the space I crave is too much when it comes. I reach for ways to fill the vessel: distractions grow on trees but are too often inorganic. clear your inbox. ask for tasks and put them off. disinfect the kitchen bench. open the fridge and count the cartons. run into the rain: round the convict shopping complex to the river and back over the creek. look both ways. laugh at heckles you can’t hear from passing cars. wipe your feet at the door. disappear into the shower and a song. dry your hair. check the news to see if anything has changed. it hasn’t and it won’t and yet you ought to check again.
I read an essay by a robot about films I’ve never seen. the arguments are clear and the language can’t be faulted. who knew an equation could learn to write so well? how long until the brain explodes? perhaps I should be scared. I know I will be when I think too much about it (which I should). to care is to lose energy and I am still asleep at the best of times. let the robots write. I’ll catch up when I can.
my phone transcribes a voicemail from an unnamed caller: press one for English, press two for Chinese - you need to learn. we can always hide from phone calls. who can argue with the truth? I close my eyes and listen to the heating through the floor.
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