I wrote something, and then I didn’t. I tried to think it through, and then I lost it. Today was supposed to be different, because I had a plan before getting up for work; I even had a plan even before I went to sleep. It should have taken the form of a full-length movie, it could have even been a short.
But it was none of that this morning. Something, something–not really, and then some. None of the regalia was there when I tried to focus on what I wanted to work on at this moment; there was only radio silence. White noise, they would say, that is supposed to make you feel like you have blinders.
But there was nothing. Instead: an eternal recurrence of falling headfirst into a bottomless pit, a darkness that has its own life. They say light consumes us; but fire also destroys everything in its midst. So this is also that: sparks of sense, and then nothing.