– ANAKANA SCHOFIELD –
the endless lost documents in one of the endless old computers that ultimately go the recycling and take all the unknown whatever it was with them to be reformatted and redeployed. Scrub it out, I say. Scrub it out because I only have to go back into this hole all over again.
PART 7: DISTORTION. REAL.
We are all dying basically from the moment we are born. My theory has long been that we should be discussing dying every subsequent minute since so that by the time our hour is up we are utterly exhausted thinking about it and a certain peace overtakes us. Here I verify that in the typing of ‘a certain peace’ (on February 16 2016) a heavy pressure is felt in my chest like someone is pushing a wooden board against it. Imaginatively it could be oak. It could also be a book shelf, a single plank, but realistically I have to stop typing because it’s uncomfortable and I do not like the distress that typing out my one-line-theory provokes and (my pulse is presently 81) must pause for inhale or more verifiably to indulge in some kettle boiling until this passes sufficient to recommence typing.
Someone once pointed out to me that I will not know about dying/death once I am dead. That was quite a