“I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.”

There’s something dripping in my head. A heart, a heart in my head.

Words are the clothes thoughts wear.

What are we doing here, that is the question.

I am still alive then. That may come in useful.

I gave up before birth.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.

Fail, fail again, fail better.

I use the words you taught me. If they don’t mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.

You’re on earth. There’s no cure for that.

Birth was the death of him.

In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe.

Reality, whether approached imaginatively or empirically, remains a surface, hermetic.

Yes, there were times when I forgot not only who I was but that I was, forgot to be.

It was long since I had longed for anything and the effect on me was horrible.

Love, that is all I asked, a little love, daily, twice daily, fifty years of twice daily love like a Paris horse-butcher’s regular, what normal woman wants affection?

I feel like Im able to relate to all races of people because when you learn to tap into the raw emotion of a person, that goes past color.

Let me kiss you one last time now that I know I will feel you on my lips for the rest of my life.

It is important allow to feel what I feel, but not to let it dictate my day or week or life.

It’s a no win situation. It’s a mug’s game. The religions have contrived to make it impossible to disagree with them critically without being rude. They play the hurt feelings card at every opportunity.

When words tripped off the side of your grin, I felt the statement slip toward my ear like the slide of a skateboard on griptape – how it led me to hate a sport I’ve never even tried.

You can get used to anything if you have to, even feeling perpetually guilty.

I can feel hope beginning to sprout from all parts of me that were once punctured.

Until you lose your mother you don’t know what it is.