The body is not being observed.
It is being read.
Or it seems that way.
The cup is on the table.
I don’t remember looking at it.
But I know exactly when it stopped being stable.
The first time I checked it, it was already closer.
That shouldn’t be possible.
Not because it moved.
But because the act of checking had not yet begun.
The alarm goes off three minutes early.
Always.
I don’t know if that is a pattern.
Or if the pattern is that I notice it.
I start suspecting something more basic.
Not that objects change.
But that they change when I verify them.
The cup is still cold.
It is not a property.
It is a prior confirmation.
I try to remember its original position.
Only the image of trusting it was elsewhere appears.
That no longer counts as memory.
The neck appears again.
I don’t move it.
But I can’t say I am not moving it either.
That distinction is no longer stable.
The screen is on.
I think.
Or it turns on every time I look at it.
There is no way to separate those states.
I start writing an explanation.
The first line no longer matches the intention of writing it.
I delete it.
But I delete it after having already read it.
I don’t remember reading that line before reading it.
But I know it was already shaping what I was going to think.
The cup is closer.
Or I am adjusting distance through verification.
I don’t know which version is more stable.
The alarm goes off again.
Three minutes early.
Not before something.
Before I can define what “before” means.
I try to stop checking.
But the absence of checking also produces checking.
I start understanding something.
Then I stop understanding it.
Not because it changes.
But because it was already poorly defined before appearing.
The cup is still on the table.
That is no longer a fact.
It is a consequence of looking.
The neck again.
Not as movement.
But as a record of intended movement.
I am not writing what happens.
I am writing what happens when I try to verify what happens.
And that is not the same thing.
Or it was.
The screen flickers.
I think.
Or it flickers when I need to confirm it is still a screen.
The alarm does not ring.
But the absence of sound does not match silence.
I start suspecting something more uncomfortable.
Not that reality changes.
But that it only exists in the interval between checks.
The cup is closer.
I don’t know if that is change.
Or reading.
I don’t finish the sentence.
Because the sentence ends before it is written.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it I should…
