everything has been replaced by a blank numbness inside. i think its what not caring means. staring out on the veranda watching the heat roll, nothing inside of me stirs as if my feelings have decided to hibernate. there are no words for me to travel with in my mind and there is a lackadaisical sense of motion about going anywhere with anything. the desk sits with dust, the clocks all rest at hours i find terrifying or surprising. hearing the sound of wind is just as pleasurable as a movie or a beer. the just of the universe, its chaos, my gain seems dumb as all gain-and i ask myself why i feel like this and i dont care to decide that either. talking to myself eventuates into a series of small murmurs, drones, half mutters and then back to silence and staring at the world. pleasure from looking is something i like very much.