Often.
More so, than seldom. I drift in time and space. A glimpse of the truth. Not the truth about one, few, some or many things in particular. But the truth of all that is and all that will come to be. My face torn off, and the dystopian knowledge of things, concepts, shapes, feelings and sounds, that I can't describe with the limited vocabulary of humans, enter me, through the maelstrom that once held my face and made me familiar. The realization, that ascension, takes aeons, and in comparison, my insignificance have barely been a single shimmer of light over the pascific ocean at sundown. Not even immortality can save me from the unfathomable aeons that I stare into. And so, I welcome the same doom that I lament.
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