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February, 1969

A Biography in Character Sketches 


I have suddenly thought that one could write a 'life' ... from all sorts of different angles ...It would appear as the description of various people.



God, I could think of a dozen more characters -- how I wish I could write about them all.  But the only time when I would be able to do so in peace and quiet is at night -- and then I am really tired. Television and a book, study of Spanish or Russian, is all I feel like. But I might really give it a try. 

I have such an urge to write myself 'out.' Not for other people, though in a way I would like it published as a sort of Apologia Vitae. But really to try to find some sense, some brief motive in them all. I so admire and at the same time despise myself. I can't describe it.

How important is any human being even to himself? I am the light of space -- the Universe. I feel less than a speck of dust in the light of the intricate workings of my mind ...

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