Let’s write it like this
An Arcade Fire video from YouTube is pulsing on one screen, with heavy drumbeat and tired voice. A white pill is starting to dissolve in my stomach, singing eat me, and this will make you happy. The New Yorker website, on another screen, already has an article about the chaos in Iran and the fumbling quandary that leaves Washington in. The New York Times website, on a third screen, as if pushing us towards a momentary respite, announces that there will be a partial recount. My mind flexes in response, and I say Florida, and I know how this turns out.
Sleeping is giving in, the song-screen screams. So lift those heavy eyelids. A cliched tired writer whispers just another morning in the 21st century. Sounds like a Neil Young lyric maybe.
Where is the horse, and where is the rider? I sit up in my bed, a laptop computer fulfilling its function on my lap, wearing only a bath towel, waiting for one roommate or another to finish using the shower. Shortly, I’ll head for work. Tonight I see my mother. And then another. It’s Bloomsday.
Where will I walk today? Usurper.
I owe my One a phone call. Ah, ah, ah, ah.
I read about the Iranian recount. I see an article about driving while black. I think to send it to my brother. I realize I don’t have his email address. I have neglected him, I think. Oh, life. How many mistakes and errors have I made? What ruin have I wrought?
I hear the door slam closed. Someone has left the building. I can go wash myself. Maybe void, as they say.
There’s a link for you. (Ulysses was the first hypertext, but all the links were brorken.)