I have only statements of fact and a bit of a complaint for you today, my friend of constant change. I call you that because I know you and your various ways. When you are there, there is some kind of otherness taking place, an other-ing. You make other of one to another and this is a kind of intimacy that you share with all things that take place and all beings who live. You make other in a constant way and thus you make a life or process not what it is. If that is a constant process, then are you not making everything not, and thus you turn everything into nothing?
At any rate, I am here on my futon, which one of my friends the cats decided to transform into a commode, such as are commodes in the lives of felines. Whoever the culprit is, they made an intolerable smell of the place where I relax and read - one of the places anyway. The cat and the smell compelled me to wash all of the futon covers, to cover the mattress with material that repels moisture, to cover the enveloped mattress with more impenetrable material and then place a comforter on top of all of that mess. So, I sit here and I sleep here in order to protect the futon, in an effort to habituate the culprit into staying away from the protected furniture.
My point to you is that I am satisfied with the mess of a futon. I do not need it to be anything more than a place to rest and contemplate. Also, I rarely use the pool in this building; I will never use the tennis court; that I would use the business center is an absurdity. I do not need the twenty-fifth floor, nor do I need the air conditioning, just as I do not need a pretty futon. What I need is low rent and time.
I had these things, can still have them again, and you stole them from me.