Zero Gravity

After a few months of diminished or declining gravity, I'm starting to drift.

Drifting because of zero gravity.

It's not very relaxing, I think it's invasive like a species with no real competition.

I'm having trouble putting my body down comfortably where it belongs, on the floor or in a chair, for instance.

Nothing is holding me down,

it's disappointing,

it's definitely disturbing.

When I try to read my eyes float out to the margins of the page, into the empty space along the edge.

I'm not even angry, unable to make a fist—I'm not even holding on to the argument I'm making right now,

it makes me feel young,

young enough not to be here.

Zero is the absence of attachment.

Zero of anything is zero is the rule of nothing, it has everything it needs,

I think this is where the concept of needlessness comes from.

There's no need to reach for something when nothing is reaching, I believe that's when you stop reaching.

If my hands are swollen it's only because of something that isn't there.

When you say nothing or say nothing I'm not even sure I believe you, I mean how does one love zero, as Villiers de L'Isle Adam said.

When I start drifting I close the door, locking the door and putting the key away in a safe place where nobody is going to find it.

I'm alone in my room, drifting around the room.

Right now I think there isn't anything to do, because zero is pure desertion.

When I look at my watch I don't even recognize the time, zero.

Nothing is going to happen right now.

Zero.