Letters to Phoebe

I don't like that I cannot remark on these funny things. I know what I am supposed to do.

I am very busy and that's better.

Beautiful.

I see the bay and the boats in the morning and I pretend! That is what I am busy with, have been busy with. I mustn't and I don't which is why I am looking at bay and boat and writing and drawing and talking to a cat.

Neither personal nor together at all. A defined regulation that we needn't any interest in in the first place.

(I have probably gone mad)

I keep thinking about how pressing it is that I write a novel.

Have I gone mad

You have obviously gone mad

I want to trip you over and stand above you like a big lamp! so you realise that my eye sight isn't that good either.

I have definitely gone mad


(Just watched Terence eat a Daddy Long Legs)

I'm so tanned and nothing is ever over I'm an eternal pudding

GREECE HAS TURNED ME INTO A SHIT SILVIA PLATH

It's fucking also spelt 'Sylvia' obviously


I wait for two weeks and then with white teeth and no holes in my jeans, a brilliant song and a painting to go with it I can listen to you say "no, your novel will be boring and I could never love you" and skip away as if I have somebody else to dance with.