Anyway, I went to the library book sale this morning, and there was this copy of Wise Blood and it was only a dollar, and it had this note, written with pencil in careful cursive, gently folded into the book:
Hazy today, cooler too. I feel dull and dense with unsorted emotion and desire. I need to fly and be free and let loving, impartial breeze coddle me and make me well again. Last night I dreamed Gail owned a motel in which each room had a chapter to a book in a drawer in the nightstand. I went form room to room reading the book eagerly looking forward to each installment. How fragmented my life is that way now. I await each day hopeful, cautious. What thing will happen next!
Yesterday dealt you solid blows from mother symbols, the vagina dentata (with teeth), when you'd been feeling so buoyed. You got bombed in the midst of your cloudless flight. Life is the Endless Flight: sometimes thick with tension and distress, sometimes like the flight I mentioned above, limitless and satisfying. A fat, slick ginger-colored bitch dog just snuffled her way in here where I sit and made friends with me. Bless their trusting, gentle-hearted souls.
Greg and I went to the bakery after we got up at 11:00. I brought my journal so I could write on your porch and unravel the backlog of impressions and soothe over the chinks here and there. Yes, I do feel beaten up somehow. I feel that on some level I am not allowing for something, that I am ignoring something vital. Ah, I press on, there is nothing else for it.