What you feel
What you feel in the darkness isnt consistent with any physical possibilities, if you knew your body. Senses burn where they shouldnt, amidst you, all of it is you and you are filled with so much vague geography. In the rolling black shiver that fans through you the touch is consistent, liquid ice, or oil asymptotically kissing freezing. You dont reach final states. You are on the verge. It is so still and so uniform that it touches you completely at once, with the same anesthetic pace, a perfect unreflective blackness from which your own extents, as you want them, are not visible present. You feel the coldness describing them, but they are gone. In the undifferentiated dark you devolve into a feeling, a question on the slow current. Nothing can begin without a change, without seeing your hands out before your eyes, without something beyond them, or this is the end, the beginning is lost somewhere at this precise moment but just out of plane, in an adjacent plat, a tangent in the murk, and it has all happened and will all happen without anything at all.