It escaped from me, or was ripped from my body by force, this sentimental feeling

God, did it used to torment me . . . watching the clock and imagining it going backwards

And now there is no more of that

I look at something and accept its inertia and eventual uselessness

Death will come in some form sooner or later and I’ll think, “Yes, that is how it is for everyone and everything”

Because if time doesn’t eat it, the white-hot flames of doomsday surely will


(Whoa: did I just write that)