This is still my stuff.

Months passed and the focus of my locus remained static. Events occurred, consciousness streamed as it never seems to stop doing and my stasis converted itself, dynamically, into stagnation. So I engaged in the fourth form of movement: I got on a 'plane. The fulsome majesty of the sky was exposed to my concept-processor; the precariousness of the aeroplane's position imposed intimations of mortality in the constantly-evolving flow of notions constituting my "mind"; a sandwich in a plastic container was distributed physically to the embodiment of "me". I ate it with my mouth, that hole in my face, and with the teeth and tongue contained therein; with my œsophagus, my intestines, my alimentary canal. I turned it into energy. Then I got off the 'plane.