Here are some narratives from the notebook, with more sketchings. There is a longer narrative that I will document another time. This guy had to be a beatnik. This stuff’s unbelievable.
This one says, “The boudoir shall be royal purple silk, thy chamber maids shall be worms.”
The following two have a narrative that seems to begin in the middle of something longer, but this is all that was there:
“and drunk at twenty and could never die. I see winged shadows flitting by as I record these thoughts. What a wild bit. Perhaps, after all, I am contemplating a naval greater than my own. Ah, I hope so.”
“fates and hands in tree stumps at rivers edge can’t find any elsewhere Water Gods, or something, my God what a killing routine, there is the difference between man and boy. Boy doesn’t realize there can be this shackling of spirit…
View original post 75 more words