My Dear Tom, Delighted To

Be Again, Be Again. (pause.) All That Old Misery. (pause.) Once Wasn't Enough For You.

Then I Went Back Into The House And Wrote, It Is Midnight. The Rain Is Beating On The Windows. It Was Not Midnight. It Was Not Raining.

The Reality Of The Individualis An Incoherent Reality And Must Be Expressed Incoherently.

If I Were In The Unenviable Position Of Having To Study My Work My Points Of Departure Would Be The "naught Is More Real ..." And The "ubi Nihil Vales ..." Both Already In Murphy And Neither Very Rational.

The Search For The Means To Put An End To Things, An End To Speech, Is What Enables The Discourse To Continue.