read. just read. sit back with your feet up on white sheets and listen to owen. don’t fear the reaper. read, as you turn the pages of a tobacco-yellowed 1960s paperback just to feel them between your fingers. pretend you’re rich. pretend this is all just a novel and you’re holding your breath because you’re three pages before the end - you know there’s a huge golden sunset peering between tiny holes in the net curtains as you read. you wait for that first breath as you turn that last page. there! that moment. that’s it. that moment where you don’t…

make breakfast. take your time. watch granules swirl and pool within a dark oily universe, primed in that perfect soup to catch the tiniest moment of light. take your time stirring the lightstruck shadows as they splash against white china bones. grill the bacon. keep it simple. just take your time. you’re not putting anything away. you’re spending money - spending money on silly little things just because they make you giggle for a moment or wiggle for a minute. Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about money. money’s more ephemeral than flesh. you can’t keep money, and money by itself brings nothing. but money buys…

you don’t know when the plumber’s coming, if the plumber’s coming. it doesn’t matter. this is the point. you don’t know what’s going to happen apart from the simple things. the simple things that money can buy. that you can control. the only things you can control are the simple things. they’re pieces of an orchestra, you are components of a counterpoint. you are in harmony. you’re even typing in harmony with the music you’re listening to, the music you just bought. you fit. you fit because you don’t know what’s going on. music of the waves, the spheres - nothing is grinding, merely turning, resonating, spinning slowly on and on and on and on.