Itens

You know I’m a person who keeps putting off — what?

I stood before myself again, silly. I don’t know what to do. What am I? Really, I can’t even write how I write. Either I definitely stop writing or write in another way. I can’t keep doing  arabesques. If I have nothing more to say, let me die.

Mistério em S. Cristóvão [Mystery in São Cristóvão] is already different, better.

1) Take out certain things
2) Do pages
3) Buy medicine
4) Give written instructions
5) Pack bags

Garina Simon Studenic
Post Office box 14
Resende – E; from Rio
(by recommendation of
Lucio Cardoso)
Natércia Freire

[stories and drawings]

2 cakes
Mrs. Flor (chicken pastels, pastels [ILLEGIBLE] meat croquette)
Eliane (éclair) x
cheese x
stuffed plums x 40
cashew nuts x
Pif-paf [card game] x
Drinks — 15 colas and 20 guaranás
Chocolate x
+
Purchase Eliane farm
Flowers Elisa Santa Branca (orchids)
Clean plates

[drawing]

I have no [plot]; he also stopped reading several times, for one reason or another, and resumed from the beginning, because it didn’t matter read one chapter or the other. That I lack vulgarity. That I am not concerned with anything but life in the sense of existence. I don’t present any solution, nor do I start with ideas. He is disturbed facing the book, as he is facing me. Impression of insecurity. The book gives the impression of helplessness. One can see pedaling on the

He said it’s good but it doesn’t matter to read one or another chapter; it doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s not a step forward. I can write 10 books and one or another can be read, regardless. That my thing is that I am “disinterested”— that I don’t seem to have basic ideas or ideas, everything appears loose and all my job is to make connections between things that evidently don’t have a connection; that I don’t have interest in collective problems; that

became accustomed to a way of thinking, where everything is, for good or bad, in a place. I yearn for the event, but wishing to postpone it, taking good advantage of the day, distracting myself, dazing myself. Several times I felt that if I would stop, it would approach and reveal itself. But