I retreat
into the gaping deconstruction
into an out-of-body experience
of resolute indulgence

to cower
in wistful awareness

to be continued

* * *

another landslide
another revelation

shallow pools of platitude
glistening in the cold sunlight
color-coded for the ease of consumption

I sigh and get to work

separating impurities
from inconsistencies


it is an uphill battle
to compartmentalize the spillage
to read past
the sparkling streams of negligence

how do I reframe the inevitable?
enormous pressure building up to this moment
of insipid clarity

I sigh again and let the stream engulf me

October fatigue
poisoning the roots of every objection

I am out of my depth here
this is someone else’s depth in fact
the psalmodic pit of futility

the rift sighs back at me
echoing the sentiment

now let us open the valves and the gauges
and behold the obstinate pipes
burst with unwelcome candour


the soothing
repetitive rhythm
of laborious fossilization

* * * (hymns to transience)

I am surprised at how illuminating it is
passing though this arid reductive sense-scape
with not a shadow nor reservation
to hide away from the searing indifference

the roadside idol says:

“the institution of transience
is to be deposed
in a bloody insurgence
of the disposable and the eroded
there is no time to waste
there is no time to this wasteland
act now or remain forever”

its words fall on dead grounds
they fall through the cracks between the clay tablets
rich in meanings but poor in nutrients

sifting through the enlightened rubble
I find a good one
a weighty word of lapidary prayer
to keep me company through the vast abandonment

the beast of burden says:

“there is no solid argument
from which transience can be inferred
but only through a meticulous calculation
of circumventing gradients and exposed densities
through an ecstatic recounting
of all the inimitable transgressions
that we can arrive
at the gates of a secret oasis
of transparent waters and opaque perspectives
and mock oranges in full bloom”

it is surprisingly efficient
in its non-committal reasoning
barely leaving an imprint on the palimpsest of desert sand
under all the weight of my belongings
as if repelling the desire to belong

the vulture says:

“I cannot advise this course of action
I cannot condone this blatant disregard for basic principles
any transience must be put to vote
the board meets at every wasted opportunity
please follow me to the meeting ruin
sorry there is no water left unfortunately only sand
thank you for your understanding”

it leaves promptly as I collect the bones
the beads and the clay shards and the feathers
to weave into a whimsical fetish of predictability
and turn back

* * *

broken connections
converging on a display of diligence
in venomous anticipation

breath in

unable to satisfy
this torturous craving
for continuity

as it gnaws at the void
between the atoms of my being
dissolving into a blurry unpresence

breath in

how fast do I need to run
through the airport corridors
to escape the dutiful cycles of movement?

past the seven gates of inopportune
seductively opening
into the void
of discontinued connections

breath in

stuck in a smothering transience
as time encroaches upon me
from all directions
pasts and futures
histories and utopias

a claustrophobic implosion
of dislocated temporalities

breath in

and watch the lights dance clandestinely
at the sharp edges of the split

breath in

and feel the venomous pull of anticipation

breath in

and let it all out

and let me in

* * *

in a polarizing sequence
the flesh emerges victorious
over a spiralling code

it always does
since the very splitting
of the dark matter and light

this time I feel the leadening of my vessels and cavities
the pull of pressure condensing into a song
calling out to every node

yet silent
the profound dislocation of flesh
as the gleeful agents of impermanence
sabotage its spirited discipline

oh how the leadening resonates
in gravitational waves and tides of entropy

how it caresses and engulfs
and suffuses
the alienated reason
the malnourished covenant
as it crumbles into exhaustion

“be at peace”, the flesh sings
“I will always be there
“just on the other side
“of this conceptual entanglement”

as the leadening stiffens
bonds of embodiment
made whole again

* * *

now that the recollection is done, it’s impossible to ignore any longer:
it screams

revelling in its oppressive agency
sending my apperceptions into overdrive
with chemical contradictions
and genetically engineered half-truths

oh it screams

decrying the recipes of ambiguity
clawing relentlessly
at the tender walls of my swollen ignorance

it is just
gloriously irritating

I contemplate
as conspiracy theories settle into Chladni patterns
on murky glass

as it screams on
lulling me into a frenzied complacency

and from this vantage point
I can finally savour
all the oppressive agencies converging onto my defenceless ego
all the chemical contradictions seeping into the water pipes
all the indelible ripeness of genetically engineered insights

silently, I swallow
the uneasy appreciation
of impending indignity