Now this is an interesting setup, the Soft-Eyed Mycologist thinks not so softly. An expensive setup, no less. Someone cares. He pulls his goggles down. He's been using his own the whole time, one lens tinted black with silver, the other tinted light blue (Or is it apocyan? It might be apocyan.)

Well then. Let's study.

a distance between meanings	a spatial distortion	a future destroyed	collision of bodies	a resounding quality (Oh, hello again.)	erratic movements	forbidden / excised
forgetful / incapable of memory	a trap, sprung	an empty space	the surface of a problem	the truth, altered	a deceiver within community	a prisoner within its own mind
an absence of remorse		decreation	a brief respite	an exoskeleton, forgotten	weak / vulnerable
	no regrets (This cannot be right.)	a promise unforged	forget	no (No?)	marrow / core of a being	lack of remorse
forget (Again?)	a creature destroyed by change	no	no future	an abandoned self	forgive	nothing
devotion by posession	no (This is wrong)	a lie by omission	forsake (Never.)	NO	this is wrong	a tight space, airless
no	NO		NO	(no)	NO

The Mycologist is brought back down to the present, physical reality. One that is not trying to burn its way into his retinas permanently.

It takes for a moment for the exhaustion to be properly registered. The man is shivering, shoulders hunched, fingers numb. He is working very hard on evening his breath out.
When his vision clears (When has it darkened? When have the spirals appeared? For how long has his peripherial vision been gone?), he risks another glance at the blackboards
A distance between meanings. A spatial distortion. Orbit of affection. Collision of bodies. Normal Correspondence sigils, although unfinished, not defined around the metaphysical edges.

"'Your perspectives are valuable' my posterior dimensions," the Mycologists rasps to himself. He feels like a fool. And a fool and his breakfast will soon be parted.