XXXII.

I sit on the sofa, not thinking about anything. Every dilating idea is cast in a missing mold, to fall into the infinite, to remain there forever. The world doesn't exist. Someone made it up. It was never prefabricated. Suddenly someone decided it would be fun to call a bluff.

 

        There is no knowledge of dogs, or what the sun is. Knowledge having exploded. Ideas and theories destroyed. It doesn't hurt anymore. And laughter begins.

 

        

 

The water at the river bed seems to be edging its way, over the embankment the waters rise and flood. Closer; the damp sensations inside my fingertips, tingle. I fear. I don't want to see it or touch it, the water overflows and races. Jovial. I can't run. And I feel stupid waiting for it, without preparation. I haven't reserves to prepare with. It's imminent. I wait.

RIVER BED   114

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