the day is a blur. truly a Monday morning. late evening phone calls, full of silent pauses, where each are trying to catch a psychic breath, letting heart gather stillness, let chest push open beyond closing constrictions. somehow, I have come to a different point in life these past months. not sure whether it is a crux, juncture, discontinuity, a crisis, turning point, simple chance, a result of earlier mis-calculations, whatever. curious how isolated I feel. again, in another foreign country (looking around, how’d I get HERE?), talking to stranger after stranger about esoteric and aesthetic things. or nothing at all. the explorations of energy transfer between humans becomes theoretical and somehow less than real. it is subtracted from what should be a reality, leaving only a dried husk of presence. ‘nuf said.
then again, that dried husk can be liberated, revivified, soaked, with body fluid. blood saves, semen shudders, spit washes lips and tongue, and fingers smell of sweat and native secretions, meanwhile,
As in any well-functioning totalitarian society, the inhabitants of this automated prison believe they live this way by choice, having long since developed an aversion both to the surface of the earth and to direct experiences, unmediated by the machine. — E. M. Forster