From a Notebook Lost: The Same and The Other 17
I can no longer stand this existence and existing. Why must I and you be? Why are we? I cannot understand and do not know the answers, solutions, meaning, point. These and those things I know not. I see but not find. Why think or believe; I know not. May it be to make life (as it is) something from the nothing. Is that even possible; I know not. To know; What? To understand; What? I know not. I go and move and I know and understand not why. I stop and stop and I know and understand not why. Questions are my answers to my questions. All I have and get are more and more questions. I just want one answer or an end. Either would be good, well, and fine with me. If I got one or the other or the other and one I would not complain but be content in that and this. I ask not much and expect even less that what I asked. Perhaps this be my lot in life to be nothing; I know not. But I long and year from my loins for something, for anything. Just a pang or ping of something, of anything. An answer or an end though be my heart’s desire. With my inner being I search for an answer of an end. My life is just an exodus for an answer or an end. That be all, nothing else, but all. An answer or an end. That be all.