Here are the things which I can see from the kneeling position I have adopted for writing this prose exercise. Wait, before I get to those things, let me explain. I once stabbed my laptop screen with a WW1 bayonet by accident, and now I must rely on an HDMI cable and mis-proportioned (with respect to the normal display resolution of my laptop) television screen in order to use the laptop or watch DVDs on my television (which requires hooking the screen to my desktop tower, on the other side from where I currently sit.) I kneel because the laptop is on one of those glass-doored TV pieces that allow one to display games or DVDs or what have you alongside playing equipment (which I haven’t got) beneath the television, which occupies most of the top of the piece. In addition to the television and laptop, there are at present a plastic package, opened, containing blue raspberry wax melts that I have owned since last Summer and still have no idea what to do with apart from letting them waft their odors weakly against the wall, a fading, painted wooden mask from South Africa given me by a friend, a wax candle figure of Hotei, the Chinese god of prosperity often mistaken for Buddha in the West, a reclining ceramic representation of Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of compassion, and a 4 oz. masonry jar containing 1-2 oz. J & B blended Scotch. At some point I will drink it, but for now it is sufficient to admire the Scotch in its crude vessel and for its weak color like that of the piss of a fairly well-hydrated man.
To my right as I kneel (and saying that I must shift, as my feet are beginning to fall asleep), beyond the aforementioned desktop computer tower, is the kitchen, more of a nook than a room of its own. The kitchen is, at present, filthy, a state I will rectify upon completing this exercise. While cleaning I will likely listen to the Savage Lovecast, the latest episode heavily featuring individuals who struggle to communicate with transpeople they’d like to fuck and/or play with sexually because of nomenclature anxieties. Part of the filth of the kitchen is the result of last night’s Orzo preparation, a haphazard affair that saw some noodles spilled on the floor (mostly cleaned up) and the usual sprinkling of broccoli bits in nooks and crannies. Further, I failed to clean up several half-meals before that one, resulting in a brief pile of sandwich plates, oatmeal bowls, and coffee mugs. While the mess on the counters is thus spread broadly, it will consequently not take long to resolve. The floor, however, requires more attention, as I have frequently made only half-hearted efforts with both a swiffer and vacuum cleaner to remove not merely the normal occasional soil of kitchen activities but also fragments of shattered glass from a dropped pot lid (months ago) that I still sometimes find underfoot while chopping onions.
Outside the kitchen are two areas that receive most of the living room activity: my computer space and the dining table. Note that while it is called a dining table, I never dine there. At the computer station, nothing more than a modest desk, monitor, speakers, etc. the keyboard sans keys lies upsidedown at present, in the hopes that time will prove sufficient to undo the damage caused by spilling most of a mug of coffee upon it this morning. The keys, arranged carefully as they are on the keyboard normally, sit next to the board. Both a wax candle and carved wooden owl statue look on, perhaps disappointed, perhaps laughing, although owls never give anything away with those scowling masks they wear. The can of liquid air I sprayed to remove as much of the coffee as possible also stands sentry, mostly emptied, next to it a silver watch with heavy band that I inherited from my uncle and have previously poeticized for an exercise. Also present is a copy of Lord Jim in the Modern Library edition, which I had hoped to read (at least in part) to a friend last night, who alas did not have time available.