Fear of the afternoon when you fall below the level of work, of the capacity to work. And then what? Drifting time, the moments lead nowhere, seconds swell into hours, hours into days. You focus on nothing in particular, you notice nothing, no changes. Impersonal attention. The blank, white sky. You can’t say: I can do nothing – you can’t find the words, or any words. Pass an afternoon like this and it is as though you have lived forever. As though the afternoon had happened a million times over and is now worn down and exhausted. Frayed time, time worn down. Space drawn thin over the void.
Lars Iyer's Blog 