5/22/03, Bolinas

drunken thoughts here on the beach. muttering universe, devoid of purpose. or of any purpose inimical to this mind. all purposes require an action of the mind: supposing there is a God, whispering the name of a woman, thinking here and now i am. various blasphemies. but without them there is only noise and light. silence and darkness are foreign to nature.

i mean that if you stare at a moth clambering against glass or beating against a light bulb you cannot understand the thing, in the soul where it matters, without investing it with structures you cannot know it possesses. desire. the image becomes denser with time, effort, art, but it does not cease to be an invasion. in the war the moth dies.

no, but there is really nothing to tell you

johnny