SUDDENLY THE MATRIX FEED STOPS . . . . Panic descends, everyone in the restaurant cannot hear each other yelling inquiry, nor can they hear the crashes of traffic all over the city . Deaths without feeling begin .

   “ Am I dead ?, ” Ulysses wonders of the sudden transition from enjoying scrambled eggs and coffee to disembodied thoughts, insensible . Trying to move only ends in being back on the floor : no balance . After eight hours of sensory deprivation, the usual experience ensues: relaxing, taxing, hallucinating, unhinging .

   The world ends rather pleasantly amidst floating geometric truths of the Ground–Of–All–Being and multidimensional destinations .