Multidimensionality of time — hybrid notes | Michael Dickel

So, she walks onto the stage below the rows of chairs in the bar. Glass-noise filters from the bar in the back, the sound of drinks ordered, mixed, taken up.

She performs —
Not
	linear
		or
	flat-world geometry
mere 1 or 2 dimensional mirror.

Not
	even or odd
		three dimensional
	many-splendored
dimensions

Spreads out from
	big bang
		all possible directions
	dimensions
collapsing back.

Self on itself
	singularity time
		time bubbles
	toils, boils, foils us all
strings film pressure folds wave goodbye dimensions

High energy held in your sighs
	time pressure builds
		lost
	this loving feeling
larger-on-the-inside dimensionality

experience flows
	on the emulsion
		surfeit of surfaces
	surf faces surface breaking
wave bubbles roiling time dimensions

The judges take a moment, hold up their cards when the MC asks. She has an almost perfect 10, only one of the five judges holding up a 9. What the hell.

The chose me randomly to serve as a judge. I held up the 9. The history of us untraceable in the heart of her performance, not linear, always bubbling, moving through bubbles, bubbling up — narratized into linear experience only in our minds.

Memory, counter-memory, memory counters create, un-create, re-create our narrative(s) for us of us, each discrete, lost as its found, foundering in the deep sea of possible and probable. The experience more randomized, spirals — spins — spreads — chaotic, fractal rather than narrative, she explains to me as we leave the bar much later that night.

She had won the competition, slammed her poetry right up against me. Us. Her. The other slam competitors.

Memory, counter-memory: Jesus Hernandez, Chicago 8 / 7, erasure a part of every narrative, I call.

Memories: gas station, Maryland/ Chestertown and Quakerneck Landing, train ride, walking/ running through black neighborhoods to Old Town. Okay, also Hernandez, she responds.

Counter-memories: MLK, Jesse Jackson, Black Panthers, “outside agitators”, whispers relegated to the alley call.

So many narratives, she answers.

As we walk to our car, she performs her poem, “Long Silence.” I join in.

(Time) less (dissonance)≠ (harm)(money), I reflect.

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