She is in a place, she thinks. Where? An inappropriate term. Other questions fail her. She feels like she’s … no, wrong again, she begins once more. Elemental whiteness. Theoretical whiteness, utter absence of darkness in which contrast has been abandoned; she does not know that she can see. Confined to a space in which she cannot stretch or turn, though she is not uncomfortable. Nil by none. She is limbless, no remainder, but gropes beyond herself in blind phantom extension. Pellucid. She is unbound by an extraordinary deliverance from feeling. She is standing, she lies prone, she breathes, she is drowning, she rushes toward, she waits until, she is dressed for a date, she has no skin or bone, she is floating, she is rooted, buried, she thinks of herself, she is no longer of, iconic, but as if, unbonding the way electrons slip from an unstable atom – if nothing can be said to explode against a singular expanse of emptiness discernibly. An idea. Nil by naught.
How long? Duration is immeasurably slow or instantaneous. Had she been flailing at something before this became and movement ceased, or movement grew imperceptibly rapid, unrecordable? She is certain there was prior experience by which she defined quantities, but the belief is disappointing. Reference has evaporated. She is unsure of was and will be. She is not here, she convinces herself she is thinking this right now. She is not here. Infinite sphere, centre everywhere without circumference

Nil by None 1