I keep silent, not because there is nothing to say, but because I haven’t yet been able to conjure up the mess and find the right words to represent the thoughts. It might be that the task itself is inherently too difficult—an unlikely reason—or I have been increasingly lazy over the last couple of months and just keep procrastinating again and again—a much more likely reason.

Here, I only want to put out this log to somehow radiate a signal that there is some disturbance in the homeostasis hoping that it will act as a spatial or a temporal capsule. Someone else’s radars may pick it up, or me in the future. I’m not going to be able to explain that disturbance. I may not even have comprehended it myself. Just, something’s wrong, I can feel it.

Each day that passes without me breaking the loop, I am drawn ever closer to the centre of a seemingly comfortable, warm vortex where I will never want to leave.