Sat 17 Aug 1996 09:00
EARLY
The writer hasn't learned the lines you'd like to hear,
she's immune to gloom, she doesn't care any more.
and go on.
The writer was disciplined about her work. She sat there for 4 hours, whether she would type or not.
So now, I am free to do as I want.
and as I type, I stop feeling.

I am aware of incomprehension, cause that is all I feel, when I ask.
What do you do for the people you love when you love a person. Beautiful people, but as they are.

So is Kristen, and a million others. She is, and my hands smell like varnish. Ed is, and my ear sounds like varnish, etc.

So is. A piece of a leaf on my shoulder, the purple of the berries.

And again, I stop to think, and thinking I spend the day in daydream, filled with meaningless and incomprehension.

Then I ask what she wants, what I want, and I don't know.

We go there on a walk together, me and her, and that is it. To be with her is as to be with myself, and I have no comprehension of how.

There are no answers and this sucks. It is all attitude and state of mind. But I have no idea of the crazy things myself, but should I go along and have time to feel, things then are crazy. And it goes. So supposing, she or another she or another for ever and ever, and this she who asks the same question, what do I have to give these crazies.

I love her, I appreciate her and her, and him and child, and I leave them be, because there is nothing I would do

.