Becoming Spurious

Almost everyday one more appears. Sometimes more than one. We scroll and scroll through paragraph upon paragraph. It staggers us. Where does it all come from, where is it going?

Sometimes a new title appears among the paragraphs. We rear up. Something new? Below it, more paragraphs. Paragraph upon paragraph.

Then there is silence. Nothing appears. We notice and wonder why we notice. Whether a new title appears, whether two or three appear, or not one, it's the same. Everything floats away, borne on a thermal of words. Where does it come from, where is it going? What is it we are reading? Have we, in fact, begun to read at all?