I said: I must remember this, being small.

It is a terrible thing to be so open: it is as if my heart put on a face and walked into the world.

Bright beads of red are rising through the ink, Hearts-blood bubbles smearing out into the black stream

But writing poems and letters doesn't seem to do much good.

... stop trying to get me to write about 'decent courageous people' -- read the Ladies' Home Journal for those! ... I believe in going through and facing the worst, not hiding from it.

I hate Technicolor. Everybody in a Technicolor movie seems to feel obliged to wear a lurid costume in each new scene and to stand around like a clotheshorse with a lot of very green trees or very yellow wheat or very blue ocean rolling away for miles and miles in every direction.

And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.