In the spectrum of diminished expectations Richard Weaver you sit in full sun staring into the blue-green earth’s watery eye. On autonomic pilot. Caught between apathy and mutism. Fight or flight are no longer options your brain entertains. What might have been a best course, an action, a response to perceived danger is now frozen. Not catatonic, but motionless, as if posing 24 hours for Picasso. If your brain still sifts information to analyze, you are the last to know. Numb is the word, the single word echoed by the limbic system to the body’s autonomic nervous system. Echoed as future pain, as a warning of what must come and will be. But existing, surviving in an altered state, a consciousness lost entirely to memory.
71.
