Hard to note this without undoing the statement, but I seem to be going mute. At least online, in the many glowing boxes, in the quiet rectangles. I’ll have a thought about a movie and just not say it. A friend will post a memory that I share, but I won’t comment. I’m definitely not writing any stories or poems.

Maybe my relationship to speech is changing. I’m a passive reader, observer, scroller. The itch to step up to the microphone fading. (which I already know is a half-truth)

Is it the will that is fading or the belief in the form? I’m no stranger to the left and right, the hand just so, the sentence hanging in the air to convey just enough of the meaning – a tiny steam vent from the reactor core. Is the system critical so there’s no longer any point? Or is it just the simple exhaustion?

I don’t know.

All I can see is the evidence splayed out on the table. A line graph going down. I filled forums and tweets and tumbles and page after page of chatter and matters magical and mundane. I don’t feel panicked about it, more like a vague concern. Which could mean that this is simply a season and it will pass – but the global climate change of my brain is also possible.

Maybe I’m already counteracting the poison with these fingers and the click-clack of the keys.