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my long body till I am so tired that my head no long reels.  I will think of health & of good things & will shut out the bad & [[glorious?]] thoughts that kill me.  Then sleep will come & in the morning all will have passed and my conventional self will have come back.  With one last mad cry I demand why shall the conventional come back, why must I live like what I am not, and I beat my head against the cage & I weep and I grind my ugly teeth together for I know that I am not bigger than circumstances & that I am not big enough to put the world aside & that it is my doom only to see the possibilities & never to realize them.

April 10th.

Look back often & read these poems. "Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire.  From passionate pain to deadlier delight, - I am too young to live without desire.