The organism spent his days clouded

and unknown to himself, an ignored enigma in the midst of a mechanical universe. He mowed the lawn and shaved the face as plastic shapes welled up around him. He floated incrementally like a leaf on the surface of a pond, drifting from one location to the next, from one activity to the next. He was busy doing what needed to be done, mistaking his feckless futility for accomplishment. The clock did not hammer in his ears like it should have. He missed the pounding of time, distracted as he was by so many other things. Soon, he was old and spent, staring at death’s grinning fangs, but with terror rather than rage.