how extreme my thoughts can be in private. you know it does not work. there is no coherence within the entire thing, what is the reason you have given. all, phrases, jumbled against a brick wall, tumble, fall and crack. joyous. crackdown on every facet of national being. yes that is what i have to do to escape the vagaries of life. of course you think of what to say. you're lousy, and for that i blame you. unceromonious. but this is perhaps only a vision for myself, not for others, but you cannot be so visionary, so blind! yes, made and unmade by the same passion, by clever collections of turns of phrase, by sophistication and elegance, by beauty and whim. pimples like buds on white cheeks, a smile, a smirk, a smile, faintly mocking, yet genial, did i sense desperation? a knock on the window, undiscipline, now, but you are my leisure! i have spent so much on work, maybe i ought to just unwind now, with someone who understands myself, myself, although i do not understand myself. regret. why you had not done that, this is the best way because you are lazy to organise, and also, organisation, any form, simply ruins the spontaneity of it, anyway, no one else is reading who seeks to understand, the same colour of the uniform, the overriding thought. on the stairs, eating, opposite, surprise. and beauty again.but him, on another day, with another girl. so you see, perhaps i am special. but i shall not unwrite what i have written, and sift through them for gems. but no, not, everyone else thinks the same, faithful only to ideas, for some time. the novelty wears off, as it did for me, as it will for me, but as it hasn't now.yet still you do not dare, embarassed, are you? by the stars, made of paper, in the sky, and how the saint makes you cry. as it did, for something abstract, for you are to me but a spirit. witty eroticism, charged as we look on, but it's just me again, but it is what gives my days spice. oh. outside is so different from the inside, how they will tremble if they see. in me there is much that scares, and scars. proud. O felix culpa! They always talk of sin in longing tones, original sin, all the songs. and i shall not surrender to sleep yet. alas, i am getting more coherent, which should be no tragedy. and end. maybe start again later. all along i have been scared because i do not wish to be judged, even by myself, but perhaps this is willed by some internal force. at least you will remember,