(i have been blatantly neglecting my internet duties and i apologise for all the unanswered e-mails, all the unread blogposts, all the unchecked and therefore uncommented buzzes and flickrs and respective message inboxes.
internet is a luxury and time is even more so. if it's not due to running out of money, it's time - or rather, lack of - that pulls the plug.)
behind the thirty year-old lamp, the one with the crack on the side, the one with the spindly cables sticking out of the stiff white plastic casing, the one on top of the bedside table with the drawers that get stuck the moment you lay your eyes on them, the one next to the spoon and the empty yoghurt pot, the one to the left of the bed being at the right side of the old fitted closet, there are two wings sticking out of a smudge that once was a little moth on the white wall two days ago.
it's still there, stoicly waiting to be cleaned off, patiently dead, patiently nothing, patiently being devoured by bacteria.
bacteria that take their time, slowly but steadily, synthesising enzymes, absorbing the liquified soup of nutrients their secretions produce.
you stare at it, perhaps morbidly, perhaps terrified, realising you are disgusted by it either way, be it alive or not.
and you think
'that will be me'
'i will be nothing'
'i will not be'
and you feel resentful against the one who flipped the slipper at the tiny moth.