The Compiled Journals of Partner Lem
Since the Calming, the trips, and films, and Wednesday nights at the bar, and all the other distractions are gone. Our days are filled with plodding travel; our hours with finding and preparing food, and the continual repair of machines slumping inexorably towards decay.
There are still point power sources here and there; off-the-grid homes, disconnected solar arrays, and the like. At first, people huddled around them like a warm fire or cool watering hole. But what good is a charged tablet if there is no network to connect to? We have begun to lose interest.
If I had told my previous self that his days would be spent in a continual silent fight against hunger and entropy, he would have done everything in his power to avoid it. An atrophied body fears the pain of exertion. A distracted mind fears the introspection of silence.
But with no clocks and nothing left to separate one day from the next, my actions change with the seasons, I wake with the sun, my heart beats out the seconds. I am no longer time’s slave; I am its meter and measure.