My worst habit is my fear & my destructive rationalizing.

I didn't really see why people should look at me. Plenty of people looked queerer than I did.

When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tup and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank into sleep under a surface gaudy as poppies.

In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.

I think I may well be a Jew.

England offers new comforts. I could write a novel there.