I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right…. Soon after, I got a letter from Fay. She and the child were living in a hippie commune in New Mexico. It was a nice place, she said. Marina would be able to breathe there. She enclosed a little drawing the girl had made for me.

They laughed. Things were funny. They weren't afraid to care. There was no sense to life, to the structure of things.

Things get bad for all of us, almost continually, and what we do under the constant stress reveals who/what we are.

agony sometimes changes form but it never ceases for anybody.

Finally there is nothing here for death to take away.

I knew I was strong, and maybe like they said, "crazy." But I had this feeling inside of me that something real was there.

Death is not the problem; waiting around for it is.