Sleight of Tree

A poem by J.P. Sipilä

-- scroll down to read the poem --

About

frame-000073
Sleight of Tree is a poem installation on the web. It’s a work in progress. It will be finished at some day in the future. This is update no.8, released in JAN 2014. You’ll get most out of this with any modern browser with any modern desktop/laptop computer. Things just aren’t the same with mobiles.

 

J.P. Sipilä (b.1981) is a Finnish video artist and poet. LINK

#1 (the childhood propaganda)

nothin_in_it_white

Sometimes I see good colours and experience nice things.

Sometimes I see good colours and experience nice things.

Sometimes I see good colours and experience nice things.

I hear voices but they never say anything constructive.

They were kind to me when no one else was.

Maybe it’s a feeling you are being saved.

childhood_blur_white

Maybe
it’s
a feeling
you
are
being
saved
by
this
person
and
without
them
to
save
you,
you’d
struggle
to
go
on?

Maybe
I have nothing to say.
I need the right thing said at the right time.
I am left with the propaganda that destroyed my childhood.

#2 (the flock)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Is this going up?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

30

 

 

 

Why do people always look up in here? We’re going down. I am looking down.

 

 

 

 

29

 

It’s a wish. Don’t they realise tha…
“Excuse me.”
“Yeah.”

 

 

 

 

 

28

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

27

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

26

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

25

 

 

The silence. This is a long ride.
They don’t know who they are. This is a long ride. Nobody is looking down.
I am not afraid

 

 

 

24

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

23

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

22

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

21

 

 

I think we all know by now.

 

 

 

 

20

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

19

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

keep breathing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

18

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

17

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

16

 

 

If I close my eyes they all disappear.
It feels weird.

 

 

 

15

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

14

 

 

 

“Fourteen, please.”
Now they’re back. Everybody is here again. This is how it goes.
That girl is looking down. She knows where we are going.
She’s beautiful.

 

 

 

13

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

12

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

09

 

 

“Did you hear the news?”
No small talk now, please. I have enough hard time breathing.
Should I say something? Something about our destination? About space? About astronauts? How they cannot breathe outside?

 

 

 

08

 

 

Nobody is interested about the news.
I think we all know by now. Know where this is going.
Everybody should know. The light is on. The number shines on the wall.
It’s not even a number, it’s a letter.

 

 

 

keep breathing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

07

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

06

 

 

I was not expecting this. We are going up. We are climbing. Is this what happens when we reach the bottom?

 

 

 

05

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

04

 

 

All is upside down. It’s a mirror. Looking at us. Seeing us here.
In beautiful details.

 

 

 

03

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

02

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

01

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

0

 

 

I am the only one here. They all left when we reached the bottom.
I don’t blame a whole generation for their actions.
They didn’t want to join this ride with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a reflection. I am at the bottom.

 

 

keep breathing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

?

 

 

I am going to stop breathing.
I get where I feel like.

 

 

 

?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

?

 

 

I always smile. I always make others laugh and happy.

 

 

 

?

 

 

 

But then again, that’s just the way I see it.

 

 

 

“Is this going up?”

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#3 (the snow)

she_handshake

Full of laughter.

Every time I take a look at the clock

I see an hour has gone by.

They are all kind to me.

When they want me to smile.

My reality and thinking

get distorted.

The propaganda

that destroyed my childhood.

iknow

I am not to blame.

I do that again and again.

I just need to become me again.

Please…

… and then I did.
But it didn’t change anything.
A tourist.
… but I didn’t.
And it didn’t change anything.
A tourist.


It’s snowing in Athína.

Protect me.

This poem is still under construction. Meanwhile you can go to www.jpsipila.com. To contact the author, please send email to jpsipila(x)gmail.com