Time is oft a wanderer, with
no clear path it follows, until
it knows not how far it has
traveled, and it has quite lost
itself in its meandering. No
mystery, I think, that time
is so of no mind, it is those
structures in it (of import and
discipline) that cause one to
wonder at the workings of
the world as it walks on. If
one were to trace the purposes
of the world, I think it would
produce a sculpture of such
dizzying angles that to glance
it would be halfway to madness.
When we are at a crossroads,
time abandons us, and in one
desperate step we stumble
into the paths of eternity.
Seaduck
11:08pm sunday, 2nd february
Is this how my brother felt before he died? Is it painful? Did he know he was
sick?
Stand
2:52am monday, 3rd february
Sometimes, yes, it is painful, but I do remember some joys that came in spite of the madness. Your brother may have felt something similar to me, but mental illness is a very personal thing. There are broad categories under which people are diagnosed, but each feels his own form of it.
Seaduck