Boy Chokes on Universe

Domenica Finch

If I am, I am the fabric of the Universe.

I am as is earth stars god, I am all, I am one, I am divine.

If I am, I am cosmos channelled through cunt, and what could be more sacred than the portal which brings new eyes into the physical realm.

New eyes, the Universe looking back at itself again, different, new, backwards, forwards, cyclical, infinities, expanding, collapsing all through this body, all through the magic of cunt.

I told you I am the Universe.

Boy swallows universe? Doubt it.

Boy couldn’t even if he tried, Boy doesn’t look into the infinities which are all around, doesn’t look even when he holds them. For Boy is scared of what he feels but doesn’t know.

He has no words for the electricity that courses through him, the divinity of his own creation scares him, mystifies him.

He is terrified of the implications of a Universe so big and so unknown so he pretends it isn’t there. One closed mind against Universe, Boy is moth to flame.

Boy takes universe in his mouth

and for a moment

he is alight.

Cosmic energy fills his body; the stars are pouring into him. He glows with more realities than he could dream staring back at him.

Even with heaven in his body, Boy is scared, too uneasy about the unknown and the uncertain to experience the divinity that is and was and will be regardless of his comprehension. Fear makes his body rigid while the stars keep pouring into Boy, they keep pouring and they keep pouring.

And he has Universe in his throat and he is gulping, heaving, trying to keep it down but it is dripping out of his mouth and he can’t breathe; he is choking, the stars tumbling down onto his chest and pooling at his knees.

He tries to pull away but Universe is behind him now, on him. Universe pushes him down, pushes harder into him.

He is gulping, heaving, desperate for a breath, trembling as there is still more, more galaxies rushing into him.

Gagging, drooling, helpless, he raises his eyes, which sting and stream at the brightness of the infinities he beholds, suffocating; he can’t continue but the Universe doesn’t care if he can’t take it. Boy is drowning, falling still, still his body moves with the stars pulsating, expanding now, coursing through his veins; he feels the Universe pressing out and bursting through his skin.

Eyes held tightly shut against the completeness of his consumption, he is in darkness as the light envelopes him; his body is one again with the Universe his mind denies.

Universe sighs, sits back, and lights a cigarette. Silly Boy.

Didn’t he know I am the Universe?

Author: Domenica is a meanjin based student who is greedily exploring writing, music, and visual art as outlets for the churning internal experience that results from living queer and neurodivergent in a world that isn’t. Life gives us a lot, sometimes too much, they seek to make art that distinguishes their own desires and truths from what has been scripted.

Artist: Zoe Hawker is a multi-disciplinary student artist working with sculpture, installation, and painting. Her self-reflexive practice aims to decode the absurdities of our current culture.

Editors: Brock Scholte and Rory Hawkins