Air smells like China for some reason, maybe it’s me. Stuck with these cats, one takes my chair and the other a spot on the bedroll next to my hip. The wind is a whip outside, gnashing and ringing the neighbor’s wind chimes like it’s ringing a doorbell. I am made of inertia even though I am holding still: the world is revolving and I am part of it for once. Things are moving in a direction even though in the black of this night I feel motionless.

I am exhausted. My room is dark grays and strange shapes in the dark while my fingers and nose light up blue. I’m here, I’m here—I can’t be anywhere else. I’m here, very far away from what I want to be: lost in time. Time continues to speed: the blessing of temporal consciousness and relativity means that each second is a shorter fraction of my life: they get quicker.

I prepare myself mentally for joy, but also to slowly or quickly chip and rot away like a rock floating through space. I ponder broken bones and not being able to walk: I ponder broken homes and not being able to sleep. In the end, I am lucky, genetically, geographically, that I have many more years to throw away—but oh, how they get shorter.

READMODE: OFF (?)

Read mode is a feature of this blog that will remove sidebars, navigation links and other unnecessary elements from the page, allowing you to have an uninterrupted reading experience.