In the space he found himself in all was utterly unstable, completely unitelligible.  
His head hurt and he could not grasp the blurred area outside the coldness of his eyes.  H
e had the venomous, disenchantment of memory of memories, torn and degraded.  
Wickedness; parts of his brain felt singed and numb.  
His feet were cold and numb as well, he could move them very little, with stagnant sighs.  
His face showed immense struggle and discomfort as he squinted and let out utterances of pain.  
and as he struggled his weight off of the stone chair there were blind surges of pain in his tendons and feet, 
which only buckled and went behind his lost and nimble figure which crashed against the stone ground.  
All went dark again.  There were memories there, but they were all fragmented, sequestered.  
They milled around without being anything at all, festering and bubbling inside.  
There were words, but they were alien.  There were actions, but they were silhouettes of something in the past.