Farewell, Gridman

Wither wherewithal. Seemingly always alone in a room on someone’s floor. The place to stay finds you when you need it; the rest is like another life buried deep in the hollow of a parallel world, but then what? It’s no Liquid Room. Fear of missing out at 10am Sunday morning, only a few hours sleep so the hangover creeps up from behind. Not clear where on the map of emotional calibration where this is at really: a tatami room growing humid as afternoon creeps in, neighborhood pathways filling up with running children, old people, the weird monster people still in their cages until when. ESPY always offers a time slip option, but it is not easy to navigate the electromagnetic waygates; static backwash from a million component stereo systems, hard particles of magnetic cassette and video tape debris. Digital is cleaner of course, but totally limitless, a world of nothing-but-outside. Who would want to come here to deal with overly complicated air conditioner controls?