Picked up this one after standing by my cooker listening to the hiss of the gas for a while. I felt this strange concern about turning it off. It was an open flame, the kettle already removed, the tea already made. But one turn and all would be silent.
As if it was all I had by which to measure time; to count it out in cubic metres is to put it in a coffin, but to hear its swan song divine elevation.
As if I am going (properly) insane, time seems to keep slowing down for me. When I fall (flat on my face, happened twice so far, while walking) I have about three hours to consider myself falling: how shall I place my limbs, what stretch is there in my muscles to make a differnt move, how hard might that tarmack actually be? What if I twist my leg a little? Don't forget to keep my chin up (and spare my teeth).... Pretty much arthritic (in my soul?!) on some days, I clumsily knock a glass and watch it fall. Shall I even try to catch it? don't be silly! I'm not that quick. Oh well, nothing lost, nothing gained...nah, it's not worth pulling a muscle over; well, actually it would cost me another glass and an hour of my day, and just think of all those sharp smithereens I'd have to hoover, mop and hoover up some more. .... There we go! snatched out of mid air just because why not?
Is everything the delusion we make it out to be? Is everything but a state of soul? Is everything singing like the gas: please don't switch me off. There is nothing to fear but the silence. The inertia frozen in time.