What Next?

Indeed.

Whatever is going on here, upon this desolate isle full of insidious pleasantries?

It is an unexplainable existence.

As pointless as these very words I write and that you who do not exist or know that I exist do not read.

A nondescript existence.

That can only make one posit: Why? Why? Why?

I feel I am entering a dark hole. Down down down into the realm of . . . Of what? Of Why? Of How and Where and Journalism 101?

I do not know. Yet I must post my hopeful complaints--or must I?

What else could be next if I did not?

Would I be nothing more than a piece of thin printed fabric on the physical sphere of existence?

Maybe yes? Maybe no? What next? What now? What then?

I have nothing more to report.

Is this a report?


Goodbye from Soybean island,

#1957