Chased by the Woolfe

Fifteen minutes a day, Woolfie? Even if it's not quality work? I'll do my best - though I'm cognizant of the character from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance who presses the protagonist to "Teach quality! Are you teaching quality?" Which, of course, leads to his nervous breakdown.

Is that what you want, Woolfie? I've already had several - one more and that may be the end. I'll slip through the fibers of this world and become ensnared in the Other World. Things that are Not There in
This World will become my boon companions. Shapes will detach from the shadows and become whole and, at the same time, Holes. It's tricky but there you have it: if you've ever been on the razor edge of madness you know just what I mean . . .

In the meantime, time rolls on in it's ineffable way. I've come to the conclusion that there are two dimensions of time, independent of each other. In one dimension, the years and days and minutes roll past and I find myself forty, forty-one, forty-two, etc; the second dimension of time is much slower and less comprehensive - in that dimension I remain at a constant age and the landscape rolls by like a cheap theatrical trick. Which one is more accurate? More correct? Who knows.

Time is rolling, Woolfie, in two dimensions. What have we to show? You at least have been writing . . . The Poor Wayfarer has been lost in the woods lo these many months. Skills degrade and decay like the layers of leaves found on the forest floor every autumn.