/what/ -...

you wake up in your cheap motel room on tokashiki island
it's ten am and you've had a long restful sleep, you stretch out on the bed and it's mostly quite save for the odd bird call

you make some coffee and enjoy it on the balcony with cigarette, that you no longer feel guilty about because you're already dying

it's overcsast but warm and you only need shorts and flip flops on
maybe it will storm later, oh well, it's pleasent at the moment
you can see the and hear the ocean, about ten minutes walk away

you dont bother checking your phone because there's nothing to check up on, it no longer matters

you go downstairs where the cute inn keeper woman greets you and you get some breakfast

afterwards you leave the inn and just walk around as per ususal, you have nowhere to be and nothing to do

now, your existence is boundless, each day is made up of silence and noise, of light and blackness, layers, expectations, shivers

it is just a question of getting lost once again, for ever, more each time, of ceaseless wandering, of finding sleep, a certain physical calm: abandon, lassitude, drowsiness, drifting-off

you slide, you let yourself slip and go under: searching for emptiness, running from it.