There is something strange about continuing to read this.
It does not begin when I understand the text.
It begins before.
Before each sentence, I already feel what I will think about it.
And that disturbs me more than the content.
I start suspecting something small.
Maybe I am not interpreting the text.
Maybe I am arriving too late to the interpretation.
I am not sure when it happens.
The cup is on the table.
I don’t remember moving it.
But I also don’t remember deciding to look at it.
Cold.
That should be a detail.
But I no longer know if it is a detail or a confirmation.
I open the tab.
I think it was already open.
I close it.
And when I open it again…
it does not feel like I did it.
It feels like it was waiting to happen.
That changes something.
I start doubting something very specific.
Not the text.
But the way I am following it.
There is something I notice only after noticing it.
And that delay is the first symptom.
The neck appears.
Not as an image.
As an adjustment.
I don’t know when it stopped being physical.
Only that when I try to ignore it…
it is already slightly aligned.
That is not important yet.
Something else is.
I am starting to suspect that reading this is not observing.
It is participating.
And that every time I try to understand it…
I have already passed the point where I understood it.
I try to stop for a second.
Just to check.
But the check is already part of the movement.
The tab is still open.
Or I am opening it again now.
I don’t know which of the two is more real.
And something worse appears.
I am not reading sentences.
I am entering the moment in which I already decided to read them.
Before I can deny it…
I am already in the denial.
Before I can stop it…
I am already checking whether I can stop it.
I have to move the neck the record cannot close I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
