It seemed the window broke when I looked at the dog outside whose bark and bite break at once on the wrist of experience (personal experience the wrist of pain (individual pain or, the wrist of the eye that looked out the broken window— my eye. This kind of thing always happens to someone else, even when it happens to me; it never happens to me: But point of fact—the broken window, the bleeding wrist. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what to make of it.
13 November 1976