My phone’s dead. I keep picking up the horn to listen to the silence. Nothing to connect ‘cause the switch’s dead; I sing the song of the OFF function without STAND-BY because – just – No. Fuck content: How about this bit of societal flatline?

Now sometimes I jitter and think it’s my cellphone, vibrating, but it’s just my body trying to reach me. Piss. Cold. Afraid. Can’t – breathe. Want. The curious disconnect between an entity and a body is laid bare, or perhaps laid deep, because a puddle o’ rain might open its jaws wide to a chasming width. If you listen, things stay nice. The trick is to listen and disobey meanwhile, to agree in spirit but get the last gasoline slops from the engine. I’ve gone to ground like my phone. This disconnect is mine; always a question whether I’ll be able to take the thoughts rolling in my head like pebbles in the surf because where I am, I don’t underestimate my opponents. It starts right here.

In your now, I’m active, I’m talking. But this digital paper is an old one. Sniff your acrid-smelling plastic monitor – can’t you tell? The world’s a deceit, a delightful circus, and the quality of its curtains is the best. Signals take time to travel, and here’s my gesture: the V-sign of a loving caress.