4404

The week ends (or does it begin?)! Who knows which day it really is? The clocks have been tweaked so often, they no longer show the reality of time. Minutes here and there, days gone everywhere, a blizzard of moments. Swept away by the winds!

I spent the day (the days) going nowhere. Lost in a whirl of motion, I moved about but did not achieve lift off. I was grounded by the fictions that I read. I grew tired listening to the voices, the radio voices that purport to give the news. News, snooze! The stories repeat and repeat. There is no new news! Just endless repetitions floating on the winds.

It grows late and I look into the days to come. I see repetition and replay. I await the novel, the new, the unexpected. I sail seaward on the waves, floating on the towers of water and salt. I grow weary. I wish to sleep.

Dreamed last night that I was picking up a printed copy of a manuscript. I had started editing the work but had to stop while all of it was being printed. I had made a few marks on the opening pages, but I wanted to wait until I had the whole piece before starting a full review. The manuscript was quite thick. It took almost a ream of paper to make a printed copy.