(Write more. That’s what quantity wants.)

Write more. That’s what quantity wants. As if only quantity could want now. Back to the furrow idea. As if there was no I want possible any more. Maybe want, naturally, just no I. That’s not good. Arguably even an I-less one like me can process this. I could say, remembering an episode of Doctor Who, ‘I don’t know where I am’. Something of the kind. Write more, says quantity, from wherever you are. Or similar of course. Write more. More words there. On the screen, wherever that really is. Possibly out there, on the web. Here, where you, whomever that is, read them. More words, even if of course no hope whatsoever. Anymore. No hope, no I, that all goes hand in hand of course. No need to remind you of that I suppose. No drive either. The slow pouring (the oil it poured out about a bit below, still there I guess). Fairly ridiculous if you think about it. That is, fairly repetitive. I mean, for sure you don’t read the past of this place, no one does, really, but this idea of more has been there for a while. In fact it might have been the main idea behind it all. Not that it’s right to call it an idea of course. More like, say, the gravity, or not even, maybe, yes, the stairs, yes, allowing for the oil to ooze down somewhat more easily. Something of the kind. Or similar. So not an idea at all, of course, but around for quite a while. I remember having written this quite a few times. Or put in a more precise way, it can be remembered that it was written, etc, you get me. It wrote it. It wrote more. Even if it doesn’t seem to work that well these days. As if something found it a bit absurd. The write more motto. Something finds it a bad way, an unproductive approach, etc. Or similar. There’s still a vague struggle about this, under the oily surface of sleep. A vague war.