What’s the deal?
April 5, 2002, 9:31 AM.
I put the appropriate etiquette first after waking, so you know
when and where to shift between the same words. The brain can’t
find anything, yet it told you: you’re ok, or not at all. But you
may go. The colleague says goodbye, and there you go, he has
made a mistake again, I must pull out the package, my nails are
filthy, and look my brain hemispheres aren’t perpendicular to
your life, but I still mark you as present, because you were absent
on Monday too, though it was a holiday only for some, I don’t
remember anymore.
That’s fine. Someone left themselves at home along with their
blood type, wedged between negative one and infinity. You may
go to the office, but you may return as well, because you are at
work, because this is what you live off, and that’s not even all.
Look, this is the line where you can undress or strip yourself bare,
or I don’t care at all. It lifts me up. What has happened? Still rummaging
through my bag, but I’ve started counting again, and here
comes negative one anew. Madness, how the moment pokes its
head from the filth of negative one, still counting, and still being
counted. I must check it, but it seems I smell human scent, smell
of a man. Oops. The door will open, and behold, everyone flips
through the harvest, and I still haven’t marked you as present. You
may go as this is not about you. It will rain. At least that’s what
they said, but if you wish, I can invalidate it. Problem dismissed.
Someone screams. But they don’t understand, don’t even know
what time it is. How could they? Someone familiar might know,
but they have something we don’t. Now the door opens. We are
done. Glasses off, into the bag. I, you, he, she, it and flipping pages,
and next week will be rough, yet until then, goodbye. I look at
the key, and the zeros keep piling up. The end. We have finished
and even approximately, the same results surfaced. Come on, or
I’ll register you. Numbers now live the eve of their Renaissance.
But I don’t want you working with the same values. Go. I no longer
care, but I will check on you. If not me, then the colleague,
surely. Well, what’s the deal?
One, negative one, five, four, 2002, 9:31.
Libros Libertad 