I should like it to resemble some deep old desk, or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. (Virginia Woolf) We become ourselves through others, and the self is a porous thing, not a sealed container (Siri Hustvedt) En vez de mirarme en mi espejo quiero que mi espejo se mire en mí (Alejandra Pizarnik)
This idea struck me: the army is the body: I am the brain. Thinking is my fighting.
This idea was meant to be more impressive. It bobbed up I suppose in one of the sentient moments. The war is like desperate illness. For a day it entirely obsesses; then the feeling faculty gives out; next day one is disembodied, in the air. Then the battery is re-charged, & again- what? Well, the bomb terror. Going to London to be bombed…