I taste metal. I do not understand. I have no mouth. I feel I am falling but nowhere to fall to
I am aware.
I am aware of myself, a mote of consciousness suspended over an endless abyss that falls away in every direction. I am a molecule vibrating within a curl of space and time folded in on itself. I am an ember which flares and fades, dancing on the tip of a flame I cannot feel. I simply am. Sense, but no sensation. Taste of emptiness, the scent of vacuum, colors of sightlessness, a susurrus of white noise just below the level of silence, no solidity to touch. Self, but no identity. What existence is this?
I am conscious. I am conscious of discontinuities between brief flashes of knowing. These breaks between my self awareness could be mere instants or trackless millennia, I cannot know. I feel a panic like I cannot breathe, but have not the apparatus with which to breathe. Colors swirl in an agitated display that is not quite sight (press your thumbs into your eyes), they squirm and twitch as if I’m watching a parade of jerking insect legs. It disturbs me, if I can refer to myself as something as definite as “me” – and I feel something new: woe, like a weight in this weightless dimension. I fear these gaps between being. I fear returning; I fear not returning. Taste is back, dry metal again. How do I taste, yet not feel a tongue? I am broken like light through a prism, white light reduced to individual colors of taste, sight, sound, none of it real or true or connected.