I like people too much or not at all.

The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed.

I thought if only I had a keen, shapely bone structure to my face or could discuss politics shrewdly or was a famous writer Constantin might find me interesting enough to sleep with. And then I wondered if as soon as he came to like me he would sink into ordinariness, and if as soon as he came to love me I would find fault, the way I did with Buddy Willard and the boys before him.

Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness

God has to remind us this isn't heaven by a long shot, so he increases the radios and lethal flies.

I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!

Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars - to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording - all this is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always supposedly in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.