Only one more page to go, and then I'm almost done.
Except for the fact that there are at least
two other notebooks that I haven't even begun.
So near and yet so far. So why continue?
Why write when it's very late at night,
when the heebie jeebies frolic
and the mumbo jumboes bight?
And for what?
For the satisfaction of knowing I'm right, even though
no-one else save God will ever know?
But still, but still, and yet, and yet, lest we forget.
Lest we forget, the end is nigh but why is it nigh?
Why is it nigh, and yet so fear?
So why might I try to begin again when
I don't even know if it's now or then, my dear?