I misplace the remote to save myself. The talking heads vibrate and vomit.
I clear a space. My body levitates. The land is vast and ancient.
I feel nauseous from the thick salty fries and the coffee and that my body breathes without me.
I drive downtown. I think about what to eat even though I always eat the same peanut butter
sandwich.
A new follower on instagram messages me. He’s in a treatment place for the mentally ill. He
didn’t think he could make it through the weekend. He was scared for himself and his mother. He
convinced them he was suicidal. After a week his insurance is running out and they want him to leave.
He shares a room with a patient. They have him on an anti psychotic and anti depressants. He is mute
and blank. My new follower doesn’t want to go back to live with his mother in Santa Fe. He doesn’t
want to face her insensitive brother. He is anti medication and a believer..
The peanut butter diet is connected to my phone addiction. I deactivate the instagram
account.
I outplay a high ranked chess player on line. We all know the inconsistent rise to greater ups
and downs. I read in a novel, its pages lists names of victims, that chess players are pathological.
The library at the university is open to the public. I think about the book spines and the finger of
god in the pages.
It is a mild 73 degrees.
Paulus Kapteyn has had his work published in many magazines. He resides in Portland, Oregon.