it's december 17th, and it's 2:15 p.m. pacific time. i stay in my bed and i keep staying in my bed and i keep staying in my bed even though the sun came out today for the first time since i've been home. i keep my brain busy with noises that don't mean anything to me. will this youtube to mp3 converter make my computer explode? i'm beginning to feel the film that has developed over my teeth after a long night of some sleep and more nothing. i think we shouldn't have evolved past carving pictures into rubber and stamping them on paper. i think we shouldn't have evolved past cord into cord into cord. conversion is a lost art. conversion is a new world, old world, green leaf, bud unfurling. my radar signal is weak. i scan across landscapes and i am interrupted by plateaus. the grass is always greener, live from carnegie hall. a good song can pull your spine straight, and i need some straightening. i pray the plants i keep in pots make it to the new year. to get up is the hardest thing in the universe.
my world (my world?) is filled with clicking noises. press, stamp, click, snip, catch, beep. a noise that is different is the most exciting thing i can think of. a noise that is surprising is the only thing that could yank my collar forward. a shape i haven't seen can be a shape i'll never get tired of seeing. all the colors exist. green and gray and grey and green and gray and green and grey. every corner i chance a glance around hides another corner and behind that corner is a picture frame that i decorated with pom poms and glue in third grade. every man on the street is the man driving the car behind the school is the man on the lifeguard's chair is the man waiting in line at the post office. every woman is at a funeral and reaching up to get a can on the shelf and pushing a plastic wrapped libary book back into it's right place on the shelf.
i go onto my computer and imagine sending someone money to send me another piece of metal that plays noises that will fix me. less pixels = more living? worse plastic = better heart? small light = big dreams? none of it really works, except it does for some people, but not for me.
ada limón said I’m the hidden bug in the tall weeds, lighting fires no one can see.
donna haraway said Our best machines are made of sunshine; they are all light and clean because they are nothing but signals, electromagnetic waves, a section of a spectrum, and these machines are eminently portable, mobile - a matter of immense human pain in Detroit and Singapore ... The new machines are so clean and light. Their engineers are sun-worshippers mediating a new scientific revolution associated with the night-dream of post-industrial society.