(no subject)
I am a purple jellybean. My subconscious chose this violet confection. It's psychologically proven. I bought tulle today for fifty seven cents a yd., and I am quite pleased. If all goes well I shall have a skirt as good as the one I can't afford. And I'm getting paid as much as the employees who stitched it!
I am on the second book in the Wideacre trilogy (impeccable taste in literature, I am aware)and at the end of both of them I am so happy that the characters die. Beatrice and especially Richard's murders gave me great pleasure. It must be the elation Nemesis recieves. Probably a bit watered down, but I get the idea.
Anyway I realized I'm not sounding so smart and 'precocious', and am concerned. I think this is because I have trouble explaining things that have meaning to me eloquently, because I am in such a fever to get all the words down so every one will understand it before I forget. Quite a sloppy job of embalming, I think. I get so impatient, and yet I am very patient with everything else. I say, you will read these things and it will make you much better and smarter and enlightened and beatific in a goodcynical way. But I can't get through anything. This is probably just a calfication stage though. I went through that once before. I have a theory that there has to be at least three repeats of each alchemical stage before one can progress. That way no one really attains the One Thing. But I can become a little more secure because of it, and there's no harm in that. I should like to live in the country, and I would be distracted by hills and water and everything and I would be just as I am now. Inspiration is second guessed, and then she floats away to someone who can trust her. I think it is the adding on of a self conscious note that breaks the flow of things, yet again mistrusting. Oh that is sentimental, oh that is contrived. It really makes me hate writing, and my carrying on with it. I want it to be like you and you and him and her but then a little bit of me and that throws it all off. I would like to try automatic writing, but I can't seem to go into any trance and anyway that would be a spirit talking not me. And I probably wouldn't even remember it, so how could that be original? And I will nullify all of this by
I'm reading Ulysses for the first time and the first page, down to the middle I noticed how brilliant it was and was instantly beatified, but only for that instant. And then I was jealous and put it down and sulked.
I am on the second book in the Wideacre trilogy (impeccable taste in literature, I am aware)and at the end of both of them I am so happy that the characters die. Beatrice and especially Richard's murders gave me great pleasure. It must be the elation Nemesis recieves. Probably a bit watered down, but I get the idea.
Anyway I realized I'm not sounding so smart and 'precocious', and am concerned. I think this is because I have trouble explaining things that have meaning to me eloquently, because I am in such a fever to get all the words down so every one will understand it before I forget. Quite a sloppy job of embalming, I think. I get so impatient, and yet I am very patient with everything else. I say, you will read these things and it will make you much better and smarter and enlightened and beatific in a goodcynical way. But I can't get through anything. This is probably just a calfication stage though. I went through that once before. I have a theory that there has to be at least three repeats of each alchemical stage before one can progress. That way no one really attains the One Thing. But I can become a little more secure because of it, and there's no harm in that. I should like to live in the country, and I would be distracted by hills and water and everything and I would be just as I am now. Inspiration is second guessed, and then she floats away to someone who can trust her. I think it is the adding on of a self conscious note that breaks the flow of things, yet again mistrusting. Oh that is sentimental, oh that is contrived. It really makes me hate writing, and my carrying on with it. I want it to be like you and you and him and her but then a little bit of me and that throws it all off. I would like to try automatic writing, but I can't seem to go into any trance and anyway that would be a spirit talking not me. And I probably wouldn't even remember it, so how could that be original? And I will nullify all of this by
I'm reading Ulysses for the first time and the first page, down to the middle I noticed how brilliant it was and was instantly beatified, but only for that instant. And then I was jealous and put it down and sulked.