I had a dream that I don't quite remember:
What happened to my parents fish tank when they moved, I can’t quite remember and I’m scared to ask them in case I don’t like the answer I really liked those fish there were generations upon generations of fish in there and I used to scrub their rocks clean with a toothbrush over the sink in Carlisle
Opening wide eyes closed;
For the things you hold in high esteem, pontiferous … like coniferous, like floor cleaner that doesn’t work on lino like how it did in Plano, Texas
A woman walks into the hackney wetherspoons carrying a cat carrier,
Solar plexus
Eyes reeling, like in the movies
In an interview from the summer of 2004 I learned how to die, it was an interview with myself In my room
On the yellow carpet with the charcoal stains that will come later (I made the mistake of telling my mother I wanted to go to art school) and the house trembled with each footstep and my mom came to ask me if I was okay because I was making the house shake with each foot step
I crawl out of you backwards teething and seething and praying for the vapid senseless hole to swallow me back up stinking of rats and shit and dirty feet and wet dog and other foul things
A showerhead with its tracheal ridges,
I get a notification from reddit; “phallo” and burst into tears but I mistype and accidentally write “years”
There are egg shells in the bin and there are egg shells by the bench in Dungeness by the edge where the water begins and ends, I find a zip tie too but I leave in on the ground, the edge, edging
The body absorbs the body of the building, this is how bodies work, swallows the dirty water in the sink, this is how bodies consume you haven't cleaned the sink yet since moving in and it's disgusting; bits of crushed garlic, padded soles of feet chew vinegar wood cleaner, like animals grazing, and the vibrations of the shower head, sex, onto skin and clay, there's a bit of stained bin juice from when I cleaned the bin in the shower before I left to have top surgery, I thought it would be really good to have a clean bin post op
What is under the carpet? There is no carpet
My midriff is bloated I can tell because I have made my way to the toilet in the bathroom in the hospital in the middle of the night in an attempt to piss by myself (bold and stupid) as my dad snores on pull out couch; blissed out
The IV pole is heavy and my chest feels like it is dripping down my body, tugging and pulling as if there were more for it to escape from still
First day back at work, they smile and congratulate ask
“All better now?” I nod and smile
Wait until I tell them about hips ; polystyrene but less cool sounding a bloated receptacle maybe, treading water legs thick and languid, twisted trees and long grasses to pull u under
The americans speak about kale in the background, the managers listen to technology in a windowless room in the basement of an old uniqlo
“Anya, can you send me the Jeremy Allen White pictures?”
The birds are birding and the dogs are dogging as seen through binoculars and voyeurisms
All that exists now is the mortar and pestle, ground up girlhood to read you to filth I remember when all I wanted was a chest like the other girls and their training bras from Limited Too
I forget myself, but softly I forget myself with care
We stand in front of the mirror wearing white calvin klein’s it doesn’t fit us like it fits him and that makes us sad but that is okay we will keep prying ourselves out of ourselves until we are hole and we are whole and I have reached the end
Julian Konuk is a transdisciplinary filmmaker, photographer, and experimental writer based in London. Recent notable exhibitions and screenings include Somerset House, the Barbican, Les Rencontres d'Arles 2023, Fringe! Queer Film Fest 2020-2023, and Bermondsey Project Space. Selected writing pieces were recently published in Mourning, with Sticky Fingers Publishing, Carrion Press, as well as the limited edition art book, “With No Orbit.” He holds a masters degree in photography from the Royal College of Art, where he was the recipient of the New Photography Prize 2023.
Instagram: @video___jockey
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