I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.

The hardest thing, I think, is to live richly in the present, without letting it be tainted & spoiled out of fear for the future or regret for a badly-managed past.

All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.

I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.

I tried to speak in a cool, calm way, but the zombie rose up in my throat and choked me off.

Spiderlike, I spin mirrors, Loyal to my image.

It is as if my life were magically run by two electric currents: joyous positive and despairing negative--which ever is running at the moment dominates my life, floods it.