Im drifting... without a sense of direction; up, down,
left, and right' have no meaning in the absence of physical form. My
crash site, at the moment, continues to occupy real space, but only as an island of vague
demarcation, its twilit boundaries grown smaller, less significant—juxtaposed to this
vast, immeasurable Void—like a spotlight fading toward blackout at the end of some
tragicomic stage-play. Pain is history. Fatigue remains a factor; Im weary without
foundation, my exhaustion disembodied and therefore enigmatic. Were this stark domain a
battlefield, I'd surrender. But to whom?