He can be happy enough. None of this must be real, if he just plays along, although it might be, but it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter if the sky were blue it wouldn’t matter all along while orgies collect under bridges like scum on the river and come out like trolls eating little purturbed children they are not fantasy, just the opposite It wouldn’t matter if the grass were green all these typical things, colors colors are all so important, they are analogies of changes of another order It wouldn’t matter if he were happy he can be happy enough, none of this must be real, if he just plays along, although it might be, but it wouldn’t matter.
23 July 1973