I ask myself is there a loop undone. I can’t think of one, yet. Probability says I’ve left something out. What if my recall is good? I’ll end up cleaning my living room at midnight in about five minutes. Will things be complete or do I think about the incomplete tasks to be done behind the walls? Or does it unfold to augmenting the beauty of my habitation. Putting up Chinese bunting i can’t buy after hours?

Time to put on the mood lighting and a playlist. Light up some joss sticks. Switch on a machine to build bonhomie. Try the massage chair.  Turn on the kettle, make tea. Tea is a broad cultural product fested up with reified emptiness and completion simultaneously. “First you must empty your cup” Zen goes.

Chilling tfo is mediated between powerpoints and greater grid and generative mechanisms and natural processes.  Elemental backgrounded sipping

My writerly process finishes by an internal energy signal connecting from an unseen machine or spitting unfaceable integer nested in night clouds; like my place in my place even if looking good, smelling good and likeable, is zoological tracks from many exhibits including the wiring and powerpoints looking like paws.