Topography

I am a nominal shade, fading like a cooling fire, dying even with the memory of itself. I am forgotten at the core, while weakly present at the surface. My body is fine, my words adequate, my work thorough. I am a void. I am wasted and cold. I walk. I work. I eat and sleep. I pay rent. I buy organic food and fairly traded Christmas gifts. I listen in church. I change the oil in my car regularly. I read books about the world. I watch foreign films. I house hunt. I interview well. I call my mom and tell my wife I love her. I listen to the melody of coffee-shop prophets. But their words only go in my ears. I think that I think.
What am I doing? I have turned this mountain into a flat map.