June 4, 1963

- I guess I should attempt to "cultivate" a greater restraint on my reactions toward the existent evil of things (that is these unctuous masks, designed to cocker the vagaries of the "helpless masses")

But how does one do so? Shall I hunt the hydra out? Cry out, too, among the hills? It is however true to say that I am urban and not sylvan - altho God knows I'd be where the angelic gracious people abide.

The outside would keep losing (loosing?) itself in my estimation - it fades like the scent of a rose.

Only the faint (and soon I shall cast it out, as so many briers plucked from a coat) remembrance remains which continues to "revivify" the sentient brain. But am I doing the right thing? And it is certain - or is it? - that I can once again enter the world. Dying! - longing for the seclusion, the brook, the animal gloriousness, the understanding effulgent with a light of depth and height - that is, a reaching backward and an extending forward are involved in a direction that is the same. - It is humid tonight. Was it this way last night, too? -


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