Emergency electrocardiogram comprised of magnetised cement, the cement which is the ground unrolling ahead of me and upon which I throw my entire body and stay for the next few hours unable to move and adhered by the warmth it took me so long to generate via the material’s rather slow conductivity. The result shows an imprint of my anxious state as the dead of winter: here, here, and here. We can discuss it more in the hours that follow my stay on the magnetised cement. Meanwhile, my breath lingers in the shallows, possibly a result of some vitamin deficiency so I would like to compose an arrhythmic tune of it to make the mild discomfort more productive. Have you noticed how many people are dying to do this and that? We read about them in the paper, a mysterious death while sleeping, they say a heart attack or some other vague malfunction, well this has me completely manic, monitoring the increments of my machine, this deeply irregular body of electrocardiograms and bylines that attribute a name to my anonymity. The imprint — still seeping into the pores of the concrete — would be a score as I look at my body writ on an oblong mirror (hanging just above the perpendicular ground, the ground which is always stretched out only ten meters or so ahead of me), the mirror which is the ongoing, live-fed transcription.