A fierce brief fusion which dreamers call real, and realists, an illusion; an insight like the flight of birds.

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.

The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.

I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness.

A ring of gold with the sun in it? Lies. Lies and a grief.

Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.