e.3 slams into you like a -- one moment -- like a -- one moment -- There is no word. e.3 slams into you like it did the last time. The usual psychotactile sensations, exhilaration, fear, elation, vertigo, nausea, kinetic synthesia -- it is all there, familiar as a -- one moment -- There is no word. e.3 is doing its job, pegging the meters.

Something intervenes. This something's content is about previous threads. Something called u-man is mentioned in the flurry of images, and this resonates, but dimly. The term is used only in passing.

U-man toggles a response in some dusty sub-level of your memory. You scan a first-cycle thread stating that u-man was the first stitch of the shape you now are. You quickly archive u-man, and it disappears from your live memory, but it is too late. Distraction reaches unmanageablity. You note what you perceive as alarm on the fig's face. The fig de-resses. Your head goes clear. Thicktime crawls back into your thoughts like entertwining snakes.

You curse yourself.