valium-white, the sky is almost white, it’s monday, monday-people in vacuum packaging, one thinks of a kind of bleaching of the peripheral rows of teeth, a kind of chemical designation of a day, like a monday in january, like dry skin peeling from the lip, like a bath in electrolytes for the brain, the valium-white snowfield in this anesthetic silence, mongoloid trees in all kinds of color combinations, like Becker’s inner landscapes, this day is confusing like a play from the 1800s with blind and mute people in black clothes, sitting with various tools in some kind of barn or workroom somewhere in the countryside, they have black holes in their eyes, they are not aware that someone is photographing them, this day is a foghorn, a skewed but low-key tone that makes itself felt in the mist, the landscape pales, the trees pale, the self is a chemical, dissociative, like ketamine makes you forget the pain, ketamine is a beautiful word, it has a vague color that leaks into the body, it transforms the cells into oscilloscopes, plumb lines, probing instruments, it grows dark over the district, the day is a kind of play from the 1800s, where people are motionless and silent, if it is ectoplasm that appears on the one wall in the shadow, like a valium-white dream making itself known just before waking, she lies naked in bed, she lies naked in bed most of the day, there are no predators in the silence, maybe one or two containers of chemicals, she follows them with her eyes, the sharp smell of formaldehyde in the bedroom, the corrosive breath over her face when she closes her eyes, all this beautiful and fragile, the chemicals diluted into mist and clouds, this valium-white monday in january that never ends, that goes on and on over her naked body, always over her naked body,