December 29, 2023

2 west, 44

NB: i will be migrating off this platform soon i fucking hate nazis

at the end of a linoleumed corridor, smooth walled, through heavy doors, is the minotaur. fastened to the bed by layers of blankets (it is always cold, somehow) it seems at once curiously unharmed and harmless, no trace now left of that old ferocity which once could make the plaster shake with the force of a yell or bellow or pot flung hard: time instead fragments into shards. a red line leads along the wall from the elevators to the room, and every time it is followed here is where it leads; nothing is new. the world is always somewhere else and always somewhen soon.

each morning when i wake my hand flies up to my own forehead, perhaps to check for horns.