I woke to the sound of rain.

I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.

God, is this all it is, the ricocheting down the corridor of laughter and tears? Of self-worship and self-loathing? Of glory and disgust?

I started adding up all the things I couldn't do.

There is no life higher than the grasstops

If you dissect a bird / to diagram the tongue, / you'll cut the chord / articulating song.

Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness.