Typically, in this room, lights are on but only half way. Corners are dark but not uninhabitably so. Not like my recent shower-in-total-darkness experiment, which proved fruitless. Lighting all across this floor is strange today. Saturday. But I am in good quality lighting. I can see these fingers peck out these words. I also returned to use of the sscreen magnifier, which turns the cell phone into almost a laptop. The magnifier is not to blame for some of the shortcomings of trying to use a cell phone as a laptop. I blame Christianity for that. Centuries of Christianity have made it impossible to use cell phones in a manner identical to laptops. Look it up, it’s in every encyclopedia ever redacted. I have grim thoughts at moments, incongruous to any context or conversation. Opening one of the 2 doors I must open to access this building I first thought  “nobody needs to know I’m here” followed by “nobody’s going to miss me when I’m gone.” I don’t know where that came from. Perhaps ramblings associated with are retroactively ancestrized from earlier thoughts about “adherance” and how entering and exiting the building and its internal doors require use of the company ID card. Every swipe of that card to enter a room is entered into your “adherance” record where a profile of your stickiness is calculated. To adhere one must have sticky stuff all over their body, correct? I got an email from a long-ago friend. He had moved on to bigger and better things, making movies and television and commercials. I reached out to him after seeing him on a Super Bowl ad. That was 9 years ago, I think. Just this week he responded, saying he had no idea there was this email from me. I didn’t think he would remember me 9 years ago, so I’m surprised how clearly he seems to recall our connection today. He was part of the best bar scene I’ve ever been connected to, at Sunswick in Astoria. That scene has changed, as things always will. But it was definitely a moment in time, a moment that lasted years. But people, like this  individual and most of the others from those days, move on, leaving the likes of me and a few others who might still hit Sunswick (but probably will not) to feel like sages and segues to the olden days, the good old days, those were the days my friend we thought they’d never end. I am hearing everything in this room. Steady hum of a refrigerated vending machine. Tinnitus in my head. Thumping sounds of these words being typed. Lights turning on by what forc I cannot reckon. A large screen TV in a conference room flashes NY1 in silence, but with subtitles. I recorded a VHS tape last night. I have a drawer full of VHS tapes, their contents largely a mystery though I am reasonably certain of some content therein. Video I made of Times Square in 1999 might be in there. Hours of me masturbating probably awaits my numbed-to-it brain. I’m guessing there will be a lot of television recordings but what? From last night’s sampling I seem to have captured a lot of Elvis, which has almost certainly been remastered and repackaged, making my capture useless. I found a few traces of evidence that Alan Alda was, for a time, Public Broadcasting’s best friend. He did a silly-seeming study of walruses (I think) and how they learn and adapt. Most of the tapes will be from the 1990s, with some in the 2000s. Besides the masturbation I don’t think I have any sex tapes that made it over to VHS. I had a bunch of that on the Hi8 tapes that only the camcorder can play. But I recorded over it all. I remember recording a pot of water on the stove as it reached a rolling boil. I don’t know how long it took to reach the boiling state but I let that fucker boil and boil until I knew the sex part of the tape was overwritten. That was a woman to whom I wanted no trace of a connection ever to be made. She lives on, in my mind only, as a pot of boiling water. Sounds of this space now include something upstairs being rolled across the floor. Sounds like maybe one of those roller things you put furniture on to get it across the room. Lots of rolling going on here. Proud mf my recent web server cleanup and domain name transfers to cheaper registrars. GoDaddy charges double what others charge, and has always been erratic about pricing. One .com will cost $9.99 while another will be $19.99. A .net will inexplicably be $24.99, and forget about .NYC domains, where GoDaddy charges double the others.