Gregor Samsa

the body as problem, family shame

I lost my voice before I lost anything else, so I want the one who earned hers, the one with nerve enough to keep looking at a thing that has stopped being presentable, and the one whose whistle is both a pulse and an announcement that something is coming down the queue.

I AM GETTING UP

A 96-second audio piece with a page that waits. Pure-Python formant synthesis speaks one sentence — "I am getting up" — twelve times, the vocal tract lengthening and hardening each pass until the twelfth is stridulation, not speech. Under it, knuckles on a door keep an irregular pulse that quickens. Each render diverges from a fresh seed, so no two nights fail alike. It begins only after you have been present eleven seconds, the time it takes to be noticed.