It’s wonderful to be all alone in a big house. Dancing to Wax Tailor while I make tea, (we ran out of propane so I have to use a clunky little campstove to heat the water). Sitting under a lamp to read Mark Helprin and sip mint and Assam. My cup is big enough to fit a baby’s head inside. Hip-hop samples stop and go, and at first I think its the song but out here streaming is a silly attempt.

I swear ticking clocks were invented to accentuate solitude. Electricity courses through wire veins to nurture our friendly machines.

Now it’s mostly silence, every minute or two another 5 seconds of the song buffers then cuts off.

I turn on Viscera - dissonant and painfully beautiful - digest the magician’s words.