52nd day in bed
This morning feels so long ago, or was it yesterday
58th day in bed
Becoming fossil is a slow process. The organic material of the body needs to break down, so to allow minerals to settle in the fragile porous bone structure. They assemble as bio clone, infiltrating all pores as detailed replica to finally replace the original. This copy will be all fragile and weird, with the components so not matching and uncommon. Dust and crumbles and ashes, news and sorrows and speculations, pressed only by its own weight, by gravity forces and air, to form the process of social petrification.
47th day in bed
Body temperature cooling down drastically; scent hardly there anymore.
60th day in bed
They say something is set in stone, to metaphorically reference its infinity. One truth I find hidden in this phrase, is the arrogance (or egocentrism, or laziness) of measurement. The concept of infinity one finds here is unlinked to an actual forever, but limited to the borders of human perception: Infinity translates to nothing more or less than a moment of incapability to witness. As hence cultural product, infinity serves as counter-concept to self-perception as human, a fantasy story dwelling around both subjective lack and potential. Weirdly it forms the base to both, concepts of divinity as an unlimited or enhanced form of being, and neither less for imaginations of solidification as one unfree; as an inability to act. Even more weird, so does its opposite. Only a finite nature of things allows for change, overcoming and thus freedom; while also carrying the final limitation of being itself, the slow biological determination of decay. So, scratching the crusty mystification surface of infinity, what lies beneath is the desire to control: A measurement unit to grasp, what can not be grasped, in order to frame its non-graspability, to make it appear graspable anyways.
60th day in bed (still)
Forgot to mention: Stones are metamorphs.
66th day in bed
Time has come for time to come
70th day in bed
At this point I am honestly wondering how actually bad it is to become a stone. As soon as a stone comes to existence, it has all it needs to be. It simply exists on. What is so frightful of mere existence with satisfied needs? To bare silence, to not be trapped in swirls of efficiency or development or with other old ghosts, still whispering prayers to the silent laws of activity. I am wondering if stones mind to not move, or to only be able to be moved if something, someone choses to move them, while mobility serves not as foundation of independent survival anyways.