Here are some narratives from the notebook, with more sketchings. There is a longer narrative that I will document another time. This guy had to be a beatnik. This stuff’s unbelievable.
This one says, “The boudoir shall be royal purple silk, thy chamber maids shall be worms.”
The following two have a narrative that seems to begin in the middle of something longer, but this is all that was there:
“and drunk at twenty and could never die. I see winged shadows flitting by as I record these thoughts. What a wild bit. Perhaps, after all, I am contemplating a naval greater than my own. Ah, I hope so.”
“fates and hands in tree stumps at rivers edge can’t find any elsewhere Water Gods, or something, my God what a killing routine, there is the difference between man and boy. Boy doesn’t realize there can be this shackling of spirit young man cannot possibly survive with the knowledge that there is no being greater than himself. Without a God there is no master, without a master there is no purpose, without a purpose there is no man. That goddamn brook just keeps running.”
“…as current turns paddle machine will paddle self upstream or at least remain stationary in current as long as bougart what for.”
(This notebook is authentic, not fabricated for fiction purposes).