‘I’ve been reading the first sentence of the final section of Calamities’

I’ve been reading the first sentence of the final section of Calamities, and I can’t seem to get past it. It calls on me to follow its trajectory over and over and again, and I do, instead of simply moving on to what comes next. I can’t move on to what comes next. I’m stuck in its loop. This loop of seeing and of hearing and of thinking inside the sentence, of writing the last of it without knowing it’s the last of it, but also growing joyous and carefree along the process, of being at the end without a knowing of this being at the end, or finishing something while being swept up along a line of thought, a line becoming more and more abstract, a line becoming literal, and following the movements of this line the way one would a curve in space, or, much too aptly now, with my hand across a sheet, enfolding a movement with a line of pen, and a possible surge into a kind of structure, precise and alphabetic, and anonymous as well, all without really saying anything at all, or saying what I’m saying without words, or merely writing.