By Carolyn Zheng

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This is a zuihitsu that reflects how overwhelming life is and uses the different meanings of the word “static.”

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Static. It mutes the teacher, standing in the front of the room. 

Static. It covers the loud voices in the room. 

Static. 

Everything stops.

Analog television dominated entertainment during the 20th century. The film was grainy, unlike the clear, crisp video of digital screens, but it was revolutionary at the time. 

Moving pictures—truly innovation at its finest!

There are many photos of my parents from when they first came to America. I don’t remember the dates, but there’s a TV in one of them. It’s one of those big, boxy kinds—a CRT TV I think—that took up more than half the space on the cabinet. Three people from some Chinese program are forever frozen on the screen. The man in the middle has his mouth wide open, but no words come out of his mouth.

I’ll never get to know what he was saying. It’s fine though. I don’t understand the language anyways.

noise

snow

storm

No signal

Too much sound in my head. All I hear is static. It makes me static. Static, static, static. Blocks everything out with its grainy sound.

Supposed to be moving but only paralyzed in a second of black and white film.

“Shut down in three, two, o—“

why white noise?

White is the blank paper, waiting to be filled with words—nothing.

White is the culmination of all colors of light—everything.

Everything and nothing all at once.

what should i be thinking?

A single realization of white noise is a random shock.

It’s all too much now but I wouldn’t tell. 

Why would I when there’s no one to trust?

Leaving me stuck here in my little shell

Inside this infinitely turning carousel 

Buzz, buzz, buzz—people fly by.

We are all insects trying to get from one place to another. 

Go, go, go!

Shocked!

The horde is coming!

Oh the horrors! It’s too much! It’s too much!

Turn the dial. Readjust the antennas. 

White. Static.

So soothing.

Peace.

Reprise does not exist for the senses that overwhelm the mind. At least, not in this world of modern complications. There are different forms of escapism one could choose to partake in. Would you like to read a story? Or perhaps watch a movie? Or surf the internet and scroll social media for hours upon hours until your alarm strikes you out of your daze and into the morning light, but only for you to turn your back and stare at your phone again?

One day, you will have to wake up.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Process

In a zuihitsu poetry workshop, I formed the idea for this piece. I had no clue what zuihitsu was before, so when I first read one, it was like being dunked into cold water. Although it was jarring, I enjoyed the form and usage of elements like inserting the definition of a word or dialogue, and while it felt like random broken parts tied together, there was a theme throughout the zuihitsu.

My terrible hearing and focus, especially during long speeches my teachers make, inspired the piece, but the end product revolves around how I constantly feel like I am drowning in the ocean that is life.