Here and now

Nothing seems to matter except what is here and now. All the times that have gone before have slipped from memory. I am left on an island of immediacy. All the lovers gone. All the care gone. All the thousands of words that might never have been written. Here now, in this stuggle I stand abandoned to the present moment. The temporary relief of the physical stimulation. The temporary relief of books written, published and well reviewed. None of this prepares me for this endless now when nothing is moving forward and every word I write is glue. I find myself stuck in a series of present moments and it is impossible, it seems, to escape at all.