Foreverware : Diary Entry 1 (The Texture of Time in 1974)

“When the lid seals, the walls contract and it feels warm in here. The air thickens, and I can feel the darkness smoothing itself over my body with a velvet-like touch. The coldness envelopes my body and it’s unsettling. I tighten and my body settles and is still. The walls hum, and everything smells faintly manufactured - plastic and sweet. Time doesn’t pass in here, it thickens. They say this keeps you fresh, but I think it just keeps you quiet.”

“Every brush stroke is sluggish in here, as though pushing through dream-like fog. The paint smells stronger, lush and mineral. I press my fingers into the pigment and it pushes back - warm, dense and breathing. Colour swells strangely in this air, like it’s been stored for too long. I drag a line across the surface and it sags. I prefer it when it resists. Paint sweats. It smells stronger now - oily and alive. Every gesture feels like a small disturbance in this cocoon of perfection. Paint wants to wrinkle but inside this box, it stays flawless and smooth. I’m marinating in the flavour of erasure.”