Who is doing the stream of consciousness? And who seems to be both within it and at in the same instance just outside of it, looking on in dismayed surprise? It is as if the observer collapses it, and it collapses over him, imprisoning, until it melts away into oblivion. Who witnessed that? Where does it go? The new moment destroys the old one. Not the re-echoing thought but the thing itself, the never arrested and timeless falling into time.