That ought to have changed my life. But, still, I found ways to cocoon into my wishful dreams.
Much later, I saw that my dreams were futile. Still, I held on. Every day was a reminder to forget and move on. But still, I held on. Only to be shaken roughly, beaten up, clobbered, by the same truth that I refused to believe, as I walked into the park.
In a way, that changed my life. In many ways, that changed my life.
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called “places.” These “places” make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
I remembered these lines suddenly last night. In some ways, it reflects, the large number of times, I have not known that I am back on the same road, thoughts, dreams, without realizing that I had made an effort to leave them.
Dreams weave themselves in strange angles and curves. You have to realize that such curves and angles just don’t occur in reality.
It is 2 in the morning. I really worked today. And then made this. I should be tired. But, I have this urge to drive that is keeping me awake. If I had a car now, I would be in Chicago.