Sure, I’m dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on the edge. We all are on the brink, and it takes a lot of nerve, a lot of energy, to teeter on the edge, looking over, looking down into the windy blackness and not being quite able to make out, through the yellow, stinking mist, just what lies below in the slime, in the oozing, vomit-streaked slime; and so I could go on, my thoughts, writing much, trying to find the core, the meaning for myself.

I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

Why can’t I try on different lives, like dresses, to see which fits best and is more becoming?

The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.

Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

You know what lies are for.