Okay, Existence. Now what?
Oh . . . you don't know? Well, don't expect me to give you a clue because I haven't got one.
No, I ain't mad at ya. Things would be so much easier if I was, huh, because then at least we'd have something to chew on. But for the moment, we're doomed to freedom and the cognisance of the insignifigance of pleasure.
Blasphemy, I know . . .
I mean to say, I have no money. Well, I've got some. But I'm saving it to pay Trisa back for the fiasco in L.A.
It's getting cold around here. Maybe that'll be good for the fire. Maybe Mother Nature shall stop bingeing and sink into a cold, numb aftertaste.
. . . I have places to go to-day. I'm told I have mail at one of my other addresses. And I have a bad feeling about this. I have a bad feeling about a lot of things to-day.