Today is Easter sunday. There is nothing to be done but curl up with a copy of the Brothers Karamazov for the rest of the day. I also consumed a coddled egg.
Over breakfast, I pondered the concept of resurrection, which lead me inevitably to the transience of earthly things, and all of mankind’s inevitable fate. We shall be dust eternally, despite the gaudy lies of the Bible and the deceptive promise of the spring season.
Why do I know more than other people? Why, in general, am I so clever? I am forever alone, isolated by my own apprehension.