Everything is safe. Sometimes is all. No one is sure what x has been doing for the last six weeks. Yesterday is going better than last month. X swallows, rolls, tries to think what he is thinking of. Of which, within which there is more. Not everything can be accessed currently. On the floor, strewn said-he’d-does, hasn’t-done-yets. Please wait. It starts to feel like ghost time. Here goes time. The next hour passes first, the one after next. X is addicted to not putting any plans in motion. The day progresses process-less, nothing to help remember it to us. Happy is action, sad is action. No one is sure what was expected of x today, or what x expected of x today, or how this could be measured. When he looks down, lying down, there is nothing below. Down is no up. Strategy is everything. Plans to make plans. A structure could elevate. Here there is next to no danger. Or no danger, is danger. X feels dangerous. In danger. He scrunches his hands, stretches, curls in half. Nothing touches x, the air’s edges rounded off. He’s ground down fun, pickled energy. X floats. A submarine angel amongst clouds of steam.