Sunday, April 23, 2017

Eva Jackson: 0110


I’m going to an ice rink. Walk in the doors and change near a slightly run down display. I have long red hair and a black fake fur jacket, and a short white skirt. I’m shorter than usual. Something stops me initially from getting onto the ice and I walk on the fringes with my skates on. No hiring, I had them with me. Then I’m on the ice and realise I have no fear of speed, that when I go powerfully fast I remember an assurance and brilliance from some other life. I purposely head towards and scale walls with the lightness and strong momentum, I reach out for greater speed, I made rapid turns and stretch across the ice, and it’s not like figure skating or any skating, it’s just access to pure and perfect speed and control without control. I keep losing my phone, my phone is clearly important to me. I’m recording myself singing in between rushes of skating, and at times the battery falls out and the phone skips onto the ice and I chase it, digging it up with my fingernails because here, it could go through the ice and be lost forever.