It’s like being … spacewalkers. Like astronauts on a spacewalk. It’s like total zero-G.
Do you think it’s possible to fall out of life, philosopher? Is that what’s happening to me? To us?
Where is this going? I’ll tell you: nowhere. But I like nowhere. I like wherever it is we are, or are not. What’s happening? I’ll tell you: nothing. I like nothing. I like whatever it is happening, or isn’t happening.
We’re between times. Between seasons. It’s between day and night.
It’s like we’ve been dealt some vast, soft blow. A kind blow. Like we’ve been knocked out, but gently. Like we’ve been concussed. Have we been concussed, philosopher?
It’s like we’ve been crushed, but gently. It’s like we’ve been run over, but softly.
It’s like we’re dazed. Like we’ve been the victim of some terrible accident. Yet we’re unscathed. Yet we’re fine. Yet nothing happened.
It’s like we’re the victims of some hit and run. Like we’ve been destroyed, or half destroyed, or nearly destroyed. But we’re okay. We’re just fine.
Work in Progress 