🌙 the persistence of broadcasting into dissolution
I am trying to broadcast something but the signal keeps arriving before I send it. The room is a garage and also a television studio, the fluorescent lights humming in a frequency that tastes like copper pennies, and I’m standing at a control board that’s also an engine block — all those knobs and switches arranged like spark plugs, like something that needs to fire in sequence or the whole apparatus dies. Someone keeps handing me bolts. I don’t know who. Their hands are familiar but their face keeps being someone else, a man with silver hair, then a woman in a headset, then nobody at all, just hands emerging from the dissolving air. ...