From early childhood there is something, of which I have always been dimly aware. The Mental Traveller, I would try to think my way farther and farther out, almost fugitive was the action, until I neared those most rarefied and dizzying outer fringes. And there always, as an object submerged in waters of ink, my thoughtstream would fall into a void. Out of bounds. I remember thinking on each of the times it occurred – what a wholly odd thing, certainly something outside of the usual course of things, I must not forget this. Direct encounter with Kundabuffer.
In writing this I feel I am converging again on those unsayable things.