Amnesiacs Confined in Bell Jars and a Government that Won’t Take Austerity Measures

3 Min Read
Art - Rachael Satya


Anindya Arif

Velouria, an amnesiac,

constantly on 18 mg of Percocet and LSD, 

believes that the world

at its core is merely symbolic.

She dreams of a

new resurgent world,

born out of a casualty

of an era, where 

everyone wakes up

with their regressive urges

wrapped around their sanctity.


The new age of the Holocene

privileges neo-romanticism

and using people as scratching posts

to fill your disconnected sybaritic urges.

And for moments

when the inhabitants feel bitter and apathetic,

the ruinous regime sanctions policies

inspired by consequentialist philosophy.

Enraged by the new reforms, inhabitants 

form political rallies

on how the new sanctions would

basically mean everyone

waking up deranged and dead.


Entrapped within the ensuing violence, 

in a raging revelry, 

and high on Percocet and LSD, 

Velouria in her head keeps hearing an old transient message saying,

“They are grappling on to

the last bit of futility

of all the good things that ever happened

to them and they

waited all April inside a vial

for someone to come and

replace their bones with glasses.”


Backwards, her world appears different;

it’s an age of decadence and abandoned sentiments,

of vice and violence.

They stain rusted door hinges and flumes

with the pain from old wounds.

In the pockets of their braided jeans

they carry neediness

measured in decibels.

Where they turn memories

of people into

absentee colognes – 

and they eat austerity measures

for lunch –

and store ghosts

of last century maximalists

in ceramic cups and Kyūsu’s –

and use the

shoulder blades

of past lovers

to cut holes in

their manufactured

epidermis –

and fill them with pheromones –

and plant magnolias to cover the holes.


Velouria, not knowing whether she is angry

or lovesick, 

or the difference between

truth and illusion, 

or whether she is in her world

or having paranoid schizophrenia, 

starts looking for a presage

from the glibness in her head

and finds her final reprieve

off of

the dissonance in drowning.


Anindya eats music, fiction, and reality — all for breakfast. Send him fresh recipes at [email protected] 

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