Zap! Brian was falling. Gripping hooks clutching his stomach, dragging him through portals. Brian did land with an odd syntax - but what's amiss? "I can-s; almost know it, almost on instinct, I know that it's missing. But what is it? And how can I find it again?"

 Looking through old things - books, blanks, unwrit manuscripts, a diary-s; Brian could not find it. It was as if his world didn't contain it, but had had it. And now, it was without any way of having it back - as if Brian was walking on ground and, through a paralysis coma, had found a world without any ground at all. And no words for 'ground'. Brian was mulling it, "I usually say many things, today I say not much. What is lacking?

 And so Brian quit, without philosophising riddling thoughts, not caring about that wound. But can you fix it? Can you know?