Bo Diddley

I sit in my room all by myself late at night when it seems as if everything in my life is falling to pieces around me, until everything is arranged in pre-ordained little piles that only I can make sense of.

But I never do make sense of everything and the disorder keeps going on and on until I'm dead, at which time I see that I have to make room for what will happen next in my life.

The problem of death, even to Aristotle, especially to Aristotle who loved the world so much, is that love of the world is so entwined with understanding it, and that death can never be understood.