Lucid Blood

The philosopher suffers the momentary loss of senses as a welcome subtraction. Picture a pool of blood in vacuum, floating an amoeba, never settling for a shape, never gravitating to any body, only resigning to the fact that it is. Who can tell whether being a spill in the nothing would smell like freedom? But the poet – philosopher makes an offering nonetheless. For this, at least alludes to her memory of meaning. Imperfect, yes. But certainly not an illusion like everything else. Lucid Blood is Geetika’s offering from the vacuum that exists within and without her.