Sunday night!

Sunday 11:40 p.m.
Poisonous never phones me up. So he phoned me up yesterday and I had a disease. But I went to see him this evening. The Alien Creatures from Outer Space can't have given me any choice. You're on this raft of consciousness, they said, and some other flatheids are going to be on this with you. They will not meditate. You cannot tell them about the bliss because you couldn't imagine the bliss when you didn't meditate. And so they are flatheids of the worst kind and will never be happy.

I want to be happy. I would like to think I was an observing part of the One Big Thing. Someday I would like to be watching the Heavenly Visions.

I was never really Scottish. I've been trying. But I was never really Scottish. Those who underwent the severe Calvinist toilet training know what it is to be a Scottish person. Poisonous is a Scottish person. He disdains happiness.

If the first noble truth is the truth of suffering, maybe these miserable basturns has got it in one.

Help me, Jack! Well, Hotboy, remember that eventually it should all be of one taste. It shouldn't matter what it feels like. Until then, remember that it is better to feel good than to feel bad. It's got to be better. You might feel bad soon enough.

Dearie, dearie me! Still, back to the jobbie tomorrow. Thank God for other peoples nice kiddos. I've got about forty pages of the re-write. Allah Akbar!