Last night I woke up and PLAY I watched the clock, and it said 2:42.

It is not the first time this happens. Waking up at 2:42 am.

It doesn't only happen at night.

When I look at the clock at noon, 12:42. In the evening 22:42. Sometimes, when I am running in the gym, on a threadmill, counting down from 15 minutes, I watch down, another 2 minutes and 42 seconds to run.

Pause.

I had a friend, Dennis, who got killed in a car accident. He fell asleep and drove into a tree. He was a fan of Front 242. You know the band?

Dennis was a huge fan, bought t-shirts and sweaters, had all records, saw their concerts. On these sweaters, you could read Front 242.

242.

Pause.

Now I realise this is not a coincidence.

YES NO

NO

You Should Stop


You might want to Had you only

You must


It is forbidden to You are required to

Be on time


One knows that

Here's an exercise: compare the feelings of an animal engaged in eating another with those of the animal being eaten.

One of the prisoners told me an anecdote about kiwis. The fruit. I didn't have permission to record our conversation, so I have to reconstruct the story from memory. She told me how important it is for her to eat fruit, and that it is not always available in the prison. She loves fruit, but not kiwis. And for some reason, there was a surplus of kiwis in the prison. The prisoners were given a kiwi every day for a week. Because of this, she found something to convince her to eat the kiwis. "If I say 'Hooray! A kiwi!' five times, I'll believe I'm happy with a kiwi after the third time and after the fifth time, I'm happy to eat it ."

You've become co-narrator.

Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

Together.

A tribe from Bolivia rations their use of spoken language by appointing a delegate. Again this term, delegate, who uses language so others don't have to. A language martyr.

We read a story to challenge interpretation.

Last night I woke up and I had a dream. I am on a road, and above me there is a gate and a sign which reads

"Moment".

I feel heavy, something presses me down. And I realise there is a dwarf on my shoulders. He's holding a skateboard. In front of me, the road is endless, it seems like it would take an eternity to walk this road. I turn around and behind me the road seems to take another eternity. These eternities contradict each other, I think. Suddenly, I feel light. The dwarf has jumped off my shoulders. He says: "They do not contradict at all, don’t you know these roads come together at one point?" And he skates off.

YES NO

NO

Here’s an exercise: go to the mirror, look yourself in the face, and say out loud: To take care of you is not normal. I can only do it temporarily. Saying this to yourself will merely be an echo of what the world repeats all the time.

Stop


No You should


You might want to Be on time


Had you only

You must


It is forbidden to You are required to

One knows that

The Thin White Duke and Roman Zolanski are personae. Their voice sounds through the theatrical mask.

You've become co-narrator.

I know what “nothing” means, and keep on playing.

Together.

Pain is too soft a word for the reaction. Crushing was more accurate, an intolerable squeezing in the chest and the hips, though I didn’t have measurements to support the claim.

We read a story to challenge authoritative interpretation.

One of the prisoners told me an anecdote about kiwis. The fruit. I didn’t have permission to record our conversation, so I have to reconstruct the story from memory. She told me how important it is for her to eat fruit, and that it is not always available in the prison. She loves fruit, but not kiwis. And for some reason, there was a surplus of kiwis in the prison. The prisoners were given a kiwi every day for a week. Because of this, she found something to convince her to eat the kiwis. "If I say 'Hooray! A kiwi!' five times, I’ll believe I’m happy with a kiwi after the third time and after the fifth time, I’m happy to eat it."

You've become co-narrator.