It’s getting colder Beautiful Amanda is Don’t talk about that, hang on for a second.

Hang on for a second:

I’m lying on the sofa, a streetlamp reflected on the blue wall in front of my house, putting my living-room between brackets, so to speak. I was saying Beautiful Amanda is; but no. I’m napping legs under a blanket, that’s it; napping or plainly sleeping: it’s half past ten pm. Not sleeping-sleeping: I’m aware of the blue light, if only. Then, say no more, beautiful Amanda,

Of course not: street noises, that’s it: steps among the puddles, rustling anoraks, throats expelling air; this is hopeless. The neon sign, that’s that: reflected on the blue wall too, each letter cyclically –because I know them to be letters, otherwise it’s just changes on the blue wall, zone by zone sequential unspecified changes. How do I even know the streetlamp; I remember, of course. If I didn’t, the blue wall shining and beating along a horizontal line would be enough -therefore it’d be enough; and therefore I’d be merely napping or sleeping-sleeping; but no: it is the streetlamp through the bracketed living room, the bracketing streetlamp, then, yes. How do I know. I merely; if I were to move my legs from beneath the blanket, go look through the window, the streetlamp, the neon sign letter by letter then I’d know and then, cascading, the puddles the anoraks and whatnot, beautiful Amanda even I may. But no, I’ve left my glasses somewhere on the sofa, of course not: I don’t remember the glasses as such, not even merely, an unspecified reverberation over the blanket, a non-propositional something a force field connected to my knee as it were: move your knee and you’ll break your glasses. Wait, non-propositional: move it then crack, or even a reverberating don’t move; this is hopeless. Not even remembering this time, then, merely a non-propositional link between my knee and some probability distribution on the blanket and the sofa. Don’t move. If you wish, wiggle your toe, of course; or think, that’s movement too, if only, as if. Probability distribution of my glasses over the sofa, then drops sharply to zero in the edge of the sofa, but that’d be. A bland overflow of my glasses beyond the sofa on to the corner behind, that’s better. Wait, what better, that’d be, instead; that’s it: that’d be instead. Not the glasses, the force field, the reverberating non-propositional something, but it’s so the glasses themselves blandly reaching for the corner, intenting the corner, long arms caressing ever so slightly the corner of the living-room behind me and the sofa, lenses forcing perspectives; this is programmatic

The corner of the living room-behind me and the sofa. If I stood up somehow, went to see it with my very eyes, as if. No question, of course, but the shadow, the laws of perspective, the sad sad sad trihedron and there we are: the corner of the living room in all its –not all, merely some of its. There’s no fact of the matter as to how much of its is all of its; it could be thought of as a calculus couldn’t it baby. Whom, wait, Amanda the beautiful, but no way, no, wait. No corner behind me and the sofa: I have this suspicion of glasses on the blanket and if I move then. It’s getting colder, that’s a fact.

“Glory”, was it so difficult.

The puddles downstairs too. Downstairs? and downstairs? how dare I, down and stairs as if. Not even the corner behind me and the sofa and I might, “downstairs”, I wonder, but my right sock is soaked, it was through the boot or who knows –no, not “know”, nobody, who. Anyway, a reverberating link between my right foot and the puddle downstairs, and the same reverberating link between my right foot and the basin or is it: so much for topology in this particular case if you know what I mean, or rather. Wiggle your toe, then, and then the puddle the basin, unexpectedly, steps between the puddles and me reverberating the whatever it is, and, well, “reverberating” don’t take my word: “glowing”, the well-known set of metaphors each with its own bias opinion idea, reverberate something maybe but try glowing it and nevertheless

the chair by the sofa, the cracking junctures, that’s it, as if moving, as if I were sitting on it, and I was, sometime: therefore the cracking junctures; moving knees when related to the chair harks back to the junctures and when related to the blanket reverberates my glasses, cracking chair and cracking glasses and the cracking anorak on the chair if we are to maintain the minimum coherence but can we? The anorak on the chair a blue something on the left but the blue wall as well and the reverberation of the anorak rustling Is it the pulsating featureless whatever of the neon lights against the wall? I am aware of the latter, am I of the former. “Aware” which means, too late for that already after this few. Cracking then, the knees and the junctures, the glasses –wait.

“Remarks” that’s it. The window. If I were to look, not even stand up, merely neck to one side, the blue anorak, chair, stove and then the window, the rotating neck and the subsequent cracking of glasses, anorak, chair and then the window. Is it open then? Street noises, that’s for sure. A reverberating don’t move, but this suspicion of glasses and the cracking junctures and it’s getting colder that’s a fact the window’s broken.

Then obviously the floor, the pieces of glass, steps between puddles, steps on them like on puddles, the soaked sock or is it. Another link, so much for topology, the puddle the basin the pieces of glass and then a shape-background translation to the window, frozen air passing through, throats expelling wasn’t it. Air this is all so evident it’s hardly worth mentioning, if I’m even. Throats expelling air then, keep that for a second. Don’t move, of course, your knee connected to your glasses on the sofa and the glasses reaching for the corner behind and the web between your sock and puddle basin glasses, but it’s half past ten, either you are sleeping or you better. Move then, wiggle something or rather. It has to be done: move.

Any movement would do: knee then glasses and then corner and the rotating neck beautiful Amanda arms reaching for the corner caressing and then puddle that is pieces of glass and a soaked sock and beautiful Amanda on the corner, and the puddles, trihedron sad sad sad beautiful Amanda soaked on the floor basin window throat, it all unfolds if I ever get up.