A  DYSTOPIAN MC DONALDS TOILET STEALS MY 
 AGENCY.  TOO MUCH AGENCY ALREADY IN THIS 
 ROOM. SATURATED. I CAN  ONLY DO WHAT  IT 
 WANTS    IN    THE   WAY    IT    WANTS. 
                                          
                                 
                                          
 BUT:  IN  A  MIRACOLOUS  FRACTION  OF  A 
 SECOND, ITS TRUE  THOUGHTS SLIP  THROUGH 
 TO  ME, PREVIOUSLY UNHEARD EVEN  BY  ITS 
 BUILDERS  (THE  ROOM WAS THOUGHT  TO  BE 
          WITHOUT CONSCIOUSNESS).         
                                          
 THE ROOM THINKS  ABOUT  CREATURES  LYING 
 DOWN,  GOING   OFF   TO  SLEEP,   MAKING 
 THEMSELVES COMFORTABLE FIRST... IS THIS  
 ONLY  OPTIMIZING A RESTING POSITION  FOR 
 THE  BODY?  OR  IS  THERE  ANOTHER  WILL 
                 INVOLVED?                
                                          
      A DARK LISTENING TAKING PLACE,      
            A SILENT CONCERT.             
                                          
 IS  THERE  ANOTHER  DESIRE  INJECTED  AT 
   HYPNAGOGIA? SOMETHING FROM THE OTHER   
            SIDE, GUIDING THEM,           
          ARRANGING THEIR BODIES.