March 25, 2005


Beth is writing something she calls Not Dead Yet. It’s a website. Each day she deletes what she wrote the previous day and replaces it with something new. The website is whatever she writes today.

Today Beth wrote about wearing socks on her hands, which is something she does to help herself sleep.

Another thing she does when she can’t sleep is think of a mermaid. The mermaid swims down through levels of caverns. When this doesn’t work, she thinks of an old Indian yogi humming on a hill beneath a starry sky. When this doesn’t work, she puts socks on her hands.

It strikes that when Beth dies someone will have to create a new website for her. Much like Not Dead Yet, the new site will consist of a single page. The page will have today’s date, only there won’t be any words on it; just the same blank page day after day after day. The site will be called Dead Now.

This reminds me of a clock Andrew made. He took an analog wall clock and removed the hour and minute hands. All that’s left is the second hand, which goes round and round. The clock is on the wall in Andrew’s apartment. Because it looks like a regular clock, I inevitably glance up to see the time, and there’s that second hand again, spinning in circles. Each time this happens – each time, seemingly, for the first time – I laugh. It’s a laugh of recognition. Andrew’s clock is only one I know that always shows the correct time.