Purgatory is a place of muted colors and bland flavors. It's mostly quiet, and when there is discernible sound- human, natural or mechanical - it strikes you as monotonous. If an audible sound (one heard with the ear rather than inside the head) seems of interest, it's almost always incomplete - a fragment - too vague for comprehension or to do anything constructive with.
If there's a feeling you're left with here, it's a particular variety of emptiness, not a total one though because you have your memory, which dulls and wears with time, so often repeated are it's contents that very soon, relatively speaking, you don't know with any real certainty whether they actually took place in the world or if they've just come to constitute a repeated story looping. It's like a bell chiming in some far distance, relentless and hallucinatory.
There are other occupants, you're not alone exactly. In fact, nearly the whole world is here. Of course, it is what is absent that is most real and most profound.
If there's a feeling you're left with here, it's a particular variety of emptiness, not a total one though because you have your memory, which dulls and wears with time, so often repeated are it's contents that very soon, relatively speaking, you don't know with any real certainty whether they actually took place in the world or if they've just come to constitute a repeated story looping. It's like a bell chiming in some far distance, relentless and hallucinatory.
There are other occupants, you're not alone exactly. In fact, nearly the whole world is here. Of course, it is what is absent that is most real and most profound.
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