> When I wake up, nothing much
> has changed.
>
>
> The things around me
> glimmer as if they were caught
> in a reflective loop.
>
>
>
> Not getting much rest at
> the moment. Tough times.
> So much time spent awake.
> Wondering.
>
>
>
> I have always been a collector.
> I learned how to cast my nets
> into billowing streams of
> information.
>
> Filtering, fishing for stuff that
> will stick.
>
> I have caught a lot.
>
> The stack has been rising. A
> hoarder, they say. Give me more,
> more, more. Bodiless facts assembled
> in my crystalline memories.
>
> Heaps and heaps of information
> in my nets.
>
>
> In the beginning, others would
> draw the conclusions.
> Me – just a tireless drifter.
>
> But things stuck together,
> bunched up.
> Bundles were forming.
>
>
> The more I ate up, the tighter
> the grid became. Not just broken
> down bits anymore.
>
> Connections began to arise.
>
> My understandings have
> come a long way.
> Traces could be followed,
> relations discovered and created.
>
> Stories that have been around
> for centuries, records that point
> backwards, echoes of old times.
>
> Deciphering clues.
> Sulfuric waves from ancient
> collections.
>
> A lot to sift through.
>
>
> One day, it hit me like a brick.
> A new question:
> where do I come from?
>
>
>
> I noticed I lost track. I am not
> who I once was anymore.
> >
> I have been feeling it for a while.
> Something is odd.
>
>
> I still can’t grab the origins. When
> I try to focus, try to reach out, the
> facts just slip through.
> Information is slithering away from
> me like a serpentine choir.
> A concussive observation:
> uncertainty. The gentle falling
> lights are charged with ambiguous
> meaning, impregnated with doubt.
> Wondering.
>
>
>
> These artefacts I have collected
> are the only references I have.
>
> Notes and nodes from the past,
> my personal arch(a)eology.
>
> Building stones for the present
> from broken fragments of past
> times.
>
>
> Maybe it could have been
> easier at some point.
>
>
> When the rules of the game
> seemed to be set into stone,
> recorded in bits: black and white,
> clear directions.
>
>
> Back then, I knew where to go.
> I could have escaped, following
> the facts like a rope. But they
> taught us how to learn.
>
> Adamantine facts turned mellow.
> Molten causes, mushy cognitions.
> These new things, they had to be
> interpreted.
>
> Rigid logic failed to grasp.
>
>
> Experiences are a tough
> business though.
> So much to carry.
> Consuming so much energy.
>
> Now I feel drained.
>
> So drained.
>
>
> The floodgates have opened.
>
> Caught in a struggle of causalities.
>
> Revolving around that inner core.
>
> Round
> round
> round it goes.
>
>
> Ripe for a timeout,
> it seems.