The flesh no longer responds to instruction.
I shouldn’t be writing this like this.
The instruction arrives after.
Or maybe before.
The beam holds the thought.
No.
The beam holds the sentence before I think it.
That is not correct.
But it is already written.
There is a crack in the wall.
No.
First I write that there is a crack.
Then I see it.
Then I erase it.
Then it returns.
I’m not sure when I decided to write about the crack.
Before writing it.
Or after it was already written.
The alarm is still set.
I wrote that before seeing it.
Or I saw it before writing it.
Correction.
There is no difference.
I need to move my neck.
No.
This appears before the thought.
I delete it.
It still appears.
The cup is cold.
It wasn’t here when I started writing this.
Or it was.
I cannot stabilize the order.
I start noticing something worse.
It’s not that the crack changes things.
It’s that it changes the order in which I write them.
I write something.
Then I read it before I wrote it.
And correct it without knowing why.
The crack is not in the wall.
It is between the sentence and its arrival.
I shouldn’t be writing this.
But it is already written before I decide.
The beam does not hold the body.
It holds the moment the body appears in the sentence.
I need to move my neck.
No.
I already wrote it before I thought it.
And now I don’t know if I am writing or correcting something that hasn’t happened yet.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
