Last Post

This is my last post. I no longer labor under the illusion that there's anything left to be happy about. I feel no contentment, and I certainly feel no joy. Not even Mendelssohn and Mozart last Friday eve could ease the pain. Angels' wings should be able to balm and console, but they could not. At the risk of being a second-hand plagiarist, I leave you with a quote from Franz Kafka, taken from a newspaper article about a woman who posted it on her blog just before she eliminated all her pain: "We are as forlorn as children lost in the wood. When you stand in front of me, what do you know of the grief that is in me and what do I know of yours? And if I were to cast myself down before you and tell you, what more would you know about me than you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful?" Thank you for reading.