March 10th, 1973

All the unmet needs– all the unfinished Gestalts– all the pain becomes welled up inside– a reservoir of agony and pain. Finally, all the incessant pressure– organismic biophysical tension required to keep all this pain unfelt– reaches such a point that it distorts our whole lives into fantasy worlds– a tightrope existence between desolation and hope. Below us, yawning, gaping into annihilating destruction– as we walk the taut thread of our brain.

This isn’t life or living.

It’s an ambulatory state of death.

I want to be alive and real. I can’t accept the mirror house world of unreal systems of thought.

I have come to be acutely aware of how total the damage has been to my life. From the first light of consciousness to this very second. Pain and terror and no love. I have come to know how insane and crazy and unreal I am.

The first eighteen years of my life are irrevocably damaged. The past four years have been so much tense insanity in reaction to it. And here I am– I wonder what the next years will be like. I wonder what the rest of today will be like.