Is it the second, or third, day of my unemployment? Sit quietly, try to remember. It has been a mysterious week. [Moving forward] A puzzling week-not because I have a puzzle of objectivity set before me and am unable to solve it. I am within the puzzle, suddenly. So early this week, on the first of a month, in a morning on the sixth floor of a glass and steel pediment, before a crackerjack woman bejewelled in as seen pure precious metals, whose pauses are emptying, stretched out in time, enigmatic, with silence that is not eloquent, not morose. I did not blink, and then at once see that I am in Caracas, or atop Mt. Apu, or in a Polanski film, or in a buried coffin. My objective view did not change. I blinked, observed the formalities set down neatly on a table, signed, signed, initialed, signed. She rose and led me down a naked hall to the elevator, would not shake my hand I had a cold, and I was swallowed up and descending. The world remained the same, continued with its day, and that Roland continued with it. I shall never discover what will become of him. Puzzle entered. Puzzle has made his bed in my apartment today while I wasn't looking, while I turn pages on the sinking couch, my toes pawing the threads of our woven oval rug. I am five again, but i my little hands this church organ has been broken into much more than five thousand pieces. It's pipes are played in pillow buns, the breath shallow, even, inaudible.
