Typing at Night
I am typing at night. When I am reclined, then I can relax and probably writing is as easy as reading, and even easier in some ways: my eyes can be closed. But instead of holding the book, I must type in letters.
“Discuss it with her softly,” this was all they wanted to do. Why couldn’t we have lived in the city and learned what the other kids know. Saying stupid doesn’t change your opinion of him. It was closed. It’s time to go, almost closing, there’s poetry to. I am very interested in existing. I was starting to find. At 6 am I woke because a cricket in my room which I had to kill for my peace of mind.
The blue sky at the center of the drama/dream was an astounding event for me: the whole world changed in some degree due to it. The blue moon and the orange sky, pure images on a clear field. What was needed most was love of the pursuit; James: “Be delicate and pursue the prize.” To capture the important web of impressions and form a matrix of language in your mind for the things seen, felt. I even more viewed then will be the thought of the distance, of all which is good far away. But all that is good near at hand, this will also rise up, a more surging sense inducing satisfaction. Not normal but attainable thought of an anterior distance, lacking sound.
Whisked away by the tide or regret which plays on the whole body sometimes. Father Villiard taught us some woodworking. My father read at mass for a long time. That was quite honorable. I was always proud of him.
Alcohol needs to be demystified. There is too much honor given to it in literature.
Meeting Natalie Brown from Oxford in Bronte class. She will be married in less than a month. A strange coincidence.
The night and the light of the city have left us. We are full of the old thoughts which once stirred our blood. It is not easy to solve the many problems of seeing the world. I’ve worked at it hard and long on my own, on rainy and on lonely nights. But never could I be satisfied with under-par company just as a means of staving off that loneliness. I would be writing all my life. The trains are loud in the morning. My right arm is tired.