Timmy, Who Made A Daring Escape, Also

When Our Thoughts Revolve We Are So Often Deceived Into Supposing That Their Violent Movement Is An Indication Of Their Vigorous Originality, The Upheaval Of Prejudice And Fixed Ideas, When All The Time It Is More Likely That The Machine Which Contains Them Is Only An Elaborate Cement-mixer, And When The Thinking Is Finished, Those Whirling Thoughts Are Smoothed Into The Unchanged Conventional Mould And Seeing Them Set Solid Enough To Dance, To Build, To Travel Upon, We Would Never Dream Of Their First Deceit, Of The Hope Once Roused By Their Apparently Violent Reorganisation.

When I First Began This Diary I Said I Would Give A Record Of My Inner Life. I Begin To Wonder If I Have Said Anything About My Inner Life. What If I Have No Inner Life?

From The First Place Of Liquid Darkness, Within The Second Place Of Air And Light, I Set Down The Following Record With Its Mixture Of Fact And Truths And Memories Of Truths And Its Direction Toward The Third Place, Where The Starting Point Is Myth.

Timmy, Who Made A Daring Escape, Also Made A Mistake Of Paying The Taxi Driver With A Check Made Out Of Toilet Paper.

Time Past Is Not Time Gone, It Is Time Accumulated With The Host Resembling The Character In The Fairytale Who Was Joined Along The Route By More And More Characters None Of Whom Could Be Separated From One Another Or From The Host, With Some Stuck So Fast That Their Presence Caused Physical Pain.