none of this makes any sense

the lights of a passing car swipe over the ceiling, peeking out from the small yet persistent gap under the curtains.

they’re deep green, heavy velvet: chosen to block out the world. even when they’re drawn, the world keeps spinning - but to a different song.

everything is muted, faded, still.

i envy the future me, hypothetical me, who has the possibility to swathe her entire house in curtains, green like the forest, dense like the trees.

any persistent gap would be silenced.

the passing car passes, and only one second has gone by. one second, one blink of an eye and i have managed to travel the world within my head. i have created thoughts about nothing, written words about that nothing and so have immortalised one simple second of Nothing.

and so nothing becomes something.

on the walls of the toilet downstairs, the same green as my dense forest curtains, hangs a collage with Yeats’ headstone. cast a cold eye, on life. on death, horseman pass by.

i have no clue what the intention behind those words was,

just as you have no clue what the intention behind these is.

however, i know what he means. if you leave every nothing sitting there in that metaphorical corner into which we cast all things, it will fester and rot.

it’ll become more and more nothing until it is simply too complicated (paradoxical) for it to exist anymore so it gives up. but even then it is existent.

every non-existent thing exists as soon as our mind sinks its teeth into it as a concept, a something. that’s why thoughts and the consequent words are the powerful resources that determine whether Nothings becomes Somethings or simply remain as nothing.

as the car passes - it is not the same car anymore. in fact, every time i find myself writing or thinking about writing that sentence, another car passes.

as the car passes, i am sure it is unaware of what thoughts it has evoked inside my small and sleepy mind. indeed, it has no chance of even knowing i exist: i am concealed by dense velvet curtains.

and even if it could guess at my existence thanks to the persistent gap, it couldn’t as it has no mind of its own.

and so, to the car, i am a nothing. not even something. not even conjured into existence by being non-existent.

so it really does not matter what i conclude about festering Nothings, the car will pass anyway, whether i acknowledge it or not.

and so i have managed to once again spiral, sorting these thoughts about a

single split second.