You know, it's something I was just reading the night before last, the election night, I decided to read Dostoevsky.

You remember notes from the underground, 1864, spiteful man, sickly man, and so on.

And then at the very end, man, the cat, I can even read it to you, man.

This is how the cat goes off.

This is how he ends the whole thing.

He says, he says, inertia on nature.

Men, but people on earth are alone.

That's the calamity of it.

Is anyone really alive?

Shouts the old Russian hero? No one responds. I'm no epic hero but I too shout and no

one responds they say the sun animates the dead universe the sun will rise and look at it is it not

a corpse everything is dead and corpses are everywhere Only people exist and around them is silence.

That is what the earth is.

People love one another.

Who said that?

Whose behest is that?

The pendulum ticks on, insensible, horrible.

It's two o'clock in the morning.

Her shoes are standing by her little bed as if they expected her no seriously when they take her away tomorrow what on earth am i going to do

that's how it ends it me body right on the bed he ends it with man, with my body right on the day.

He ends it with the question. What am I going to do?

What am I going to do?

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