The moon is the same, from 10 thousand and 10 million years gone by. The wires, they’re new. Together they are the view at first light, on the morning of the third day.

It started out innocently enough. I was making steady progress not only on paying the bills for the upcoming month, but on a streamlined system of bill-paying and budgeting for every month. I decided to take a break from these conceptual labors and pick off a chore in the real.

The branches of the trees needed to be pared back, away from the wires. They were already starting to bud out in the warmth, and if I waited, that job would get much harder to even see clearly. So I spun on a dime and just did it.

It only took a couple hours and it only cost me two major scratches. One kind of tree has thorns. I don’t always wear gloves when I should. I don’t always brace the ladder in perfect safety like a sane person would.

When it was done I retreated back into the cave and dosed myself with peroxide and drank water and looked around me, suddenly filled with a rejection of concepts and a taste for more of the real. So I assembled the bed frame, in the bedroom that hadn’t been a bedroom for years and years.

Again, it took a very short amount of time. But …

Now I had to move the mattress. Disassemble the old massive bed frame. Move a lot of other things around, to make those moves possible.

And in the course of all that moving I suddenly realized that there was space for my desk now in the place it always should have been and never ever had been. I moved all the things. Including the desk. It broke two logjams, one in the space I control, and one inside me that I couldn’t control.

The logjams breaking up made the trauma start to flow in a flash flood, besides which I was now exhausted and had to learn to sleep in the new bed. It didn’t go well.

I started free-falling in time.

The cats were all agitated by the change and hemmed in around me tight for comfort on that new bed, which overheated me. Everything was supposed to be better, in the name of productivity and progress amen, but in fact everything was much worse, in the sudden real and immediate terms.

Instead of trying to sleep I got back up and started rearranging things and washing all the throw rugs. Flood, logs, scratches, trauma, creative destruction, trying again and again to sleep and finally succeeding too well.

Last night I went to bed at nine exactly and again it didn’t work. I got up again and I learned everything there was to learn about the various remakes of Lost In Space, while I myself was lost in time, and at one in the morning I slept in the nominally perfect bedroom for four hours, which was enough under the circumstances, and I dreamed an epic trauma dream that took place right here in the neighborhood and which will never be written down even though it should be.

And woke to that view and said to myself: Yeah, that’s right.

To you, the wires aloft and not buried neatly are just symbols of my failures, and maybe you’re partly right.

To me though they are symbols of all the failures of civilization in its latest devolutionary, electrified phase.

The moon though abides, rising above it all.

Meanwhile …

There is finally again a bedroom where one should be, and that is the first thing, among the Phases of the Real.

There is a crumbling old re-wired desk at the center of the world of concepts, and it has a View, for the first time ever. The view is of the Shell and you’ll have to trust me when I say that’s important.

The Phases view the house in real terms starting in the new bedroom and ending up in the kitchen where dinner concludes at the far end of the day before the unwinding and then sleeping phase begins again.

In between there are a lot of conceptual projects, like the one about money that I told you about grappling with in the beginning up there.

And yes of course, the one about the shell.

All of these things are transitory. People, even you and even me, we’re temporary.

But in the scale of a brief primate life …

The moon never changes.

It does go through its own Phases, some of them visible to the spectra of our eyes.

But Selene she is always there.

And waking to her is the only trauma cure.

According to the scriptures of the new cult.

I believe.