I, Of Whom I Know Nothing, I

The Tears Stream Down My Cheeks From My Unblinking Eyes. What Makes Me Weep So? There Is Nothing Saddening Here. Perhaps It Is Liquefied Brain.

Every Word Is Like An Unnecessary Stain On Silence And Nothingness.

How Time Flies When One Has Fun!

But What Matter Whether I Was Born Or Not, Have Lived Or Not, Am Dead Or Merely Dying. I Shall Go On Doing As I Have Always Done, Not Knowing What It Is I Do, Nor Who I Am, Nor Where I Am, Nor If I Am.

To Every Man His Little Cross. Till He Dies. And Is Forgotten.