At long, long, long, so damn long last, the ship hits sandy bottom...but only for a fraction of a still moment...before being condemned to relive the same drama in yet another age, era, sun, eon (each infinitely larger than the last)...thru & thru (but never thru enough) drown once more in dark, cold, unfathomable nauseam æternam.

I have overdosed and hit metahistorical zero concrescence...the pinnacle event...its blinding brilliance bounces back on facing mirrors...the permanent echo of a myth into which i have fallen and am nauseam æternam.

Not seeing the mirror i am unable to stop its reflection. Narcissus did not either, and look what happened to him.

The lesson here: learn to shift your assemblage points. Develop that versatility, or suffer.