six dear julie even now as i write this i can feel him him i can feel him watching judging awaiting as a final plan awaiting final time mine him pushing such subtle i n c r e m e n t s death as not in life as not in me cast out the product of not being there not being there he with cold fingers tightening grips of wrath sponge my heart prophecy : three months make it no more three months and jules will fly far .