It's all about the void, really. The money is distractions, too. That's why I take technological deficiencies so personally. When you've paid for the device with money you don't have, anything that doesn't work is a grave, possibly mortal insult. For you, the device must live up to the void, must be stonily perfect enough to equal the void in perfection. But devices, no matter how glamoured with the face of immortality–that's what our screens are trying to be, with higher and higher resolutions, as if they could resolve the wrinkles of time itself–are made by mortal humans, and even when they begin to make themselves, as they were born of our image, they will inherit the blueprint of mortality, the death inherent in structure. I should really just carry the green marble for a while. The icy water is all around me as I try to sleep. No one will be there to call me back out. Our host's god-daughter has snapped shut the shutters in annoyance. The sky is orange, the water is black. It's simple. It's all about the void. If you want to stop going broke, practice accepting the void. (2015)