The radio emits increasingly strange sounds. I sometimes doubt which ones are coming from the radio and which are internal noise. I also return, like a comet, to places I’ve already been. I’ve been coming back from time to time, for a long time. Like a comet, because of a strange and long orbit—so long that when I return to the same place, I barely remember the previous visit. Or the place has changed beyond recognition. Or both. And like a comet, because I am slowly melting away, eroding, gradually disappearing, and in some time I will dissolve completely.

But the sounds—strange. Unheard of. High and low, violent and calm, harmonic, but tuned according to a system unknown to me. These are not the sounds of the world. They are a world in themselves. There is no world, as I’ve said—there are only worlds. Many worlds. They arise, disappear, usually unaware of each other, and sometimes they collide. Maybe it’s those collisions I hear. I don’t know. I know nothing. I circle on a strange orbit, slowly falling apart, trailing the tail of my own remnants—and I know nothing.

I long for something.