slow-witted and delayed

I don't know how to react, only reflect. The difference is crucial, a revelatory source of both my inherent character and lamentations. I am always elsewhere, inescapably elsewhere, restrained by a force which persists in being indefinable regardless of its increased predictability. The elusiveness of my barriers leave me stalled and inchoate. My efforts are random and blind, and I no longer rage with force as too often I have been bitten by its ricochet. Instead I traverse with a nearly debilitating precautious manner, groping my way through the emptiness of my solitary terrain, somnambulistically, without direction, conviction, or spirit. Only the pernicious aches from an onset of atrophy periodically awaken me from the trance of my wearied state, but these moments of alertness are transient and useless, yielding neither release nor change.

I cannot move to act. I cannot realize the existence of the present moment until it has already passed.