The white room is a room with four white walls, a white floor and a white ceiling. It has a single white lamp that doesn’t shine too brightly to hurt the eyes, a white bed in the corner and a white chair for consideration.

The white chair faces the centre of the room. Most of the time I will sleep in the white bed, but when I am awake, I will walk around the white room, or sometimes sit in the white chair.

Sometimes in the middle of the white room a pool of humour will materialise, floating above the floor. I never know where it comes from, though sometimes I can see through the windows the white room doesn’t have, or hear the hubub without the white walls. I can touch the humour and it will enchant me, but I can also sit in the white chair to look at it.

I spend most of my time considering the humour from the white chair, and little enchanted. The humours have many like colours, and often it’s the same ones that return. I wonder about their origins and their nature, what it is that brings them to be and what it is that carries them into the white room. Some of them are euphoric, others poisonous, and others narcotic.

Most of my consideration has come about the euphoric humours, and how it is I can conjure them without divine intervention. I have tried many my own little witchcrafts, but there is so much I can do in the white room, and most is only spells I can cast from my own considerations in the white chair. Sometimes the spells bring the humours around. Other times they fail, and make them disappear.

But no spells work throughout. Magic does not exist, and the humours only come around and leave. That is all that there is.

15.XI.22