corridors, highways by Anuka Ramischwili-Schäfer

poem video. on the city/illness/the body/dysphoria/dust.

maybe people like us live in the past and through it, murmurs of places and memories that we didn't even live ourselves, constant convergence of reality and could-be's and parallel stories. but in the instance of trying to live life and get through the day it's been pulling me back hard, with each day it pulls further back because i let it. why should diaspora mean holding my fingers before my eyes in order to pause forever to try to see what i was once told. i need to depart somehow, -- or fucking arrive. and so this is the last of this type of video i hope to make. i want life in my new work. have ‘corridors, highways’ as an introduction to the beginning, a last few touches.