May 8, 1976

Every time I write the date I speak
your name [there is no ambiguity about
which year it is.] The words before are
symbols for the very specific fact that this
year is separate, specific. When I forgot
how to write I could read almost any
sign before or after. Does this
shuttling avoid emotions that are
subsequent to an absence of the
corresponding words- the disclosure of a
secret message behind the words that
contains everything? I hold back the
response, and loaded with
language, I can change the pitch.
Where do I get the colors from, then, the
form of the things described. Does everything
have to remain previous to the disclosure,
restraining myself before I write the
symbol that corresponds to the object?
Reverie and confusion. When the world
seems to be conspiring for me I feel
it is conspiring against me. Also, I
see in this a desire for freedom. Love
believes very strongly in its opposite. The
this in us most strongly bound wants
to get bound in order to get the strength
to break free. The relativity of my
feelings in relation to yours make
this whole game seem ridiculous.
After all that struggle I only
found out that the feelings existed
only for themselves. Only for themselves!
And the ambiguity never changes. It is
our only real surprise.