First thought, best thought, or so claimed Jack Kerouac. But what if there are no thoughts at all? What if words fail and hellish consciousness is all you are left with? As I am perpetually lost for words, sometimes all there is to offer are words of others, and in this case, the words of Kerouac that define this feeling of futility in ways only he could fabricate:
The stars in the sky
In vain
The tragedy of Hamlet
In vain
The key in the lock
In vain
The sleeping mother
In vain
The lamp in the corner
In vain
The lamp in the corner unlit
In vain
Abraham Lincoln
In vain
The Aztec empire
In vain
The writing hand: in vain
(The shoetrees in the shoes
In vain
The windowshade string upon
the hand bible
In vain—
The glitter of the greenglass
ashtray
In vain
The bear in the woods
In vain
The Life of Buddha
In vain)