The day

You can’t even imagine, am I right? You can’t even think for one second that you did anything wrong … It is as if there are plains of silence floating above some deep white thick warm clouds which hover on top of one another.

You know this is the right thing.

I mean, who wouldn’t?

There has to be something, something to keep busy with … Some contraption of technology, something to work with, some exotic new swipe on your skin, one that leaves cold sweat behind. Yeah, let’s look for that.

The night

Sleep has a way of not working. Bio bug? … … Like, I am here and suddenly there is … morning, and apparently I have dreamed of something, can’t tell exactly what … but it doesn’t really matter, ’cause hey! I’m awake.

The week

Mon — Fri. What exactly is it in between? Is it anything, anyway? Does it mean anything each and every repetition? For all I care it sure doesn’t appear so.

The year

Biorhythm in four seasons. Depression, hope, work, sadness. The amazing tiredness. What is the hope coming out of the blooming apple trees made of? Why do I get that urge for life every year and why does it wear out as soon as the birds decide to leave me, around August?

The birthday

I always close my eyes when I blow the candles. It is what I call a soft reset. Haven’t had candles of course in a long time, but I do enact the gesture with the help of my living memory.

The holiday

How to make it alive out of this system of oppression? Systems solving systems or just empty ideas, botched up syllables that feel like they matter haunt me. Watching the waves I wonder why I am so far from what I really want …

The religious holidays

Is there a way to absorb the harm and recycle it into some stream of consciousness?

The mandatory fun days

Is it an act of submission or of dominance to bathe in social approval? Does it work for you or you for it?

The weekends

What will we tell the self aware AI that asks us: “Why did you create me?” Hours of questioning my faith.