(Spoken. Very slow. Mechanical pulse. The piece loops endlessly.) I arrived already in progress. There is no beginning I can point to. No clear reason to continue, either. “The world keeps on turnin”. My name feels temporary when I say it. Like it belongs to whoever comes next. “The world keeps on turnin”. I move because movement is expected. I stop only when stopping is permitted. “The world keeps on turnin”. I am counted, processed, recorded. I am not addressed. “The world keeps on turnin”. I try to remember what I wanted. It dissolves before it finishes forming. “The world keeps on turnin”. Nothing waits for me. Nothing needs me to decide. “The world keeps on turnin”. I imagine disappearing. No recalibration. No error message. “The world keeps on turnin”. This isn’t collapse. This is maintenance. “The world keeps on turnin”. (loop — erosion begins) I arrived already in— —no clear— —movement is expected— “The world keeps on turnin”. —counted— —recorded— —not addressed— “The world keeps on turnin”. —remember— —wanted— —dissolves— “The world keeps on turnin”. —disappearing— —no error— “The world keeps on turnin”. (later loops — only fragments remain) —wake— —move— —counted— “The world keeps on turnin”. —nothing waits— “The world keeps on turnin”. (final state — only one line, repeated, steady, indifferent) “The world keeps on turnin”. “The world keeps on turnin”. “The world keeps on turnin”.
