Things disappear. The same text over and over and over, slurped up into the machine. Erased.

Patterns of erasure.

It is the wound that produces pride

A calamity a day keeps tedium at bay

Friday 12 February 2010

1

What I most feared has come to pass. Not just the roller-door across the way, which creaks and groans as it opens and shuts, but the air venting. It is the worst noise, unrelenting, insistent, persistent.

It purrs but noisily.