Paul Sharits (1943-1993)

Late in the day, after Unit 2 Sect. A. Panic, doubts, anxieties, fears of madness for attempting such a project—the mental strain of constantly registering ever new sections (from 1 second in length to a minute) is truly fatiguing. Despite all my friends here, I feel the deepest loneliness I  can remember—I think of those uncountable evenings Bojana stayed up with me, came now and then to my side—Christ, I must be mad at that level as well as the aesthetic: insight—life cannot have the same structure as art, when one’s art is so complex and taxing—if only I could find a suitable companion—why did I reject Bojana???—NYC vibes.

But, as regarding the ever changing structure of D[eclarative] M[ode], ref. Monet at Giverny p. 12… re temporal summation vs. instantaneous—perhaps I’m not as mad as I feel.

Lonely evening—reading Jefferson by Dumas at café, unable to join in singing et al—unsuccessful attempt to find Jack in Port or at AUSTIN’s. but then Lily comes along and long talk, wine and I am calmed. She says “Never Panic.” Knows TAKIS and many famous persons. I grow more and more curious of her poetry. She is literally taking care of me. I have to resist falling in love—what would it bring except pain?

Morn- Bothersome dreams—bothersome details in Port to clear up and get some money (unable to buy a thing with my stupid $20,000 Lira). Last night Lily showed me how to eat a lot of raw garlic with bread, cheese and tomatoes. She claims it can cure my sinuses (because of its molecular structures). This morning, as usual, she brings me coffee and breakfast and garlic cloves—and I’ll try them, loving garlic anyway. Her husband, a theoretical mathematician it turns out, wondered, she told me, why she was bothering to help me. Well, thank gods, there are some spiritual humans in this indifferent, insensitive, selfish world—and thank the gods we can recognize each other. I think of the many times I open my home to others. So few will do such things.