For the first time in my life the weather was not something that touched me, that caressed me, froze or sweated me, but became me.

We all agree it's too big to keep up with, that we're surrounded by life, that we'll never understand it, so we center it all in by swigging Scotch from the bottle and when it's empty I run out of the car and buy another one, period.

Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for yr own joy

I'd rather be thin than famous but I'm fat paste that in your broadway show

I'm stuck struggling in the cold water, and all I can do is grieve, grieve, in the hoar necessitous horror of the morning, bitterly I hate myself, bitterly it's too late yet while I feel better I still feel ephemeral and unreal and unable to straighten my thoughts or even really grieve, in fact I feel too stupid to be really bitter, in short I don't know what I'm doing and I'm being told what to do.

Yeah," I said, "but you're an artist. You don't believe in decency and honesty and gratitude. Where shall we eat?

They spent all week saving pennies and went out Saturdays to spend fifty bucks in three hours.