Starting. For all the days when you should be doing something better, something brilliant, finishing writing that song, drawing up that design, making a start on your short story, practicing those difficult chords, taking photographs and editing them, planning and scheming how you can get more publicity for your work, taking notes and making observations, working out costs, meeting and talking, doing the busy, scribbling like mad as if a demon had a hold of your hand, trying to get that musical problem straightened out, capturing an idea and developing it, starting something, finishing something. Finishing.
Zombie. Meanwhile the zombies and time bandits are there, inside and outside your head, thieves and ragamuffins, clad in the uniform of doubt, thumbs busy on phones and applications, skipping and spinning in other people's wake, eyes glazed and dim, focused on a technological horizon that's running away, lazy and idle...and all the while, with each unnoticed, undocumented moment the time just slips away as if it never existed, ever at all. Apocalypse.
Nothing is wrong. There is nothing wrong, all is well, the economists are just taking a break from thinking straight, from putting all the numbers in the right place, there's nothing really wrong. But this crisis just goes on and on and on until it's normalised and we are institutionalised, like banks. Big banks that cannot fail because they are too big to fail because failure is unthinkable because we all want stability and things like that so we can all sleep at night. Sleep in peace. Sleep.
Good morning, good afternoon, good night.