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I would do such a good show. Ifs and ifs… why haven’t I? I should have achieved something by 16, by 18, by 21. No. I have done nothing by 21. I feel like a washout — thrown up having less than I started with. There are connections, I’m not a schizo. It’s so painfully obvious that I’m not mad (I don’t want to be mad, I just want madness to be this). When asleep sometimes I am magic, most times I am very sick. It feels like an illness to have these dreams. The Marina is a vision, this bed is boring and real — I am bored of real life and I have been for three years at least. I live in another world instead, all my best days imagined. Which can only be because some sensible joys are flat to me. Not all sensible joys, but some. They stopped me climbing and now I think I will go mad (if I say this will be madness) I will live somewhere else, and have magic, and eat sparkles, and throw up light. I will take no drugs and I will wear no shoes and be a hippie- and I will love and be loved by the universal whatever, and I will sign up to love and sign all her petitions and vote for her in all the practical elections. I will be an actress and wear a gown and fantasise. I will scare people and prove suspicions. I will be undeniable. I will be unintelligible. I will be ancient and convene with Old things. I will hate Kant and love God (Pan who is god of all). I will hear music and play music and be music and inhabit corners and forests. I will dig and discover and imagine and build because of what is human in me, and how it is in love with the rest of me. How the two love one another, and how I will love everyone, and all people in the street. I will be my own summer. My eyes will bloom and my hair grow long, into the warm ground. I will know the profound ! I will know the simple to be profound ! I will drink tea ! I will sleep in peace ! I will wake in peace ! I will teach good will ! I will show kindness ! I will carry drums ! I will be of places English and Green, of soil and the truth, and turn all this into day !