Bc of something at odds in the mechanical backrooms of this blog, something below or behind screen in dim thin wafer or in the matter-less sheet of customizable code, BC of something polluted in style... I feel the aura of contamination from it, in the odd and changing but initially accessed state of serif, in spiky jag and hard crotchety tendril, i feel the dirtiness of the blog... Left here to rot with "one perfect post' presiding, in recency era at top of blog, the newest presenting the most public and most broken face.
Great. my voice is dead. great, i disguise with vague. Great: in these the few spanning days before the purchase of the "new phone", i am in the happy anticipatory space, a great technical soothe, where i have the phone i currently have and it is not even my phone anymore. i am using it as a pure un-device, totally dissociated from object format and instead just pure near-death function that will soon be carried via the vapors of Apple to the New Phone. I anticipate the buying, the shipping, the arrival, the setting up. I lay on the floor with my head on the dog about 3 feet of elevation below my mother and i begin crying. the light outside the window goes from vibrant and stunningly saturated to strange and sourceless, lit but not bright, and then back to vibrancy but with an edge of sunset, with all the colors changed. I am having such a good time with my mother and understanding how to interact with her to challenge her and move forward as myself and autonomous that i do not really suffer. i imagine living here forever. The day is so beautiful in virginia that you do not even really have to go out into it.
I got a job. Who do i call back first?
