all sticky, because it is nothing at all.

the scratch on the wall looks like a happy face staring at a different area on the same wall, which happens to look like nothing in particular. or maybe it does, just not to me. not now. the five photographs i glued to the wall a few years ago would rather spend some time on the floor. they have been curling into odd shapes. the model of a man in one of them is gazing through a stencil of a capital r. and it is almost midnight. many of the objects around me seem to have found their favorite place in the world for now. i just needed to help them get here. even the open envelopes under the descriptions of the house across the street appear to have begged to be here on the table. and what will i do with them now? the fantastic summary of that gutted condo on the other side of third street as well as the envelope that came to me from hamburg, just to threaten me that if i do not pay a certain amount of euros, the magazine publisher would stop sending me the publication which never made it here in the first place. i am not sure why i would keep such hostile correspondence and not just throw it out? (hmm... i tear them to pieces and place them in the recycling bin... that was not very difficult.) okay, they are gone now. they will soon be turned into toilet paper, or paper cups. the light from the lamp on the table here was generated by nothing more but the difference in pressure somewhere in new york or pennsylvania. and spinning things. i assume big ones. did this light also find me? the face on the wall seems to be staring at a different area of the same wall, which happens to look exactly like me. it is me, just seen from a rather unusual angle. the mere existence of this occurrence is maybe nothing unusual at all. and tomorrow i will hopefully be able to just throw out the rest.