Sitting in front of a device, writing little snippets of pieces of fragments of parts of things seen or just remembered, barely... click...

Each one of the entries should perhaps be accompanied by the technical specs of how it was created. How much energy is being burned right now, just so I can see the letters appear here in front of me, somehow slowly still, one by one, blurry, greyish, behind a layer of disturbing floaters. I turned off all lights. I put on the headphones. I should be able to focus now. No. I am not really able to focus. I watch probably about 15 minutes of television per day. Maybe less. Still, some of what I see when I try to think reminds me very much of flipping channels. Just had o think of the cold blade of the knife my neighbor would press against my forehead after I managed to hit something again. I somehow thought that she would cut off the red bump growing on my head. She would always only press onto it, very strongly with the broad side, the cold metal, it would hurt as much as the original impact, except that now there was this giant face of a very thin woman with transparent skin, curly hair and a breath like a ashtray looking at me through the rims of her 1978 glasses. click... When I finally bought my first mac, it was put onto an oven. It was a very old oven I had found in the street and dragged the two flights to the apartment. There was the kitchen, the place where the cats ate their gradually more disgusting food, and then just a few feet from there, the computer, all fresh and beige. It was far enough from the bookcase when it collapsed. The entire wall collapsed. A giant wall of paper and other objects just toppled over into the room, crushing a table, chairs, almost hitting a little cat. click... The cleaning lady just picked up my styrofoam cup with the remnants of some sugar, as well as a very oddly curled piece of paper. click... I should have written on Wednesday. I could have sworn that I saw at least two homeless men on cellphones. Good... all homeless people should have cellphones in New York City. And it should be a public service. If they do not have homes, at least give them a help-line... and maybe right into their hand... Oh, such a bad idea, isn't it?... Too much control? Too naive of me? no bread thus cake? click... She said that she lived two hours away from the city. She would thus spend four hours every day, staring at the landscape moving past the window... I hope she gets a seat every time. I asked her what she did when on that train. And she admitted that her thoughts would just drift away. And I imagine he reflection travelling with her, the eyes closed sometimes. Sometimes open, but not seeing... sometimes seeing a lot and yet choosing not to understand. Her thoughts traveling from her, to the reflection and then just ton off and left behind on the train tracks... until things became completely quiet again and even the vibrations of the tracks would stop... click... Allergies would easily kill me... click... my hands would be completely cold... click... i almost drowned... click... before going to sleep, my legs would walk up the wall, until they could not walk any further. I would remain in this position until the world around me would start to pulsate in the rhythm played by my heart. I still like the moving shapes on the ceiling of the bedroom. I should be on my way home now and get some sleep. Hmm... maybe it is just time to wrote on and sit in front of a very different device... let's see where and how this is going to happen...