Barbara Seiler

Looking at various geological colors and textures, I was wondering if I should be going for the veins? Why not go for a pure Michelangelo white, or a deep Belgian black? Giacomo finally pulled out a rough, rectangular block of lively red onyx. I know your heart is in there, Mélodie! he said.

It is just a matter of unpacking it and THIS is a job for our robot.

Since the radiologist indexed my insides into data I have been searching for a way to inhabit my empty shell and rebuild myself. At the marble factory, looking at that stone, I realized my vision of reality was a bit skewed.

I was virtually in everything, already. I just hadn’t found the technology to unpack myself.

From my Westrasse flatshare, the world around me morphed into blocks of various materials and fitting sizes, a world of body packs, containers for all that abstract “junk” the radiologist had registered under my name. These could come out, just like that, after an operation by some Da Vinci-like robot, but still, my capacity to self-replicating depended on the weight of my bank account.

I got a teaching job, and soon Brain, Uterus, Spleen, Liver, and Co. went on multiplying. But It didn’t take much long for a hackneyed post-operative thought to arise….. inside here, where I was. My thoughts were still attached, and not there on my studio shelves, where my organs were sitting. This most puzzling and confusing experience led me to doubt my recent enlightenment. As the radiologist had demonstrated on his screen, and as I appeared under the magnetic field, I must certainly be made of these—and here they are in the most precious stones! But what if my organs were not made of me? I didn’t see how I could admit this without untying the last few bonds of intimacy between us… And yet… What if I was made of something more like a song?

I wish I could hook my organs up to a mouth. They would speak for themselves