Before the paradigm swung a little too far to the left and pushed every thing one degree out of reach, I remember the weight of things. One degree. How can one solitary degree make any if all the difference? Was reality the before or the now? This world moving at the sound of something foreign unreal interrupted, true. Before: the air unnoticeable, the earth heavenly enough to tread where time roamed free. Now in captivity, frozen solid beneath the surface of some one else’s dream. How to break free using fingernails bitten down to scratch the surface, the surface of what?