Gigi Z. Li - Writing

Fluorescence

Time moves differently here. The sun exists only for vision, exposing the rest of the planet in natural transparency. The rays from the nearby star move through space only as visible light leaving the surface of my skin cool to touch, living only in fluorescence. Last night I went to bed on the Eve of 2003, tossing and turning in my sheets through a decade before drifting off into the 2010s. In my sleep, I saw the light switch turn on and off over and over again with only the ground beneath my feet moving. No leaves turning green, no wind moving east, no heat coming from the sun, everything stood perfectly still. This morning I woke up in 2021 on the cusp of Spring, hesitant to leave the bed I sat on the edge with my feet dangling over the damp grass. The first steps I’ve taken in more than a decade lead me towards the front door, the outside world nearly indistinguishable in the daylight. The anticipation in my legs and shoulders intensifies as I make my way through the threshold only to completely subside the instant I cross over. Everything stood perfectly still. No flowers opening in bloom, no eggs struggling to hatch, no heat coming from the sun. Maybe I remembered incorrectly. Maybe the sun was always just, fluorescence. I make my way back into bed.

10/8/19

This is my oblivion. The tissues in my body have collectively dissipated from one singularity to ash. The trees are speaking in a native tongue I have not heard in decades. I speak in code to the leaves above me asking for forgiveness and mercy from cells that have persisted my own. The last night I rested my arms on the burning coals, I felt a coldness run down my spine as a presence filled the room. There was a ghost that came with the rent and I stayed with her that night. She spoke with a voice that haunts me even in my sleep, and I couldn’t help but tell her I loved her.

On The Pier

I have dreams of this place, the waves flushing in over the sand. I see my body in the water. The sounds of the current was so violent I felt the aching in the walls of my ears. Am I scared of how high the water gets when the moons out in the open, all naked and confident. I am not a tall creature, I am your cloth rag doll floating on top of this moving carpet. I’m soaked to my core in salt water, and all the cuts inside me yearn in unison, a different kind of burn than the usual sting. I watched my body sink into a bed of dark blue sand, slowly being consumed bit by bit. Was this curiosity or envy? I am not sure I’ve let myself think on the subject for longer than a moment because I was afraid of the door I had to open. What exactly am I feeling at any given moment has been unable to be processed in my mind. I think I’m drowning in there and I’m sinking six feet under. I can barely hear anything with all this water in my ears. The noises get louder but in a way that can only be described as a very long and flat wavelength. I take steps and travel down this wave to find a timeline of my life and the moments I hold so close to my heart. I could have sworn I heard the ocean calling me home.

Sunrise

A memory I’m not sure you’ve thought about again:

The moon looked like a street lamp that night, just slightly covered by a few trees that I have outside my apartment. Flickering like it was tired but didn’t want to go to bed yet. You kept complaining about how cold your feet were even though we both had shoes on. The air comprised of freshly sharpened pencils pressed against my skin, we sat along the sidewalk. Each breathe slithering in and out of my lungs with icy scales rubbing against the airways. We talked about our families, you told me you loved yours and I told you I wish mine loved me. I can see the droplets hanging onto the fire hydrant you had your back against. My fingers played with the broken off pieces of concrete beneath us, you told me about being bad at loving people. I told you about being bad at loving the right people. You apologized to me out of nowhere and when I asked you for what, you said, just in case. The moon’s gone now. I think a part of us knew we weren’t from the same planet, both just visitors on Earth. I think a part of us knew we had to go home soon. The sky turned bluer and bluer with each word that left our mouths, our talking probably woke up the sun. And after that night, we never talked again.

10 Hours

1.04am

I should really shower,

But I’m glued to my bed.

2.26am

It started raining really bad

I can hear it against my window.

Lucy asked me if I was typing real loud.

3.11am

I ate too much for dinner,

I can feel it picking out wallpaper for my stomach.

Googles: “How to file an eviction notice.”

4.43am

I ran a bath filled halfway with

Chamomile tea. I’ve made it too warm

And now my sweat drips into the water.

5.15am

My hands turned into prunes.

6.23am

The ground outside is wet,

It feels like I’m walking on saran wrap.

I put my clothes in the washer

And sat there drinking soap.

7.07am

It stopped raining and the skies turned beige.

The sun is crawling around behind the fog.

8.14am

My brain feels scrambled like eggs.

I made eggs for breakfast.

9.17am

My reflection looks fake in the bathroom lighting.

I’m chewing toothpaste under a fluorescent glow.

My teeth hate me.

10.11am

Good morning birds.

I’m going to bed.

untitled 1

there have been many nights spent thinking what

these two hands that i have been given can do. a

repeated question i will ask myself, until i’m sick

in the head with voices. they’re bent and twisted

and too small for everything i want to hold. a sense

of urgency and panic submerges to remind me of

the sand slipping through my fingers. there’s humor

in the trembling that syncs to every exhale. our

design, a praise worthy of some unseen gods,

only to remind us what we can never fully have.

Why are my hands so damn small

Everytime I go to buy shoes,

they never have them in my size.

Probably because so many people

wear a women’s size 6 shoe.

So we go shoe shopping and

I hold your hand while we walk.

I trace the back of your thumb

with my thumb. And my hands and

your hands are now all wet

while we’re walking around

looking for size 6 shoes.

I don’t like to hold your hand in public,

I’m embarrassed my hands are too small.

Vice and Virtue

Under the pink and blue neon afterglow of the setting sun

stands the neon pink and blue glow of our vices and virtues

Anger/Fortitude

Lust/Faith

Envy/Hope

Sloth/Charity

Avarice/Justice

Gluttony/Temperance

The flickering back and forth between vices and virtues

Lights blurring with the overlapping of words

With the complexity and dimensions of a fallen angel

Both built for prayer and sin

There is no difference between the holy and the damned

Erected from the ground to stand strong and secure

still a structure stands only to wait it’s fall

In the neon afterglow of our vices and virtues

do the colors melt together and pour into the sky

does good and bad blur together to paint our mortality

From where you stand, there is no define lines

under the neon lights, we stand under both vice and virtue

please don’t talk to me i might fall in love

people talk too much

it takes up time to listen to

the necessary talking,

before the necessary fucking or not fucking

people meet in bars, shouting

over a harsh bass line,

the air’s almost gelatinous, the talking

slowly dragging its slender rigid legs across the room

even in sacred spaces exists the talking

people talk too loudly in silent bedrooms,

flat on their backs, ear to ear, stupid simple sentences

talked into existence

living in parked cars, dirty couches, and white tiled public bathrooms

with blood stained teeth and sweaty hands

people are afraid of the talking

pieces of themselves

bared naked to one another

we didn't exist before the talking