Eric paused. He was feeling in the pink, half-way through the nature area, in the part where the Brillo flowers spun webs. They spun the webs by rubbing the red rust of their rusted molecules on the air. They rubbed their rusted molecules on the air so hard they stuck. Leaving dirty impressions lying around loose, while the free flowers ran around at angles to the picture, undepicted, by virtue of having no commerce with the air, except for dumping husks. The husks they dumped were webs of denatured molecules, hanging in the air impersonating nature. The Brillo flowers themselves were therefore very skinny like ideals. And further back was the castle, the pine-tree, and the bridge made of blue lakes. The husks they dumped were webs of demobilized molecules, caught in their positions, giving up their probability to become past events. The pink stage like a belt served the landscape as a proscenium to frame the top half as a depth leading away from the near place of the bottom half, so Eric was in two places, he was near and he was also far in that the presence of far gave him intentions and a motion that meant he was already speed-reading himself out of here. He was in a perpetual state of pausing while speed-reading, a dizzy placement in a moment that is barely there and probably not very worthwhile. “I’m here and there and near and far at once, with no time to enjoy any of them, since the moment I’m in is totally encompassed and consumed by an awareness of the relation between those states.” Eric never said or thought that, because one constant about the place where you are is you cannot be able yet to express the way yet that you are yet being it yet. Eric paused. Caught in the act of giving up their probability to become past events, moments got caught in the act there and stacked up.