• Posted on 3rd March 2016,
  • written by

A scattered bit of bits. I am an old woman wearing a huge bag on her back, picking up little threads and stuffing them inside for later. I’m an aggregator of my own content. I’m a damaged archive.

– When you divide something in half, it becomes half, and each time it separates again it becomes half and half and half of what it was before. But no matter how many times it’s divided, it can never become nothing.


– Snail shells without snails are all white. Snail shells with snails inside have little strips of brown on the curve, a little vein of mud/shit/blood. Do they make new chambers for themselves, or do they scour the ground, far and wide, looking for another shell, left by somebody else who is looking for a new shell themselves? It all seems like a long shot.


– A question¬†written to myself sometime in 2011: “Why do we record/memorize every little chicken mcnugget of knowledge that is related to mundane self improvement? Tea tree oil helps dandruff. Drink water in the morning. Get to the airport early.”


Nothing is cumulative. It’s just piles and piles, layers of sediment unaware of the scratch underneath them and the clay above them. Sometimes the sun is so strong that it burns my eyes away, and I bike down the street in the dark, assuming everything got left right where I put it back when I could see. Sometimes the sun is so strong that it burns away the earth and the moon and the other planets too, and everything gets left right where it got put, just broken down differently, or reconstituted, rearranged. Sometimes the sun isn’t even there at all, sometimes it wasn’t even born yet, or it already blew up. Sometimes the power goes out and you run out of things to do, so you sit with that feeling for a bit, and think about going to sleep, about exiting the boredom, and the guilt of the boredom, because you do not want to be the person who is bored, who isn’t lapping up life like a hungry dog or a hydroelectric turbine. When the sun goes out, it’ll be like the power going out, and all of the molecules will sit on their couches, twiddling their thumbs, daydreaming about other situations,¬†sometimes.