Thought.is

I’ve always hated the word vacation. I don’t want to vacate anything, don’t want to be vacuous, and, when I took biology, vacuoles were the things I hated the most.

I feel like my body is an inside joke and I’m on the outside.

I came because I wanted someone to sit me down and teach me things – to explain exactly what a sky is, what stars are, what a city is.

The next time we feel the full force of our computers’ retina displays and graphics cards. The next time we either die or turn our heads toward each other and feel it like a reflex.

I thought we’d eventually stop pretending that there are boundaries and just open up the sockets in our bodies and tether ourselves together, human to human, a living four-lane highway running between us.

This is what happens when you live with people in locked boxes.

I do not know if our watches were this big on 9/11, but I imagine they’ve grown since then.

I walked into a glass box on Fifth Avenue & 56th Street and paid $685 for a piece of waffled wool. A sweater, the color of black top.

When our turn came, I was led with a group of thirteen auditionees through a warren of concrete hallways to a small windowless room with plastic folding chairs arranged in a half moon.