i worry in my mind and i feel it coursing all through my body. i worry that i've blasted my body with cortisol and i'm in perpetual worry mode and it's a pandemic how could i not worry now of all times but i've always been a worry. er. my pooter crawls under burden of so many images. i have to clear it, like my brain forgets because we can't carry so many images in memory. damn that's another thing. i ordered memory by bernadette mayer from the loca bookseller but i want to cancel and get it from the publisher because it's taking weeks to get a book from 3 blocks away. some kind of epicenter of dysfunction. like my brain? my brain would be ok if i can only delete some stuff. i say i'm a minimalist but i'm to lazy to be. i have to clean. what a luxury these worries. it could be a lot worse—it will be!
so i start deleting again and i feel like my cells are crying but my eyes are dry. who needs these pictures anyway (especially the above)—it's the end of the world. likely story. that's the gist of it. all other worries are luxury. even to be or not to be is a luxury. it's not for me to decide. makes me worry angrily. i want to live.
it's simple the brain has to forget, well it doesn't have to, it just does. it's a finite system. and i have to delete and release. 
i worry that even if i delete everything i'll still be left with my worry. i worry about that.